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A warm hand slid down his back. A mouth pressed kisses to the back of his neck. Phil hummed softly as the gentle touches pulled him to consciousness. Mm. Audrey. It had been a long time since he had had a wake-up call like this. He felt boneless and languid in a way that only happened when he slept hard and deep. He rolled over onto his back with a groan. God, he hoped it was not yet time to get up. He could lie like this for hours more.
Audrey moved into the curve of his side, kissing his neck and down his chest, sucking a nipple into her mouth. He hissed as her teeth tugged gently at the sensitive bit of flesh, sending a zing of pleasure straight to his cock. She usually did not play with his nipples, but Phil decided he was going to start requesting that more. A hand skimmed down over his belly and slipped beneath his boxers, lightly stroking him to full hardness.
"Feels good," Phil breathed, pressing his nose into her hair while she nuzzled against him. What’s that smell, lemongrass mint? Must be a new shampoo. He liked it. He tangled his fingers into her hair, encouraging the sucking, wet kisses she pressed against his throat. So soft. When did she get a haircut? Why was she always changing her hair? He felt something scratching lightly at the tender skin of his neck and against his collar bone. Someone needs a shave.
Wait....
Phil struggled to open his eyes. He squinted, waiting for his sleepy eyes to adjust to the harsh morning light. Soft lips moved down his chest. That's right. He had been at a club last night. A gay club. A hot tongue trailed over his abs. Drop dead gorgeous smile. Arms that made his knees weak. Drunk woman in an elevator. And then…. Oh, god.
"Clint."
Clint hummed in reply to the deep, sleep-roughened sound of his name on Phil’s lips.
Sneaky, searching fingers slid underneath the waistband of Phil’s boxers and yanked them down to his thighs. A clever tongue licked a long stripe up the length of him, ending with a single, delicious suck to his cock. Phil almost whimpered when the mouth pulled away, but then Clint was straddling his legs. The delightfully nude blond undulated his serpentine hips, sliding his satin-skinned cock across Phil’s own hardness. Phil groaned and bucked against him.
Clint looked different in the morning light. More real and in focus as if someone had stripped the room and everything in it of its cinematic veil, refocusing everything into near-unpleasant sharpness. It was absolutely astounding what a little natural light and sobriety could do.
Last night, Phil had not noticed the discrete, little hearing aid tucked into Clint’s ear or the numerous, unusual marks littering his torso, including a few long, silvery scars ribboned across his ribs. What the hell else had he missed last night?
Or perhaps, Phil had noticed them, but they had slithered by the periphery of his consciousness while his dick screamed for attention and his brain was numbed with alcohol just enough to give Phil the excuse to capitulate to his baser urges.
Clint wrapped both of their cocks in a firm grip and began stroking them together.
Phil gasped. "Oh, fuck yeah, Clint," he hissed, digging his fingers into Clint’s upper thighs.
Phil slid his hand up and down the soft skin, fingertips grazing a cluster of little fingerprint-sized scars. Cigarette burns? What the hell? His thumb grazed another larger, circular scar across Clint’s hip. He closed his eyes and pushed away the flood of thoughts, the stomach-sinking implications of these latest revelations about his bedmate.
Clint pressed his palm to Phil’s chest as he began to jerk them off together, grinding his hips down into Phil’s. The unusual calluses on Clint’s fingers catching on Phil’s cock were now much more relevant to Sober Phil. Phil did not like Sober Phil. He was paranoid and nosy and he thought too much. Luckily, that was about as much as Phil could process before his other brain took over and cleared his mind of all but one goal. Sober Phil may have had questions, but Little Phil was still DTF, apparently.
"Yeah yeah yeah," Phil encouraged in a whispered chant, rolling his hips in rhythm to Clint’s own thrusts. All too soon, Phil’s abs flexed tight, balls drawing up as he edged on the verge of orgasm. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna come," he groaned.
"Yes, Phil, come for me," Clint breathed, the movement of his hips growing erratic.
Phil closed his eyes, jaw tense as his orgasm slammed into him. He groaned fiercely through clenched teeth, feeling light-headed as his muscles locked up. He heard Clint moan loudly a few moments later, felt the legs squeezing his hips trembling violently, followed by a splash of warm cum hitting his stomach.
Phil opened his eyes to see Clint arching his back, eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting down hard into his bottom lip as the hand against Phil’s chest grasped convulsively as he became lost in his own pleasure. So this was what Clint’s face looked like in the throws of pleasure, Phil thought. Drunk Phil and Sober Phil had one thing in common, at least. They both found this gorgeous, enigmatic man to be utterly enrapturing.
Phil watched with wide eyes as cum shot in long arcs out of Clint’s cock and splattered all over Phil’s chest and stomach. Jesus , he thought, as some of Clint’s cum landed on his cheek and near the corner of his mouth. That was a first. ( He seemed to be having a disconcerting amount of firsts for a forty year old man, in his opinion.) He had never had someone come all over him like that before. He was not sure what he thought of the cum shower, but watching Clint come undone with that blissed out expression spread warmth through his belly and made his spent cock twitch helplessly.
Then Clint seemed to come back to himself. He opened his eyes and looked down at Phil with a quiet laugh— face flushed, eyes bright and almost gold in the morning light. He seemed slightly embarrassed. Phil had thought he had imagined it last night, but Clint seemed almost shy right after he came, almost as if he could not believe what he had just done. It was such a shocking contradiction to the brazenly lewd-mouthed, uninhibitedly libidinous man from moments before. Well, aren't you a mystery , Phil thought. Well, of course he is. You hardly know him aside from how to make him come, you idiot.
"Good morning," Clint said with a lazy, pleased smile before leaning down to grant Phil a soft, sweet kiss. As he pulled away, he flicked his tongue against the corner of Phil's mouth, catching the little splash of come that had landed there.
God, what a sexy man. A sexy, secretive man. Christ, Phil, could you be any gayer?
Phil did not exactly shout his sexuality from the rooftops. He was a private man. He was not the kind of man to place picture frames on his desk or share smiley, coupley vacation photos around the office but on the rare occasion when he felt the need to consider his sexual orientation, he never considered himself...not straight. Not exactly. He had made his choices a long time ago, after all.
Okay, now was not the time to completely reevaluate his sexual identity. He had not even had his first cup of coffee. And frankly, some things he was just too damn old and tired for.
"Um, morning." Okay, Phil really needed to utilize more of his vocabulary, like right fucking now.
"I wasn't sure if I should wake you, you were sleeping so well," Clint said as he dismounted and hopped off the bed. "I called my room to check on Nat," he talked over his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom. The rush of water sounded from the tap. "She was pretty pissed about me waking her up," Clint said with a chuckle. “Which means she’ll be down for the count at least until lunch.” He emerged from the bathroom with a wet cloth and remounted Phil, wiping away their cum from his chest and stomach.
The man was so thoughtful. How many things is that now? Gorgeous, great in bed, thoughtful. And mostly likely dangerous. Don’t forget that. He hadn’t likely given himself those knife wounds and bullet holes. So four things. No, five. His name is Clint. Maybe. Okay, back down to four. That’s not a bad start.
And why was he making a getting-to-know-you checklist of this man who would most likely not be in his bed much longer, anyway?
"Wow. We made quite a mess. Again. I guess it has been a while for both of us." Clint dropped the washcloth on the floor and leaned over Phil, pressing their damp, naked bodies together. "I didn't know what you were doing today. I'm meeting Nat and another friend later but I thought maybe we could have breakfast or something if you don’t have plans."
Clint had no idea what he was doing. He was afraid he was being too pushy, too needy. He was usually too afraid to ask for more, for what he really wanted. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this, since he had let himself feel the depth of his want.
Maybe his desperation had grown so much as to finally outweigh a lifetime of disappointment. But he wanted to eke out every possible second with this man. He could not explain why, but every kiss, every touch only amplified his need all the more rather than slake it. There was something so inexplicably yet tangibly safe about the older man that made Clint want to spend many more nights in his arms. He could not remember when he had been able to sleep in bed with another person other than Natasha. It seemed like nothing short of a miracle.
"What time is it?" Phil practically threw Clint off of him as he sat up, reaching for the alarm clock on the nightstand. Phil cursed when he saw the flashing red 12:00. There must have been a shortage or power surge during the night. He knew he should have set the alarm on his phone! Fuck fuck fuck. "Have you seen my watch?" Phil leapt out of the bed and began rummaging through their discarded clothes, forcing himself to move at a less than frantic pace.
"Um, I think I saw one next to the sink in the bathroom," Clint said, walking into the bathroom. "Here it is," he called through the open door.
Phil cursed under his breath when Clint read him the time. He should have been up an hour ago. He raced to answer the hotel phone when it began to ring. "Maria,” he answered curtly, listening to the woman for a moment, hand perched on his naked hip. “You did? I see. Yeah, sorry, my alarm didn't go off,” lied Phil, very pointedly keeping his eyes diverted toward anything except Clint, but he could feel Clint watching him as he leaned against the bathroom door frame, absently fondling Phil’s watch.
"No, I must have forgotten to put my phone on the charger,” Phil visibly cringed.
Clint swallowed his disappointment even as he let his eyes wander hungrily over the older, undressed man, trying to satisfy his lingering hunger in case this was the last Clint ever saw of him.
“No, I don't think I'm going to make breakfast and I have my first seminar in less than an hour, so.... Yeah. Sounds good. I'll see you then. Bye." Phil replaced the phone on the hook and turned to the other man.
"So I guess breakfast is off the table," Clint said with a rueful little smirk, twirling the watchband around his index finger.
"I'm sorry. Look, Clint...," he began, hands back on his hips. Then he realized his underwear was still pulled down to the tops of his thighs. That must have looked pretty ridiculous.
"You don't have to explain," Clint interrupted, smiling at Phil as he struggled to pull up his twisted underwear. "We didn't make any promises last night." Promises were just lies waiting to happen, after all.
"I'm really sorry about breakfast," Phil said, walking to the closet to pick out a suit for the day. He did not know if he was actually sorry about breakfast; it just seemed like the polite thing to say. He could only imagine sitting down to have a meal with a stranger he had slept with a couple of times would be awkward as hell. "I hope you don't think I'm the kind of guy to just sleep with someone and throw them out with the garbage the next morning...." Except that's exactly what you're doing, asshole. "But I have a meeting I have to get to and I barely have time for a shower and shave as it is...."
"It's fine," Clint said. "I know this isn't a vacation for you. You told me last night." Oh, that's right. Phil had. "Make the most of it. Love, A." Phil whipped around as Clint read the inscription off the back of his watch. "This is a nice watch. What's that mean, 'Make the most of it?,'" Clint asked as he rubbed a contemplative thumb over the inscription.
"Um, it's just something my dad used to say about making the most of the time you're given. He would always say that when he thought I was being petty or holding on to anger. Used to drive me bonkers as a kid. I never really appreciated what he was trying to teach me until our time ran out and he was gone." And what was it about the younger man that had him spilling his guts left and right?
"He was a wise man, your dad. So what does A stand for? Adam? Alan? Ambrose?"
Phil lifted an eloquent brow. “No.” Well, fuck me. What was he supposed to tell him? The truth? A is for Audrey, my ex? You were my rebound after breaking up with my girlfriend of several years? "My ex," he admitted.
There, that was not a lie. Clint did not need to know the rest. Although why the truth mattered at this point, Phil did not know. He had nothing to be ashamed of. He could totally be straight if he wanted to! Er, despite evidence to the contrary.
"Oh. Must have been pretty special for you to still be wearing his watch," Clint said, handing it over.
"We were together a long time. We're still friends." Or at least he hoped they could be. They had been once. Phil, we talked about this. I thought you weren't going to explain anything.
Clint nodded. "I never understood how people can be an integral part of a person's life for years and then just disappear, never to be seen again."
It was just something Clint had come to not only accept but expect. So much about his life was transient. Except perhaps for Natasha.
"My friends think I'm only trying to hold onto the past instead of moving on," Phil confessed. Christ, what was this man? His therapist? Actually, this man probably now knew as much about Phil’s love life as his actual therapist. He almost laughed to himself. Well, his therapist often bemoaned that he needed to talk to someone. Why that someone had to be a naked man he had just come all over, he had no idea.
"Someone told me once that people come into our lives for a reason." Clint stepped right up into Phil’s personal space. "Sometimes those people are meant to be around only briefly. Maybe there's a lesson we need to learn from them and then move on. Sometimes we outgrow people." Clint traced featherlight fingertips up Phil’s arm and across his collar bone, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps on Phil’s skin. "Then there are those who are meant to be a permanent part of our lives. But we're human beings and we're always evolving. It makes sense that our relationships with people have to evolve as well or we risk being left behind."
That was just some bullhockey someone told him once to make him feel better about the ephemeral nature of his life. In Clint’s experience, everything was woefully temporary. Maybe forever was meant for other people. Normal people. Better people than him, that was for sure. And though Clint could hardly have known it, he just knew that Phil was one of those better people.
Phil realized they were now standing there naked, staring at each other. He was close enough to feel Clint’s breath on his face. Then Clint stepped away and broke the spell.
"I'll just get dressed and get out of your hair. I know that you're here on business and all, but if you have some free time later...." Clint pulled up his jeans and picked up his shirt. "Maybe you'd like to get together one last time." He pulled his shirt on and sauntered back over to Phil, a flirty smile playing over his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. He slipped a hand over the back of Phil’s neck and pulled him into a hard kiss. "No pressure or anything," Clint spoke against his lips, breaking away all too soon.
Phil’s lips had a will of their own, and Phil had to step forward to keep from falling when his mouth tried to chase after the kiss.
"I hate to make promises I can’t keep. My schedule is pretty tight all day." Just let him go, Phil. He’s not meant for you.
While Phil turned away to button his fresh dress shirt, Clint pulled a tie off the small rack hanging from inside the closet door-- dark blue with subtle purple chevrons-- and replaced it for the silvery polkadot one Phil had thrown across the end of the bed.
"Like I said." Clint fastened his wrinkled jeans. "No pressure." He picked up his shoes, and slipped barefoot out the door, leaving a befuddled looking Phil staring after him.
It was only after the golden blond had left that Phil realized that Clint had left his underwear behind. And that he had put on his shirt before shaving. As he sighed and reached for his buttons to undo them, he absently looked down at the watch the younger man had slipped into his hand, then cursed when he noticed the time once again.
It was going to be a long day.