End of the Day // Clint/Coulson // NC-17
May. 14th, 2012 01:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
agent_coulsonJust a little fluff drabble that somehow turned into smut. Enjoy~
Phil walked into his apartment and went straight into the bedroom. The suit jacket came off first, then his tie, both hung carefully on the wooden valet. His dress shirt was less crisp than it had been that morning, and that went into the hamper to be dry-cleaned. His belt was next, put into a wardrobe drawer, followed by trousers. When he was in nothing but boxers, he headed to the bathroom--showered, masturbated, let the hot water loosen his muscles until the tension drained away. Then he dressed in loose, black jersey slacks, a Culver U Athletics t-shirt, and walked back out to the living room. The couch was comfortable, too comfortable, and he was dozing less than ten minutes into the nightly news.
He woke to arms snaking around him. The news was over, The Biggest Loser on now.
"Long day?" The warm voice in his ear was softly amused.
"You should know." Phil stretched out, against the strong, compact body wrapped around his own. Together they moved until they took up the entire couch, legs tangled together, Phil's head resting against a welcoming chest.
"Did you eat? There's takeout in the fridge."
"I'm fine."
"You had Nutter Butters in your perch, didn't you?"
"Agent Coulson, you are a terrible snoop."
Phil chuckled. He turned in the arms that held him and looked up at his companion's face. Clint gazed back down at him with an expression of mock-offense.
"Bed, then," he offered.
Clint raised an eyebrow. "You're going to fall asleep on me."
"So keep me awake."
"Feisty tonight, aren't you?"
"Only in the loosest possible sense of that word. And you're the one that broke into my apartment." Phil leaned up to kiss him, the press of their lips languorous, easy.
When they disengaged, Clint huffed softly at him. "I didn't break in. You showed me where the key was."
"You and I both know you've never once used that key." Phil smiled, though. He didn't mind, not really. He didn't really expect any place outside of SHIELD headquarters to be totally secure, and certainly not for someone like Clint Barton.
"That's a dirty lie. Although objectively, you know... your place would be really easy to break into. And seeing you all passed out on the couch would be too tempting not to just sneak up on. If I was the type to do that sort of thing."
"Mmhm." Phil pushed himself up slowly, taking Clint's hand as he stood. "Come on, neighborhood menace. You've got about fifteen minutes before I lose coherency, and then I'm just going to be lying there."
Clint hopped up and put his arms around Phil's waist, kissing his neck as they walked awkwardly back down the hall. "That might be hot. You just letting me do whatever I want."
"How do I not already do that?" They reached the bedroom and Phil stopped, leaning his head back on Clint's shoulder, his eyes closing as Clint's hands started working their way up his chest, under the t-shirt. Fingers stroked up his stomach, his ribs, thumbing briefly at his nipples, all while Clint continued the attention to his neck. Phil shivered, hard already in his boxers, and rubbed back against Clint.
"Bed, Phil. Two more feet." Clint whispered hotly in his ear. "Unless you want to fuck against the wall. Actually... that's not a bad idea."
Phil tried to laugh, but the idea was too hot, and he was too desperately turned on, just from feeling Clint's hands on him. "I might... not be able to stay on my feet." He turned and fell back against the bed, bringing Clint with him. The weight on top of his body was solid and reassuring. "Fuck me here. Like this."
Clint drew in a surprised little breath. "You really want to take me?"
Phil nodded, looking up at him with eyes that were nearly half-lidded with drowsiness. "Do you want to?"
"Fuck yes." Clint was moving off of him, getting a condom and bottle of lube, before he had even finished replying.
Phil closed his eyes, smiling and making appreciative noises so Clint would know he hadn't passed out while the other man stripped his clothes off, then nudged his legs apart to get him ready. The feel of a slick finger made his eyes snap open, his head arching back as he gasped. He hadn't felt that in a while, and it was shocking, but the sensation electrified every part of his body. He made a noise that would have been embarrassingly needy in any other situation, and pressed down. Clint's ragged, determined breathing let him know that his reactions were being received well.
After just a few minutes, he was there. His body was as relaxed as it had been all day, and he was so hard it was nearly painful, despite getting off earlier in the shower. He grabbed for Clint, pulling him closer, and murmured, "Now. I'm ready."
"You sure? You're still kind of tight..."
Phil nodded. "It's fine. Go ahead. If you keep doing that, you're going to make me come before we even start."
Clint chuckled and slipped his finger gently out, wiping it on a Kleenex from the box beside the bed, and plucked the condom from where it sat on the blanket. He rolled it on and pulled Phil's legs up, ankles to shoulders, then took a deep breath to steady himself. When he began to enter Phil, it was such a slow burn that at first Phil didn't even register the discomfort, but even when he had, the feeling of Clint moving into him bit by bit was too good to mind. They lay together for a minute when Clint was fully inside, breathing roughly against his chest, Phil's legs pushed up in a way that would probably have him slightly stiff tomorrow. He couldn't find it in himself to care, though.
When they started moving, it was different from the rhythm they'd developed over time, when he took Clint. He tended toward firm, deep strokes, but Clint was filled with more nervous energy, keeping his thrusts shallow and quick, then occasionally pushing all the way inside in a way that took Phil's breath away.
"Fuck, you feel good," Clint hissed at him, and Phil could only moan in response. When Clint's hand wrapped around his cock, trying and failing to match his staccato pace, he grabbed for the other man, needing some kind of anchor. One of Clint's hands found his, their fingers intertwining against the blanket as the room filled with the sounds of their pants and rough, muttered encouragements.
It didn't take them long. Clint got there first, with a sharp cry that travelled straight through Phil, lighting up the few pleasure centers left that hadn't already been called into action. He kept moving, though, rolling his hips and pushing himself into Phil as his hand moved rapidly, until Phil arched and came all over his stomach, Clint's name mixing in his mouth with a groan of pleasure.
He faded for a minute, floating in a haze of post-orgasm bliss, only aware on the most basic level of Clint cleaning them both up with a few tissues, then pulling the blanket back so they could slip under it. He rallied enough to scoot up and spread himself against Clint, making a small sigh of contentment when Clint tucked the blanket around them.
"Guess I kept you awake, huh?"
"Just long enough..." he mumbled, pressing his lips against the skin in front of them for a kiss, not terribly concerned about where exactly that was. It felt like somewhere on Clint's chest. "Are you staying?"
"What do you think, I just broke in for a booty call?"
"So you did break in..." He smiled, slipping slowly into the place where even talking to Clint felt like a dream he was having.
Clint laughed. "Sure. You're not going to remember this conversation anyway." He smoothed Phil's hair. "And by the way, since that's the case... you look amazing when you're getting fucked. I want to do that more often."
Phil shivered, Clint's words drawing out the last bit of lingering arousal in him. "Mm. We'll see." He moved closer, drawing a deep sigh. "Radio silence now, Agent Barton..."
"Anything for you, sir." It was the last thing Phil was consciously aware of, that murmured promise, and he held it in his mind like a talisman as he fell asleep, like the words themselves could ward off anything that might threaten his dreams.
Phil walked into his apartment and went straight into the bedroom. The suit jacket came off first, then his tie, both hung carefully on the wooden valet. His dress shirt was less crisp than it had been that morning, and that went into the hamper to be dry-cleaned. His belt was next, put into a wardrobe drawer, followed by trousers. When he was in nothing but boxers, he headed to the bathroom--showered, masturbated, let the hot water loosen his muscles until the tension drained away. Then he dressed in loose, black jersey slacks, a Culver U Athletics t-shirt, and walked back out to the living room. The couch was comfortable, too comfortable, and he was dozing less than ten minutes into the nightly news.
He woke to arms snaking around him. The news was over, The Biggest Loser on now.
"Long day?" The warm voice in his ear was softly amused.
"You should know." Phil stretched out, against the strong, compact body wrapped around his own. Together they moved until they took up the entire couch, legs tangled together, Phil's head resting against a welcoming chest.
"Did you eat? There's takeout in the fridge."
"I'm fine."
"You had Nutter Butters in your perch, didn't you?"
"Agent Coulson, you are a terrible snoop."
Phil chuckled. He turned in the arms that held him and looked up at his companion's face. Clint gazed back down at him with an expression of mock-offense.
"Bed, then," he offered.
Clint raised an eyebrow. "You're going to fall asleep on me."
"So keep me awake."
"Feisty tonight, aren't you?"
"Only in the loosest possible sense of that word. And you're the one that broke into my apartment." Phil leaned up to kiss him, the press of their lips languorous, easy.
When they disengaged, Clint huffed softly at him. "I didn't break in. You showed me where the key was."
"You and I both know you've never once used that key." Phil smiled, though. He didn't mind, not really. He didn't really expect any place outside of SHIELD headquarters to be totally secure, and certainly not for someone like Clint Barton.
"That's a dirty lie. Although objectively, you know... your place would be really easy to break into. And seeing you all passed out on the couch would be too tempting not to just sneak up on. If I was the type to do that sort of thing."
"Mmhm." Phil pushed himself up slowly, taking Clint's hand as he stood. "Come on, neighborhood menace. You've got about fifteen minutes before I lose coherency, and then I'm just going to be lying there."
Clint hopped up and put his arms around Phil's waist, kissing his neck as they walked awkwardly back down the hall. "That might be hot. You just letting me do whatever I want."
"How do I not already do that?" They reached the bedroom and Phil stopped, leaning his head back on Clint's shoulder, his eyes closing as Clint's hands started working their way up his chest, under the t-shirt. Fingers stroked up his stomach, his ribs, thumbing briefly at his nipples, all while Clint continued the attention to his neck. Phil shivered, hard already in his boxers, and rubbed back against Clint.
"Bed, Phil. Two more feet." Clint whispered hotly in his ear. "Unless you want to fuck against the wall. Actually... that's not a bad idea."
Phil tried to laugh, but the idea was too hot, and he was too desperately turned on, just from feeling Clint's hands on him. "I might... not be able to stay on my feet." He turned and fell back against the bed, bringing Clint with him. The weight on top of his body was solid and reassuring. "Fuck me here. Like this."
Clint drew in a surprised little breath. "You really want to take me?"
Phil nodded, looking up at him with eyes that were nearly half-lidded with drowsiness. "Do you want to?"
"Fuck yes." Clint was moving off of him, getting a condom and bottle of lube, before he had even finished replying.
Phil closed his eyes, smiling and making appreciative noises so Clint would know he hadn't passed out while the other man stripped his clothes off, then nudged his legs apart to get him ready. The feel of a slick finger made his eyes snap open, his head arching back as he gasped. He hadn't felt that in a while, and it was shocking, but the sensation electrified every part of his body. He made a noise that would have been embarrassingly needy in any other situation, and pressed down. Clint's ragged, determined breathing let him know that his reactions were being received well.
After just a few minutes, he was there. His body was as relaxed as it had been all day, and he was so hard it was nearly painful, despite getting off earlier in the shower. He grabbed for Clint, pulling him closer, and murmured, "Now. I'm ready."
"You sure? You're still kind of tight..."
Phil nodded. "It's fine. Go ahead. If you keep doing that, you're going to make me come before we even start."
Clint chuckled and slipped his finger gently out, wiping it on a Kleenex from the box beside the bed, and plucked the condom from where it sat on the blanket. He rolled it on and pulled Phil's legs up, ankles to shoulders, then took a deep breath to steady himself. When he began to enter Phil, it was such a slow burn that at first Phil didn't even register the discomfort, but even when he had, the feeling of Clint moving into him bit by bit was too good to mind. They lay together for a minute when Clint was fully inside, breathing roughly against his chest, Phil's legs pushed up in a way that would probably have him slightly stiff tomorrow. He couldn't find it in himself to care, though.
When they started moving, it was different from the rhythm they'd developed over time, when he took Clint. He tended toward firm, deep strokes, but Clint was filled with more nervous energy, keeping his thrusts shallow and quick, then occasionally pushing all the way inside in a way that took Phil's breath away.
"Fuck, you feel good," Clint hissed at him, and Phil could only moan in response. When Clint's hand wrapped around his cock, trying and failing to match his staccato pace, he grabbed for the other man, needing some kind of anchor. One of Clint's hands found his, their fingers intertwining against the blanket as the room filled with the sounds of their pants and rough, muttered encouragements.
It didn't take them long. Clint got there first, with a sharp cry that travelled straight through Phil, lighting up the few pleasure centers left that hadn't already been called into action. He kept moving, though, rolling his hips and pushing himself into Phil as his hand moved rapidly, until Phil arched and came all over his stomach, Clint's name mixing in his mouth with a groan of pleasure.
He faded for a minute, floating in a haze of post-orgasm bliss, only aware on the most basic level of Clint cleaning them both up with a few tissues, then pulling the blanket back so they could slip under it. He rallied enough to scoot up and spread himself against Clint, making a small sigh of contentment when Clint tucked the blanket around them.
"Guess I kept you awake, huh?"
"Just long enough..." he mumbled, pressing his lips against the skin in front of them for a kiss, not terribly concerned about where exactly that was. It felt like somewhere on Clint's chest. "Are you staying?"
"What do you think, I just broke in for a booty call?"
"So you did break in..." He smiled, slipping slowly into the place where even talking to Clint felt like a dream he was having.
Clint laughed. "Sure. You're not going to remember this conversation anyway." He smoothed Phil's hair. "And by the way, since that's the case... you look amazing when you're getting fucked. I want to do that more often."
Phil shivered, Clint's words drawing out the last bit of lingering arousal in him. "Mm. We'll see." He moved closer, drawing a deep sigh. "Radio silence now, Agent Barton..."
"Anything for you, sir." It was the last thing Phil was consciously aware of, that murmured promise, and he held it in his mind like a talisman as he fell asleep, like the words themselves could ward off anything that might threaten his dreams.
