Archive of Our Own

“Lemme just grab my card key,” Clint said, slipping quietly back into the room.

He literally dove for the end of the bed where he remembered dropping his key while wrestling Natasha under the garishly-patterned hotel bedspread. One of them must have kicked the flimsy plastic card under the bed frame because he had to crawl under it a little, ass waving around in the air. All he needed was for Phil to come back in here and see him like this.

Actually, that sounded like a not so bad idea. He had been told his ass was one of his better features.

A throat clearing somewhere above him caused Clint to jerk and knock his head as he was backing out from under it. He peeked sheepishly over the mattress, rubbing the tender spot on his skull.

“Ow,” he muttered, scowling up at his best friend and partner.

Natasha was sitting up on the bed, wide awake and alert, propped up against the pillows with her ankles crossed, smirk firmly in place.

“I decided it was about time you returned the favor for all the nights I’ve had to drag your heavy ass home. You’re welcome, by the way,” she said. After all, if the older man had not helped Clint carry a poor, helpless, unconscious woman up to her room, he was not worth the effort it took to get him there in the first place.

Clint smiled a small, pleased smile and looked shyly down at the bedspread. “Thanks, Nat. You know just my type.”

Natasha shrugged. “I know you. Thought you might like him better than a new toy.”

Clint chuckled, getting to his feet. He knew better than to ask her how she did it. One did not ask a magician the secret to his magic; one just enjoyed the results.

Nevertheless, she answered the unuttered. “Desk clerks and bartenders are very bribable.”

“Or you’re just that terrifying. How did you know Phil’s favorite drink, anyhow?”

Natasha tilted her head as if to say, Really? “Now you’re just being insulting, mishka. Don’t forget about tomorrow,” she gently reminded him as he headed for the door, tucking the key into his jeans pocket.

“I won’t,” he whined quietly.

“Clint.”

Clint peeked around the wall into the bedroom. “Yeah?”

Natasha’s smiled softly. “Happy birthday, little bird. Be safe.”

Clint grinned that trademark wide, rakish grin. “Aren’t I always?”

Natasha’s ugly snort was answer enough as to what she thought about that and it was the last thing Clint heard before he slipped out of the room once more.

AVAVAVA

Clint had just enough of a glance at Phil— hands in his pockets, eyes glaring down at the hallway carpet— before Phil noticed that Clint had joined him. Phil stood up straight, answering Clint with a confident little barely-there smile. But it was enough for Clint to see that Phil looked unsure— his shoulders not quite completely relaxed, the sexy crows feet pulled just a little too tight around his very blue eyes. Clint was not sure how he knew that about Phil having only just met him a few hours before but then, he had always seen more than most. He had not got his moniker for nothing.

That’s okay, Clint thought. He would go easy on the older man but he was not going to give him up just yet, not after barely a taste of him. He had never much prided himself on his own restraint. He would take as much as the other man was willing to give him even if all Phil ever gave him was a single night, a dance, and a kiss and nothing more. Yes, he needed at least that. It was more than he got from most, anyway. It would be enough. It had to be.

“So which room did you say was yours?”

AVAVAVA

Phil let them into his corner suite and flipped the switch, turning on the lamps on dim.

"Nice room," Clint said looking around appreciatively.

"I didn’t have anything to do with it, but thank you."

A single king in a minimalist four poster took up the focal point of the room and looked straight out the truly expansive double adjacent windows overlooking the beach. An abstract, vaguely marine mural took up the entire wall behind the bed, but other than that, there was not a single, generic, mass-produced artwork to be had. Not that it was necessary. The white curtains were pulled all the way back from the windows giving them a full, unfettered view of the city lights to one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other. It was almost breathtaking.

A pristine white electric fireplace that Clint imagined was more for ambiance than necessity cozied up under a large flat screen in a sitting area with a suede sectional, a lowback chair, and a small table all arranged atop a plush rug.

Clint imagined the balcony doors opened to the sounds of the ocean waves below, the fireplace lit just enough to battle the chill of the breeze coming off the water at night, and the two of them in their socks, sitting right on the rug with the remnants of room service scattered about the coffee table.

You’re doing it again , Clint mentally chastised himself. Always wanting things you can’t have.

Suddenly, Phil felt suicidally awkward. He could not fathom how he had arrived at this moment in his life nor where he should go from here. He could not remember the last time he had even thought to bring back a stranger to his hotel room. Probably not since the last time he had been at a hotel for pleasure rather than business. He did not even know the man’s last name, for god's sake. This was not the responsible, professional, put-together Phil I-have-backup-plans-for-my-backup-plans Coulson he had fabricated over the years through hard-won effort. But this man. This gorgeous, adorable, sexy-as-sin man did things to him. And it had been so long, too long since Phil had been so reckless and...human. Couldn’t he just have this? Just for tonight? Couldn’t he pretend that he was not just a robot in a suit but a flesh and blood man who had needs and desires of his own?

"Breathe," Clint said with a gentle smile that seemed to let out some of the stifling tension from the room. Phil chuffed, embarrassed. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?" Clint led with an overly-charming smile as he moved toward the balcony and opened the glass doors.

"Oh, uh, of course. I’m sorry," Phil stumbled, pulling open the little fridge at the mini wet bar, surveying the contents. "Let’s see. We have water and...water."

"I'll take a water, thanks."

God, Phil knew he must seem pathetic, needing to be handled with kid gloves, and Clint was taking it so well, making this so easy for him by taking the lead without making Phil feel as if he was merely surrendering all control. Phil pulled out two water bottles and joined Clint, who unscrewed the cap and downed half of the contents in one swallow, eyes never leaving Phil's face. Gasping, he set the bottle on the balcony ledge and stepped toward Phil, who, for the first time in this whole incident, felt terrified. Clint's hands slid gently over his shoulders in accompaniment to the balmy breeze washing over them, lifting at their hair and clothes, reawakening already-sensitized flesh. Phil gazed out at the white, moon-bleached beach and the black water of the Atlantic a dozen floors below. The sounds of the waves crashing one on top of the other rose up on the wind and settled over them in a soothing, rhythmic rush.

"Uh...I...I've never...I mean, I don't usually...."

Take strange men to bed? Take any stranger to bed, really? He was not some fresh, experimental twenty-something college student at his first frat party, surrounded by willing flesh. He was older now. Too old to be doing this, if he was honest. He was wrinkled and balding and...and...fuck. He did not trust that easily. The life he had chosen did not much allow it. It was so hard for him to really let go. Audrey had understood that better than most. She tolerated his reserve, his need for secrets, his married-to-the-job mentality that took him away from home, away from family and loved ones for stretches at a time. She was independent with a life and a career of her own. He could have made a life with her. He should have been able to make it work. Men like him did not get too many chances like that.

"Me neither," Clint breathed against Phil’s jaw and slipped a hand behind his head, pulling his mouth down to his.

Clint paused for a moment just before meeting Phil's lips, giving him a final chance to change his mind. Oh, right. That's what they were supposed to be doing. And just like that, at the first contact of lips to lips, Phil let himself relax and let his instincts take over. Kissing. Now that was something he knew how to do.

Clint had great lips, full and soft. He teased and brushed them across Phil's with light pressure, letting him get used to the feeling before he began gently sucking at his mouth, deepening the pressure oh-so-torturously. Clint's lips were cold and wet and slightly sweet from the water, and Phil hummed appreciatively at the flavor. He wondered if Clint always smelled and tasted like this-- warm musk and spice and slightly sweet.

Their lips melted and slid together as if their mouths had been waiting all these years for this very moment of coming together. Phil felt helpless to do anything for the moment but react to the skillful play of Clint's lips against his own, focused solely on matching the pleasurable pressure he was receiving from these sweet, hot little kisses that were, Phil thought with no small amount of surprise, sexy as all hell. Then there was a flash of heat as Clint swiped his tongue over Phil's lips that matched a deeper heat slashing its way through his body, and Phil parted them with a gasp, grabbing Clint's hips reflexively. But Clint kept their kisses shallow, sucking Phil’s lips into his mouth and teasing with little flicks of his tongue.

In that moment, Phil's whole world shrank down to the single point where Clint's mouth touched him. He felt unusually euphoric. They were kissing as if they had just discovered what two mouths could do when pressed together. Phil groaned and then grunted in frustration, pulling Clint's hips flush against his and grinding their trapped erections together. Clint moaned encouragingly, and Phil felt Clint smiling against his mouth at the invitation to go deeper. But Clint went back to sucking Phil's lips and fluttering the tip of his tongue against Phil's, teasing him, drawing him out. Phil obliged and surrendered his tongue, which Clint sucked between his lips, swirling it with his own, pulling back to suck bruisingly on Phil's mouth and then finally plunged his tongue inside. Phil moaned into Clint’s mouth with appreciation and moved his hands to Clint's ass, holding them tightly together as they rocked and tilted their hips together, echoing their aborted dance from earlier in the night.

Clint was a fantastic kisser. Phil could not remember ever being this turned on from just a kiss, which probably spoke more to Phil’s desperation than any lack of experience. Phil felt hot and flushed and he rutted against Clint almost mindlessly, trying to relieve the aching pressure building exquisite and painful below his belt. He could not help but imagine those same lips and tongue working their magic on his cock, a thought which caused a tremor to roll through him. Then Clint was kissing across his jaw and down his neck, decorating his skin with licks and nips of his teeth as he slid Phil's shirt off his shoulders-- when had his shirt been unbuttoned?-- humming in appreciation as his hands greedily explored Phil's torso. Phil grabbed the hem of Clint's shirt and tugged it over his head in one smooth motion.

Phil gasped at the first friction of flesh against flesh. Aw, yeah. This is what he liked. The sensual slide of one naked body moving against another, the sensation of touch, taste, and scent melding together and enveloping him like a drug. Clint was pressing Phil against the balcony ledge, rubbing his half naked body energetically against his, a leg hitched up around Phil's hips and grinding against him, already trying to ride him standing up and half clothed. Phil could only think to hold the body to him, firm hands roaming frantically up and down his sides and back and into his hair, letting the younger man move against him. God, but the man was well made. Clint felt so strong and solid in his arms. There was a rightness in it that Phil could not begin to explain as Clint's skin seemed to sing beneath his roaming hands, praising his worshipful touch. Phil buried his face in Clint's neck, filling his lungs with that spice-warm scent as if he wanted every breath thereafter to be filtered through that silky flesh.

Then Clint dropped his leg and stepped away. He looked flushed and half-ravaged already. His hair was a mess from Phil's hands, and his eyes looked lust-drunk. Phil swayed forward at the sudden broken contact, a disorientated second of freefall without the anchor of the other man's body invading his every sense and crowding out all room for panic. Clint pulled them into the room, quickly working his jeans free and peeling them off. Then he reached for Phil, slipping his fingers under the waist of Phil's pants, drawing him forward, before unzipping them and stripping Phil of his shoes and the last of his clothes.

Phil watched him, paralyzed, breathing heavily. They were naked before Phil could even think to protest. Not that he had any mind to, but still, the man would not even let him take a breath. Perhaps Clint sensed Phil's lingering reticence. Well, they could hardly turn back now. Phil was not a quitter. And he did not half-ass anything even if he was half-terrified out of his mind. Clint backed Phil up until the back of his knees hit the bed then pushed once and hard at his shoulders, causing Phil to fall back onto the mattress. Then a gloriously naked Clint was straddling Phil’s hips, and rational thought elbowed its way into Phil's consciousness at last.

"Uh...." Phil said grabbing Clint's hips hard to halt their movement before it could really begin. "I...."

"What is it?"

"I need to tell you something before we...."

"Oh, god, are you positive?" Clint asked, sitting back on his heels. He looked stricken. Then he rubbed his hands over Phil's chest as if to comfort, whether himself or Phil, Phil didn't know.

"That's okay," Clint soothed. "Penetration might be a little risky, but there's plenty we could do. I'll make you feel real good, I promise."

Wait. Huh? Clint's mind was tripping down a path his brain could not follow. "Uh, no. No! It's nothing like that. I don't have HIV. Or any other STI's, if that's your next question."

"Oh. Thank god. Me neither. I mean, I've been with positive men before, but I mean, I’m always safe. Get tested like clockwork.” Clint exhaled. "What is it then?"

"Um…," said Phil, eloquently, as he gazed up at the ceiling hoping to decipher his thoughts from the seemingly abstract patterns. God, how embarrassing. How did he say this?

"This isn't when you tell me you have a boyfriend, is it?" Phil shook his head, trying to conjure the right words. "A girlfriend?"

"No...not exactly…."

"Oh my god, you're married!"

"What? No! I'm not married, for heaven's sake. I'm not in any kind of relationship. Just...Jesus...gimme a second to form a thought here,” Phil groused, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Oh." Clint deflated. "Sorry."

But he continued caressing Phil's chest, also rather unhelpful to Phil's concentration. Between Clint's naked thighs and moving hands and his cock, screaming for attention, Phil could hardly breathe let alone think.

"I just...God. I just haven't...."

"Have you done this before?" Clint asked with a humiliatingly sympathetic tone.

"Yes, Clint, I've had sex before," Phil grumbled. "I'm a healthy, forty-something year old man." Which made Clint huff out a laugh. "I just haven't done this in a long time. Like, a really long time," Phil admitted, feeling thoroughly mortified. "And I...." Hell, Phil felt like a goddamn virgin-- nervous, excited, terrified, uncertain of what to do.

"It's been a while for me, too." Clint offered. "It's okay. We'll go slow. Just let me please you for a little while. You can stop whenever you feel uncomfortable."

Christ. Phil was completely disappointed in himself at the relief he felt at hearing Clint's reassuring words. But they worked, and Phil let himself be pressed all the way down into the mattress as he finally allowed himself to appreciate the breathtaking sight above him.

Clint was a beautiful, beautiful man in a way that Phil struggled to explain. Clint was a little on the rough side and though Phil may have seen more sculpted bodies, he was fit and lithe and strong. His hands-- sinewy and unusually calloused-- spoke of dedication and hard work, and he seemed to take care of himself. The man had no tan lines, for Christ’s sake. Just one long, unbroken stretch of golden skin from head to toe. But he was not flawless by any means. Not that Phil was looking for that, anyway. Phil himself was not the most gorgeous man to walk the earth. Not by a long shot. He knew that. But there was something about this man that entranced Phil-- his hair messy and falling across his forehead, face flushed, mood-stone eyes growing molten, a pleased smile playing over his lips as he sat astride the older man, completely, delectably, unabashedly naked, allowing Phil to look his fill as he explored Phil's body with his own hands, offering himself up like a present for Phil to open and take for himself, for his own pleasure. How could Phil say no to that? He was only a man, after all.

And the way Clint rolled his hips, rubbing his hard cock across Phil's bare abs, was just...fucking sinful. The way that Clint looked at him made him feel utterly exposed and deliciously dirty. It was the kind of look that would have a weaker-- or perhaps braver-- man begging and crawling over flaming, glass-embedded gravel if that's what it took. Clint began kissing down Phil’s chest, lapping and biting at his nipples, causing Phil to jerk and hiss at his torturously sensitive flesh.

Aw, who was he kidding. He was a weak, weak man.

Clint kissed and licked down Phil’s abs, pausing to press his face into the flesh of his lower belly and take a breath, exhaling with a pleasured hum. Phil almost smiled at the way Clint seemed lost in this little journey of his flesh he was taking.

"I love your body," Clint said reverently quiet, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "I love your sexy fucking freckles, Phil. And I love this dark hair," he said louder, bolder. "All over your chest and down your abs. Mm," he hummed, touching the places he described. "It's not too coarse or too long or too thick. It's perfect. God, I could eat you." He nipped across Phil's belly then as if he just could not help himself. "You feel strong everywhere, like you don't even try."

Phil laughed at that. "Oh, I try."

"I mean, I knew you would look good under that suit, but this. You look like you could take me, force me, hold me down. I like it. And your cock...," Clint finished the sentence with a little thrust of his hips.

Motherfucking god. Phil had never had quite this reaction from someone before. It amplified his own lust and made him feel powerful in his own sexuality.

Clint moved to the sensitized skin at the hollow of Phil’s hips, massaging and licking, caressing and kissing, causing Phil to gasp and jerk his hips off the bed. God, he was so sensitive there. Why is it more people did not think to make love to men there? He would be a trembling, cursing mess in no time if Clint kept that up. But then Clint lifted his head and met Phil's eyes as he wrapped both hands around Phil’s shaft and took a few leisurely pumps.

Oh, thank god. Finally.

"God, look at this. Fat and juicy. Makes my mouth water." Phil choked out a surprised laugh. Clint had a dirty mouth on him. But Phil quickly decided he liked that, or his cock decided for him, as it pulsed a couple of times in Clint's grip. "Oh, you like that?" Clint teased with a dirty little grin, like his mouth was made for it.

"Yeah," Phil said with roughened voice. "Keep talking." Clint lowered his head and licked off the fat, succulent bead of pre-come gathering at the tip of his engorged cock. "Oh, sweet jesus," Phil gasped.

"Mm, you taste so good." Phil grunted and thrust upward. "But I don't see how I can talk and swallow this gorgeous cock at the same time."

Phil bucked his hips up again at the promise of those beautiful lips wrapped around him. Clint swirled his tongue around the swollen, plumb, mushroom head, letting his lips slide over just the tip and then back up, in a light, lubricating kiss without any suction. It was torturous, and Phil fought the impulse to grab Clint's head and force him down on his shaft. Women did not seem to like that very much. He doubted a man would like being suddenly force-fed and choked on a dick any better.

"Oh, god. Please ," Phil pleaded, hips making little, involuntary undulations.

"Say it," Clint demanded, hot eyes burning holes straight through him.

Phil gripped Clint’s hair in his fist and growled, reaching his other hand down to grab his cock and slap it against Clint’s lips. "Suck it."

Clint smiled victoriously and then-- finally ohmylordthankyouthankyouthankyou -- he took Phil's aching cock in his mouth, sucking long and deep, working his way steadily down his entire length. Phil felt the long, loud moan rise up from his lower belly and up out of his throat. Holy mama, what a mouth! The man knew his way around a cock, that was for damn sure. Clint fluttered and swirled his tongue under and around the shaft, quickly filling up his mouth, sucking fiercely and wetly, fucking his own face down on Phil’s dick until he made little cut-off choking sounds as he forced the tip of Phil’s cock into the back of his throat.

So fucking hot , Phil thought. He was transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing between those sinful lips, those hollowed cheeks, eyes closed in their own devoted pleasure as he bobbed up and down. Clint ran his hands greedily over all the skin he could reach-- up his abs to his chest, massaging across his hips and groping his thighs, cupping his balls with surprisingly tender, agile fingers.

Phil felt the head of his cock at the back of Clint's throat as it swallowed and worked around his cockhead. Phil keened, throwing his head back, grabbing fistfuls of Clint's disheveled, golden hair, reeling in the urgent need to just fuck mercilessly into that hot, wet mouth. Phil tightened his grip, inciting a whimper out of the blond man.

Oh, shit.

Phil released trembling hands, but Clint grabbed Phil by his wrists and guided the fingers back to his head. Oh, he liked that. Phil fisted those soft honeyed waves again, tugging a little. And this time, Clint moaned wantonly, urging him on. Oh, fuck. That was one of the most erotic things Phil had ever seen in his life. He thrust up reflexively, forcing another moan out of Clint as he clutched at his inner thighs. Does he want him to...? He thrust again and felt Clint shift his hips down and rub his cock against the leg he was straddling, leaving a wet trail of the pre-come that was leaking out of Clint's neglected cock. Oh, dear god. Phil began cautiously thrusting in and out of Clint's mouth, fucking his face.

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod.

Phil had never seen someone so turned on about sucking his cock. It was all too much. Phil's legs started to shake, his breath coming in heaving gasps. He felt light-headed and on the verge of hyperventilating and even closer to blowing his load. It had only been a few minutes, and Phil could not bear the thought of humiliating himself by coming like some high school virgin receiving his first blowjob. His hands scrambled desperately for Clint's shoulders, eventually finding purchase, and pushed Clint's mouth off his pulse-pounding erection. Phil fell back against the mattress, trying to catch his breath.

Clint lifted his head with a gasp. "Something wrong?" He was breathing heavily, voice raw. His lips were wet with spit and pre-come, his hair had that just-fucked look, and, in that moment, Phil was sure he had never wanted anyone more.

"God, no. I'm just close already," Phil admitted breathily, an arm thrown over his eyes in slight embarrassment.

"Oh," Clint's mouth stretched into a wicked, self-satisfied grin. "You're so big," he said, petting Phil's thighs. "I can just imagine this monster forcing the breath out of me as it's buried balls-deep in my ass.

Oh my god, that mouth. “You're gonna make me come talking like that."

"Well, now you know how to shut me up."

"Maybe I don't want you to shut up," Phil countered, pulling Clint up by his hands up his body, using his own to pet and help settle the length of Clint's body over his own.

"Is that so? Why don't you tell me what you do want then."

Clint's eyes seemed to alight at this game they were playing, and Phil had rarely felt so sexually emboldened before. Maybe it was Clint's shameless hussy routine or the patient way he tried to take care of Phil and make him feel comfortable, but Phil felt some hidden kinky side awakening inside of him, and he felt eager to explore it. He rubbed a thumb absently over Clint's red, swollen mouth, which Clint sucked between his lips, nipping at the pad before swirling his tongue around it. Phil grunted in renewed arousal.

"Tell me what you want."

"I wanna have you," Clint answered honestly and then blushed lightly at his own cheesy frankness. He buried his face against Phil's chest and let out a self-deprecating laugh.

Well, that’s kind of adorable.

Phil pet the golden mop of Clint's head and snorted. "I think lying naked under someone you're about to fuck is about as ‘had’ as a person can get," Phil chuckled. Clint slapped his chest and then kissed the sting away. "No, tell me. What is the one thing that a man can do to you in bed that drives you out-of-your-mind insane?"

Clint shivered at the deep rumble of Phil's request against his ear. He felt a sudden, inexplicable bought of shyness. He knew his way around a cock. He was confident in his ability to please a man. And watching a man go to pieces under him always made him feel powerful and in control. Maybe it was just easier that way. If he was always the one calling the shots then when things got a little too real, he could tell himself he wanted it that way. He had always been a good liar. To himself, most of all.

But letting go was another thing entirely, and the thought of surrendering to another man sometimes made Clint cringe inside. It was an ongoing internal battle for him to give up control. It required the kind of trust that could not just be handed over to a prospective new lover let alone a stranger in an anonymous hotel room. Usually, Clint would quickly wrestle back control with a slip of the tongue or a roll of his hips, and most men were willing enough to be easily distracted by his skillful ministrations. But sometimes, he was forced to breathe through his momentary panic and force the feelings of being smothered and his own repulsion to personal vulnerability deep down into his gut. He had not always been this way. But Clint had learned a long time ago that if you did not protect yourself, more than likely, no one else would either.

Clint traced a fingertip over Phil's chest, circling around a nipple as he seemed to consider his answer. Without lifting his face from Phil's chest, he finally said, "I like to have my ass rimmed."

And it was true. The rare man who knew how to really work his ass could turn him into a quivering puddle of need in mere minutes. Plus, he knew the words would be a challenge to this enigmatic man. Some men did not care for the taste of ass. There had been plenty who flat out refused to perform the act on him, and Clint could not help but admit that he was curious to see if the man would rise to the challenge. If Phil said no, then he could easily convince the man to do what he wanted him to do to make up for his lack of follow through. If Phil said yes, well, he had suffered through worse than a bad rim job and he could play the man's seeming inexperience to his favor, as he had been doing all night.

Phil smirked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Clint echoed, meeting Phil's eyes.

"Okay then."

Now that, Phil was pretty sure he could do. And if that's what Clint wanted then, by god, he was going to give the man what he wanted. More than anything, right then, Phil just wanted to make Clint feel as good as he had felt. He rubbed his hands over Clint's arms and shoulders, gripping them gently and rolling Clint off of him and onto the mattress.

"Mm, my turn," Phil growled into his ear, and Clint smirked at the eagerness in Phil's voice.

Phil's heart sped up and heat pooled in his stomach at the realization of what he was about to do. He had been dying to get any part of himself on that ass since he had first seen it filling out those vintage jeans. It had been a long time since someone had actually asked him to do this, and there was just something about Clint that gave him that little bit of confidence he needed, that gave him the desire to do anything the man asked for that would please him. The sight of the naked body spread out before Phil interrupted his thoughts as instinct took over. His body knew what to do; he just needed to not let his head get in the way. He could do that. He could create that headspace of personal detachment if he had to.

Phil guided Clint over onto his stomach, letting his hands roam-- rubbing, petting, soothing, causing the other man to tremble slightly under his hands. God, but he was sweet. Golden skin everywhere, stretched over a thick musculature. He bent over Clint's trembling body and followed a similar path with his mouth, adding teeth and tongue as he grew bolder.

"Oh, Jesus," Clint gasped into the pillow he grabbed and clutched against his mouth and chest, as if needing an anchor to keep him from being swept away in compete abandonment. He had not realized just how touched starved he was until that moment. He and Natasha had cuddled up in bed more times than he could count. He had fallen asleep numerous times to the feeling of her fingers in his hair. But it just was not the same as the feeling of a man on top of him, giving him just what he needed, touching and kissing him until was weak with want.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah," came the breathy, stuttering reply. "Don't stop."

Phil moved down Clint's back and smoothed his hands over Clint's ass, palming it, kneading it, watching the way the plump globes of flesh and muscle filled up his hands. The golden skin was dusted with fine gold hair, and Phil's cock leapt at the sight and feel of it under his hands. He wanted to slap that ass hard and take a bite out of it. So he did.

He landed a loud smack across one cheek, watching the white handprint appear and turn pink and then bit down hard, causing Clint to yelp and jerk in surprise. But Clint did not say a word or move to stop him. Phil laughed huskily. He massaged his ass more and then slowly spread the cheeks apart, revealing the pink little hole. Ngh . It looked so perfect. All smooth skin between his cheeks. He was practically salivating. He could not remember how long it had been since he had had a gorgeous ass open and willing before him. He bent his head and took an experimental swipe of his tongue up the length of Clint's crease, at which Clint gasped loudly and bit down into the pillow. Phil smacked his lips.

"That okay?"

Clint could only whimper once and nod, looking over his shoulder with hazy, heavy-lidded eyes as Phil leaned down again, taking a deeper lick, compelling another gasp and shudder.

"Oh, yesssss," Clint encouraged.

"Is this what you want?" Clint nodded and lifted his hips. "Tell me."

"Eat me," Clint demanded with a roll of his hips and grabbed the back of Phil's head, urging the older man’s face against his ass. Phil let his face to be buried between Clint's glorious ass cheeks and moaned, bowled over with want for this man.

"I love your ass," Phil breathed heavily, voice sounding thick and raw. He pulled Clint up to his knees and pushed Clint's legs further apart and settled himself between his calves, spreading his ass wide. "Mm, yeah," Phil said to himself. He fluttered the tip of his tongue against Clint's hole.

"Oh, fuck," Clint gasped, causing Phil's stiff cock to leap against his abs. He was back to danger mode once more, already leaking pre-come in anticipation.

Phil began to press harder with his tongue, circling the fluttering hole, drawing abstract patterns over the puckered flesh, coaxing it to relax and open to him. He moved two fingertips toward the furled entrance, massaging it, pulling it open little by little, before attacking it with his tongue once more. Clint was quickly losing his mind beneath Phil's mouth, moaning and pressing his ass up into Phil's face. Phil began working his tongue inside him.

"Oh my god! Oh jesus fucking christ!"

"I love the way you respond to me. I love that I'm doing that to you." It seemed that Clint was also awakening Phil's own dirty talking side.

Clint heaved a sob into the pillow as Phil pressed his entire tongue inside Clint's ass, moving it around in circles, and then-- slowly and thoroughly-- he began tongue fucking him.

"Oh. My. Fucking. God!" Clint practically shouted. "Your tongue is amazing!"

Phil drew back to spit on his hole and work it around with his tongue, slicking him up. Phil was working himself up into his own frenzy, taking little nips at Clint's ass with his teeth, lightly scraping his teeth over Clint’s entrance, and laying tender kisses right on the glistening hole, before burying his face between his cheeks and plunging his tongue back inside, huffing muffled moans against his ass.

"Ahh!" Clint cried out and shifted his hips away from Phil's face.

"Too much?"

"Your stubble."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I can go shave...," Phil offered, scrubbing a hand against his slightly roughened jaw.

"No!" Clint stopped him. "I like it. It just makes my ass feel even more sensitive. If I try to buck you off, just hold me down," he said with a wicked grin.

Phil groaned, wounded. "You really are just a shameless slut," he said smacking Clint’s thick, bubble ass.

"You love it. Ahh!" Clint gasped as Phil grabbed his hips in a tight grip and plunged his tongue back inside with renewed vigor.

Phil's hips began to rut mindlessly against the sheets. He drew back a little, kissing and then sucking right on his hole before slipping a finger inside and licking around the finger as it worked in and out of Clint's soft, velvety insides. Phil was trembling, he was so turned on by Clint’s verbal responses combined with the loud, wet sounds of his mouth and tongue working against Clint’s ass.

"Fffffuuuck," Clint breathed, throat clicking drily. "That feels so fucking good, I can't take it. You're driving me crazy."

"Yeah, you really need this don't you," Phil observed, adding a second finger, seeking out Clint's prostate.

Yeah, he could do this, too. It was just like working himself open. Only so much better. Clint's responsiveness allowed Phil to grow more confident in his ability to return this man’s pleasure. Clint was so generous with his body, it was humbling. Phil massaged in circles over the tight bundle of nerves, and Clint moaned and rocked his hips back and forth, trying to fuck himself on Phil's fingers.

It felt so good to be inside of him. So hot and wet and welcoming. Phil wanted to crawl inside of the younger man, slide every part of himself in every part of this man. What had sex even felt like before this? He struggled to remember.

"Clint, you look so good trying to fuck yourself on my hand."

Phil wanted to put his fist inside him. His entire arm. Watch the blond sobbing trying to take it all and begging for more. Phil wrapped his other hand around Clint's cock and began to stroke it, changing the rhythm of his fingers to a rapid tapping against the nerves, causing Clint to practically scream and then pull off his hand and flip over.

"Did I hurt you?" Phil asked, panic rising in his throat.

"Hell no! Holy motherfucking god, Phil! If you don't fuck me right now, I'll kill you and then ride your dick anyway." He reached over the side of the bed, rummaging through his pants pockets and pulled out a small tube of lube and a handful of condoms and shoved them into Phil's hand.

"Uh, okaaay." But Phil was smiling ferociously now. They watched each other with hot roaming eyes as Phil slipped a condom over his cock and slicked himself with the lube. Then Clint rolled over again on his hands and knees. "You want it like that?"

"Yeah," Clint said, meeting Phil's eyes over his shoulder. "Fuck me."

The space between them was electric, vibrating with anticipation.

Phil swiped some lube across Clint's crease as he knelt behind him and lined up the head of his cock with Clint's hole, heart hammering, blood a loud roar in his ears. Phil knew that Clint could feel the trembling of his hand grasping his hip. Whether more from nerves or unsated desire, he could not say. He pressed forward. Clint and Phil released loud, dual moans as the head of Phil's cock slipped past the first ring of muscle.

"Jesus Christ, you feel good," Phil said through gritted teeth, barely reining in control.

"Goddamn, you're thick,” Clint huffed out, breath labored as he endured the stretch. “Keep pushing. Don't stop until you're buried deep."

Phil continued the long, torturously slow side before pausing, breathless, as he bottomed out in Clint's ass. He took a few deep breaths, resisting the urge to thrust before Clint was ready.

"You okay?" Phil asked softly, petting Clint's flanks.

"Yeah," Clint gasped. "Ngh! I feel so full. It's intense but it's good." He pushed his ass back against Phil. "Move," he ordered.

Phil began to move, sliding almost all the way out and then all the way back in to the hilt in long, smooth strokes. Clint was making sweet little gasping noises and hums all the while.

"More," Clint demanded, pressing back into him. Phil picked up the pace, keeping up the long, smooth strokes, ending with a forceful thrust as he bottomed out. "Uh!" Clint grunted with each little thrust. "Yeah yeah. That's it. That's it."

"God, I wish you could see what I'm seeing. Your hot, little hole looking so stretched around my dick. It's a thing of beauty." Phil's sexy talk made Clint moan and rock back against Phil with more force. "Oh, yeah. Fuck yourself on it. Let me see it."

Phil could not believe what he was saying, but the more the words seemed to spur Clint on, the more plentiful and filthy the words kept pouring out. Clint was slamming his ass back hard on Phil's cock as Phil's hands held Clint's hips in a bruising grip. Clint was panting and moaning loudly with his efforts, head thrown back, mouth fallen open, and eyes closed in concentrated pleasure. Phil could not resist the compulsion to continue his thrusting into Clint's ass, meeting Clint's rhythm with his own breath-stealing thrusts, urging Clint to pick up the pace.

"Oh oh oh! Oh god, Phil! Fuck me harder!" Clint shouted, ever louder until Phil was setting a brutal pace, jackhammering mercilessly into Clint's ass and Clint could no longer hold himself up with his trembling arms. His upper body collapsed against the mattress, and he bit and fisted the sheets, holding on for dear life as Phil slammed into him.

They were both sweat-slick with their efforts, and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh echoed sharply off the walls. Phil listened for the changing breath and sounds that told him just what Clint liked best, what made him moan and writhe, what left him breathless and shaking. He was the most responsive lover Phil had ever taken to bed, and it made him feel like a fucking god.

"Oh, right there! Oh, god! Phil! Oh, don't stop! Don't you dare fucking stop!" Clint sobbed as Phil milked his prostate with the punishing pistoning of his hips, and Clint seemed to push beyond into another plane of existence, as his speech was transformed into a continuous litany of mindless, curse-filled prayers.

"Ahhhhfffuuuuuck! Oh...oh...OHHohhohh...myGOD! Ohhh, sweet mother of mercy! OH, heavenly jesUS! Oh shhiiit! Ahhhhhhh...!" Clint was blasphemous, shameless. And so goddamn sexy, Phil could not help but practically shout out as he fucked the blond harder, grunting with his efforts.

Every muscle in Clint's body looked taut and braced against Phil's pounding, and his mantra dissolved into one long, keening scream as his cock started pulsing hard against his abs, cum spurting onto the sheets beneath him with the barest touch of a hand to himself. As Clint's ass spasmed around Phil's cock, Phil groaned loudly, sounding mortally wounded. He gathered the younger man closer to him and leaned over Clint’s sweaty back, biting down on the back of the blond’s golden shoulder, and thrust several more times before slamming in deep and emptying himself into the condom.

Clint collapsed face-down onto the bed as Phil pulled out of him and fell onto his back next to him. They were both soaked and gasping for breath. Phil disposed of the condom in the wastebasket next to the bed.

That was...god, Clint did not know what that was, but it had been amazing! He could not remember the last time he had been fucked so well. He had barely touched himself before he came so hard he could have sworn he could almost see the face of God. It almost pissed Clint off a little. Who did this smug asshole think he was?

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil could see that Clint was quietly staring head-on at his profile now. The moment began to stretch and make him feel twitchy and uncomfortable. When he turned his face toward Clint, he caught only a glimpse of Clint’s curious, inexplicable expression before the man seemed to retreat into his own head and turn away, not wanting to be caught thinking...well, whatever it was he had been thinking.

If he had a mirror in front of his own face, Phil imagined it would show a thoroughly surprised, thoroughly fucked man staring back at him. And maybe, too, there would be an edge of burgeoning, confused panic forming at the corners of his eyes, thinning his lips. He ran his hands through his thinning hair, staring at the fine abstract shapes of the ceiling plaster, trying to pull himself back together.

"Happy birthday to me," Clint sighed, voice raw.

Phil laughed, abs twinging. "When is your birthday exactly?" he asked, gratefully taking up the meager bait.

"What time is it?"

"Um...," Phil lifted one heavy, clumsy arm to look at his watch. "It's almost two."

"Just missed it by a couple hours then."

"It was your birthday tonight?" Then he realized, "I was your birthday sex?"

Clint chuckled. "I didn't exactly plan it that way but I don't think I could have asked for better." Damn him.

Clint's confession made Phil feel fluttery inside. "I’m flattered.”

Clint laughed ruefully. "I should be thanking you. That was much better than an overpriced cocktail."

"I never did buy you that drink, did I?"

"I think you more than made up for it. I'm going to be deliciously sore and limping tomorrow."

Oh, yeah. Tomorrow. Reality. There was a time and life outside of this bed and this hotel room. Suddenly seized by an awkward silence, they lay there for a few long moments, not touching, sharing an interest in the ceiling plaster, both acutely aware of the other's presence.

"I don't really...."

"I should probably...." They started speaking at the same moment.

"Go ahead," Clint said.

"Uh...I was going to say that, uh...," Phil cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his eyes, searching for the words. "I mean, I don't usually...or rather, I haven't really ever done this before," Phil finished in a low voice.

"You've never brought a random guy back to your hotel room?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. I haven't. Ever done that."

"I see." Clint rolled off the bed and walked naked into the bathroom, returning with a damp washcloth and handing it to Phil. "This isn't exactly my area of expertise, either,” Clint lied. He was, in fact, an old pro. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all. Not that Phil had made him feel anything less than spoiled. Until now. “But I think we're okay making our own rules. I can go if you want, and you look like you need the sleep. But I'd like to use your shower first, if you don't mind."

He just wanted a little longer. Just a little bit longer. Was that so bad? Just a moment to pretend that he could ever have more than this? Ever be more than a notch on someone’s bedpost? Ever wake up in someone’s arms instead of being unceremoniously ejected after the last orgasm to make the grungy walk of shame home in rumpled clothes? Couldn’t he just pretend, just for a moment, that someone as gentle and sexy and classy as Phil could want him for keeps?

Not that Clint would ever show it. He would be damned if he ever let it be known that it got to him, that it was even possible for anyone to make Clint Barton feel inferior to anyone. Even if it was true.

"Of course. Go ahead," Phil replied. It was the least he could, after all, before kicking the man out of his bed after the best sex of his life.

Clint walked into the bathroom and stopped just inside the doorway. The wall-of-windows theme carried into the bathroom, it seemed, with a massive tub nestled underneath a view of the Miami skyline. It was big enough for two, Clint observed. Maybe.... There you go again. Wanting things you can't have. Be realistic, Barton. You don't get to have these things. They're not for people like you.

Clint bypassed the inviting tub and wrenched open the shower door.

Phil listened to the sounds of water echoing off the bathroom tile, wondering what in the hell he was supposed to do now. His mind was going in so many different directions, he felt discombobulated. He did not know what to freak out about first. That he had just slept with someone and that, for nearly the first time in almost a decade, that person was not Audrey? That that person was, in fact, a total fucking stranger? That that total fucking stranger was a man? That he had just had some of the best sex of his life with a strange man and he had enjoyed every glorious second of it?

It took only minutes for Clint to emerge from the bathroom on a cloud of steam, a fluffy, white towel around his waist.

"I used your mouthwash. I hope you don't mind." Phil shook his head.

Clint was dripping wet; his hair was sticking up all over the place. Phil decided he looked good like that, all heat-flushed and glistening from a hot shower. Phil watched Clint gather his clothes off the floor and shake them out, arranging them over the chair. Phil wanted to run his hands all over that slick skin, all those curves and shapes and carves of muscle and flesh highlighted by the play of lamplight on water. He imagined the younger man would still be warm from the shower. He wanted to know what his soap smelled like on the man’s skin. He wanted....

"You don't have to go."

Clint's mouth turned out a small smile, heart rate picking up. "Do you want me to stay?"

He had no idea how to answer that. Phil was pretty sure he was on the verge of having a complete freak out of some kind and he would rather not have a witness to his embarrassment. And a part-- a very large part--of him wanted this man out of his bed, his room, his life, and even his memory forever because he just could not deal with imagining any other possibilities right now. But the thought of Clint leaving him to lie alone in that bed, knowing he was sleeping somewhere down the hall, filled him with a sudden anguished, overwhelming sense of loneliness. Yep, he was pretty messed up right about now.

"I...yeah. Please stay."

Clint paused, considering or gauging the sincerity of the invitation for a sleepover, Phil was not sure. But it was only a moment before Clint said, "Okay." Just like that. "O-kay," like he was deciding between subs or tacos for lunch. All nonchalant. No inner personal crisis for him. Or at least, he did not show it.

"There's plenty of hot water if you want," Clint prompted.

"Okay, thanks." Phil practically ran to the bathroom to continue to mentally tie himself up in knots in private.

Phil tried to stall what he imagined would be a humiliatingly awkward tuck-in. He took his time lathering, scrubbing, and rinsing. And then did it all over again. Maybe he should have just asked Clint to leave. He brushed, flossed, and gargled. But now that he had already said Clint could stay, he could not really renege on the invitation, could he? At least, not without coming off as a total spaz. He put on underwear, deciding if he should put on pajamas but then realized that Clint would most likely just be in his underwear, and he did not want to be overdressed. Of course, maybe Clint would be more comfortable wearing pajamas but did not have the choice because he was away from his room. Maybe he should offer some of his pajamas for Clint to sleep in or.... And he was thinking way too much about this.

When Phil finally stepped out of the bathroom wearing only black boxer briefs, only fifteen minutes had passed. Clint was sitting up in the bed under the covers, watching an old movie on cable. Phil felt excruciatingly self-conscious as he closed the balcony doors and walked slowly to the other side of the bed.

"Whatcha watching?"

"His Girl Friday. It's a 1940's movie with Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell. Grant plays a newspaper editor who’s trying to use a front page story about an escaped convict to keep his reporter ex-wife, Russell, from remarrying because he's still in love with her."

"Yeah, I know it," Phil said, slipping between the covers. "It's one of my favorites.

"Mine too! I love the rapid-fire dialogue between the leads, especially that line that Hildy says, that Walter is 'wonderful in a loathsome sort of way.' I think it sums up so much about their relationship." Phil found himself smiling stupidly at the blond man. He looked like a little kid, eyes all shiny, as he talked enthusiastically about something he liked. Phil decided he wanted to keep him like that; it was distracting him from his own meltdown.

"Did you know that the leads were originally written for two men?" Phil baited.

"Really? I can't imagine the film having the same spark without Russell."

"The film was adapted from the play, Front Page . And the story goes that, after seeing the play on stage, Howard Hawkes, the film's director, brought a manuscript of the play to a dinner party he was throwing. He and one of his female guests read out a scene from the play together, and Hawkes liked the idea of the role of Hildy performed by a woman so much, that he immediately went out and secured the rights to the film and had the part rewritten."

"I like that story," Clint decided, readjusting the covers over them. "So, is this a fluke or are you a true fan of classic cinema?"

Phil repositioned his pillows behind his back, getting more comfortable. "It's all my mother's fault. When I was a kid, whenever I was sick, she'd make up a bed on the couch and we'd watch old black and white movies all day. I would eat homemade chicken soup while she ironed the laundry and recounted movie trivia. By the time I graduated high school, I'd probably seen every film Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn had ever made. Even now, when I'm feeling nostalgic for my childhood and I'm missing her, I'll put in a classic like this one and watch it until I fall asleep."

Phil had no idea why he felt the need to tell Clint that story but he could not bring himself to regret it, especially not when Clint was smiling so sweetly at him, looking completely charmed.

"I like that story even more," Clint smiled. "My mom adored Katherine Hepburn and Judy Holliday. She made me watch Adam's Rib and Born Yesterday with her at least two dozen times. She used to say women like Katherine Hepburn and Rosalind Russell helped pave the way for the women's movement because they proved that women are every bit as intelligent, ambitious, and career-oriented as men.”

She just was not strong enough or smart enough to leave, he thought uncharitably. Not before his pathetic, drunk old man had beaten everything bright and wonderful right out of her. He knew it wasn't her fault. But that old childhood anger and bitterness was hard to shake.

"Your mom sounds like quite a character."

“She was.”

Clint turned to fiddle with the off switch on the lamp so he would not have to look at the pitying look that inevitably followed the news of his dead mother. A quiet, "I'm sorry," was all Phil supplied.

"It's been a long time," Clint shrugged, resettling himself on the pillows and using the remote to adjust the volume.

He arranged and rearranged the pillows under his head, trying to get comfortable, and Phil had a sudden heart-stopping lurch when it reminded him of Audrey doing the same thing when they used to watch movies in bed. It had always driven him crazy when she flopped all over, jostling him and the entire bed, pounding loudly on the pillows. Only one thing ever seemed to settle her down....

Phil opened his right arm to Clint, who paused, looking adorably confused, then wholly surprised. Then he smiled shyly and slid over to Phil, laying his head tentatively on his shoulder.

"This okay?" Clint asked quietly. He felt stiff and uncertain against Phil's side, but Phil closed his arm around him, tugging him a bit closer to get them both comfortable, and slowly rubbed up and down Clint's bare arm. After a few minutes, Clint sighed and relaxed into the embrace.

Phil had no idea what possessed him to do such a thing. Here he was, acting out some kind of intimate domestic scene with a strange man he had picked up from a bar just a few hours ago. It all felt so surreal and yet so...natural. So comfortable. And how he could feel comfortable in the arms of a man he had just met was something he was not going to let himself ruminate over for the time being. So, with forced focus, he watched Walter and Hildy's banter-as-foreplay, feeling the other man breathe against him, listening to him laugh at his favorite parts, until his anxiety ebbed.

He did not remember when they both fell asleep before the credits rolled.