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Physical Therapy

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“Ugh, remind me to talk to SHIELD’s R&D department about this new armor,” you groaned, closing your eyes as you stepped into the elevator. Your expression twisted into a grimace as you tried – unsuccessfully – to stretch out the tightness in your shoulder. You’d taken a couple of bad hits and a really bad fall when your recon mission had suddenly turned violent, and you were definitely feeling it now. “The new alloy they’re working into the fibers might be good for protection when it comes to bullets or whatever, but it does nothing for maneuverability. I feel like I’ve pulled every back muscle I’ve got.”

“Will do.” Clint said with a yawn, following after you and pressing the button for the floor that housed his private quarters instead of the one that would take you to the debriefing you were expected to attend. You raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, and he shrugged. He had an ice pack pressed to the bruise blossoming on the corner of his jaw, and a few superficial cuts along his arms from being tackled through a window. “You should get looked at though, Y/N. We can make a pitstop at the med bay…”

“I’m fine.” you assured him despite the pained furrow in your brow. “You’re the one bleeding.”

“That’s what band-aids are for.”

You leaned carefully back against the elevator wall, mindful of the aching knots riddling your back. A groan slipped through your gritted teeth as you unzipped the front of your mission suit. It had apparently been working as a kind of pressure bandage, and loosening it had sent blood to each and every ache you had and made them throb painfully. Pain after a mission was nothing unusual – unfortunately – but nothing was broken, so you and Clint had definitely seen worse. “And all I need is to go back to my room and take a really long, really hot shower.”

You were only wearing a bra underneath the top of your suit, but you were too tired and too sore to care that it was now on display. Still, you noticed Clint’s gaze dip automatically towards your chest when you looked up at him again. You rolled your eyes at him with a smile, and he averted his gaze, a small smirk on his lips.

“You can use mine,” he offered, eyes directed pointedly to the numbers flashing above the door. “Guest housing might be nice, but Stark really went all out on the Avengers’ rooms.”

“So generous of you, Hawkeye.”

“I’m nothin’ if not a gentleman.” he replied jokingly as the doors dinged open again. He waved you through them gallantly, and you shook your head at him as you passed. He broke into a grin that warmed his eyes and eased the exhaustion from his face. It sent a warmth through your chest that made it possible to ignore the pain for a few seconds at least. “Besides, I believe we have a date.”

“Ah, yes,” you said sagely. “I’m supposed to be kicking your ass at Mario Kart today.”

Clint scoffed childishly but otherwise ignored your claim. “You know, you could always talk to Tony about your mission gear. SHIELD’s guys are good, but the shit he’s designed for me and Tasha is next level.”

“I’m not exactly inner circle here, Barton.” you pointed out. Now that the Avengers Initiative was in play, Agent Romanoff was working with Captain America, and you’d been bumped up out of the ranks of SHIELD to work alongside Clint in a new STRIKE team. “I’ve only met the guy twice. And the only reason he’s letting me stay here three weeks out of the month is it means you don’t have to split your time between here and D.C.”

You heard his door lock click as JARVIS unlocked it for you, and you followed Clint inside, blinking as he hit the lights. They dimmed automatically to a gentler warmth as the A.I. noticed your discomfort, and you relaxed into the familiar atmosphere of his room. Sure, you had your own quarters here at the tower a few floors down, but you still spent a lot of your downtime in his.

You smiled at the small collection of novelty mugs on the shelves above his dresser – souvenirs of missions you’d had without him. Each one was emblazoned with a logo or a pun based on the city’s name, and he always lit up when you presented him with a new one.

“And as much as I love doing the super-spy thing with you,” he said, sitting on the end of the bed and tugging off his boots. “It’d be so much more fun if you’d just step up to the big leagues and joined the team here.”

“I don’t think that’s up to us,” you pointed out as you sat beside him, groaning as you tugged the sleeve of your mission suit down your arm. You squeezed your eyes closed against the pain. “Ow.”

“Jesus, you really took a beating, didn’t you?” Clint said softly, touching his hand to your shoulder carefully. You couldn’t help the soft whine that escaped your lips as he smoothed his hand over the bare skin. The gentle touch and warmth of his hand was like a balm for your aching muscles, and you leaned back into it.

You shook your head, a crease between your brows as his hand glided under your suit to your other shoulder, teeth touching your bottom lip. His fingertips caught briefly on the strap of your bra before sliding under it and lingering over a tense knot under your skin. “No, it’s not that… it’s like every muscle in my body is jammed up. I’m all tight and… god, how are your hands so warm?”

He hummed a chuckle, his shoulder bumping against yours. “You need to get looked at,” he told you quietly, withdrawing his hand. “I can put a call in with Suzie; she might be able to fit you in.”

“Please don’t stop,” you said softly, your lips barely parting, and your eyes still squeezed closed. You didn’t even really realize that you’d spoken right away. “It… it feels nice…”

Clint paused for a moment, and you opened your eyes as you felt him stand up. He moved to the top of the bed, pulling back the blankets. “Lie down.”

You blinked, caught off-guard. Still, you couldn’t help the small smirk that curved your lips after a moment. “Okay, I know it’s been a while, Barton, but that’s not really how you go about getting laid. Romance a girl a little first, damn.”

He sighed loudly, and you grinned as his eyes rolled to the ceiling. “You want me to fix your back or not, smartass?”

“How are you gonna do that, Hunger Games?”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Your response was automatic; six months working by his side and you didn’t need to give it a thought. “Always.”

“Then get your ass on the bed.”

He turned his back as you stood, and you stripped down to your underwear with some difficulty. You hesitated for a moment, feeling exposed, your hands dithering for a second as if to move to cover yourself. You stepped past him to climb into his bed, laying face down on his mattress. You pulled the sheet up over yourself and tucked your hands between your cheek and the pillow, turning your head to the side. You watched him, the slight tension in his back, the vein that travelled up the back of his arm, the broad line of his shoulders and the way his hand tightened slightly into a fist for just a moment against his thigh.

You could smell his cologne against the soft cotton of his bedding – cedar and citrus – mixed with the fresh scent of laundry detergent and a hint of what you could only guess was… him, and your eyes fluttered closed briefly as you inhaled.

“Okay,” you said quietly, finding your voice. “I’m… uh, decent.”

The archer turned to face you, and you watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He bent to open the drawer of his bedside table, pulling out a small bottle.

“What’s that?”

“Oil.” Clint held up the bottle almost sheepishly. “It’s sandalwood.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips quirking in a small smirk. “There’s a semi-naked woman on the label.”

“And now there’s one in my bed.” he shot back. “Do you really want to deconstruct this situation?”

You snickered, pressing your face into the pillow. Clint broke into a smile of his own. “Alright, alright. Lay those healing hands on me, Agent Barton.”

“God, you’re such a dork,” he said with a shake of his head as he moved to kneel beside the bed. His hand smoothed over the small of your back and you tensed instinctively. His voice lowered, almost intimate in the low light. “Hey, hey… relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You shivered; the dusky light, the warmth of his hand through the thin material of the sheet, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing… everything seemed much more significant. You took a breath, exhaling slowly. “I know.”

His fingers came up to touch the clasp of your bra, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “You mind if I—? Just, with the oil…”

You nodded after a moment, holding your breath as you felt him undo the catch. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows long enough to take it off and toss it aside quickly, your cheeks warm. You were suddenly very aware of your nudity, and you closed your eyes as you felt the sheet whisper against your bare skin as Clint pulled it down to pool around your hips. Cool liquid met your heated skin, and you sighed as you felt Clint’s hands against your back.

You practically melted into the sheets as he began sliding his hands over your skin, pausing to knead away each knot he found. The scent of sandalwood blended with the remains of his cologne wonderfully, a heady combination that washed away the tension in your body. You couldn’t help the small, drawn-out groan that fell from your lips as he found a particular ache in the middle of your back. Clint hummed lightly in response, his hands gliding up to your shoulders.

His touch was almost hypnotizing, working away the soreness in your body and leaving behind an addictive warmth that seemed to pool in your belly. You pressed your thighs together, surprised by your reaction.

“So, uh… who’s Suzie?” you asked quietly, hoping to distract yourself from the tingling sensation that travelled through you and lingered at the apex of your thighs. You opened your eyes to look up at Clint; his own were focused on the bare plane of your back, his expression soft.


“Suzie,” you repeated, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Who is she?”

“Massage therapist, here at the tower.” He told you, hand tracing along your ribs and down to your waist. You bit your lip as your mind flickered to the idea of Clint taking a more possessive hold of you, and you whimpered despite yourself. His hand moved back up, the side his palm whispering past the side of your breast. “She could probably do this a lot better than me.”

“Is she cute?”

Clint’s eyebrow rose, the almost thoughtful expression on his face breaking into a smirk. He circled a spot near your spine, pressing into it with the heel of his hand. “Are you jealous, Agent?”

“I’m—don’t flatter yourself, Barton,” you replied, but your voice was too soft to hold any venom or edge. Besides, you realized, maybe you were. “I was just curious. Thought maybe she was the one teaching you how to do this… I mean, that would explain you having oil and everything…”

“Arms by your sides,” he said quietly, pouring more oil into his hand as you complied.


“She’s a lesbian. And married.” he said with a light chuckle, working away a particularly painful knot. His smile widened as your groaned pleasantly at the feeling. “I just pay attention. I’ve got no idea if I’m actually doing this right.”

You gasped as something popped, releasing the tightness still in your back. “Oh, my God…”

“…But that sounds like I might be.”

You smiled up at him, still studying his features. His lips were parted slightly, his gaze soft and dark in the muted light. You could see concern in his eyes, and focus. And affection. It was something you really only saw in moments when the two of you were alone, usually tired, and half-drunk. It was warm and sweet, wiping years of pain and distress from him… there was nothing better, you suddenly realized, than that soft look of affection in his eyes.

A quiet moan escaped you as he worked away the ache in the base of your neck, and you felt warmth rise in your cheeks. Clint wet his lips with his tongue, catching the bottom one between his teeth as he smiled.


He shook his head, his touch softening, a whisper against your skin that felt like fireworks.  His right hand glided down to the small of your back, his fingertips skirting the edge of the sheets and bunching it further down your back. You just barely felt his fingers touch the waistband of your underwear before he moved his hand back up your spine. “’s nothing.”

You shifted slightly so you could see him better. His hands moved to your shoulder and began a slow descent down your arm, working away at the muscle of your bicep. “No, what is it? Tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, his hands finally meeting your own. He slid his fingers between yours before he began circling his thumbs slowly into your palm. He met your eye for a moment before returning his attention to your intertwined hands.


“It’s just I, uh…” he breathed an embarrassed chuckle, shrugging.  “The noises you make are incredible.”

You felt yourself warm at the comment, caught between awkwardness and intrigue. Those sparks in your stomach still spun, and you almost admonished him for teasing you, but stopped when you saw the flush in his cheeks and the tension in his jaw. You straightened, pushing yourself up onto your free arm, heedless of your bare chest as you twisted to face him.

Clint’s eyes met yours as you squeezed his hand, his gaze flickering briefly down to your naked breasts for a moment before returning to your face. The warmth in his cheeks deepened, and the briefest of thoughts broke through the haze of your mind for a moment. You just made one of the Avengers blush.

Your hand tightened in his, and you wet your lips nervously. His eyes fell to your mouth, and you swallowed as you made a decision. You leaned up, holding his gaze for a few seconds before pressing your lips to his.

Clint kissed you back almost carefully, taking your face in his hands and holding you to him as his tongue touched your bottom lip. His kiss was gentle but still all-consuming, burning with a heat that surprised you. You melted into it; kissing Clint was like finding a missing piece and falling apart all at once. You felt like you could drown in that feeling, and you’d welcome it into your lungs.

Your hand fumbled over his chest, catching hold of the zipper of his mission vest and dragging it down. You could feel the oil on his hands in your hair and clinging to your jaw; the scent of it was intoxicating. You touched your fingers to the base of his throat before taking hold of the leather and pulling him towards you.

You rolled onto your back as you did, laying back onto the mattress. Clint moved with you, climbing onto the bed and straddling your thighs as his mouth met yours again. Your hands found his chest, and he broke away long enough to straighten and pull off his vest. You bit your lip as you took in the muscles of his torso, and he grinned cockily down at you. You rolled your eyes at him, and he laughed, bending down to kiss you again.

You arched your neck to meet his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Clint’s hand took hold of your waist possessively, his mouth leaving yours to press kisses to the side of your throat. You moaned as he did, eyes rolling back and your hands coming up to fist in his hair. He echoed you as you did, his teeth grazing lightly over your pulse point as he groaned.

You pulled at his hair again, rolling your hips up into his. He brought his lips to yours again, his hand moving from your waist to cup the side of your face. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, the weight of him on top of you exhilarating.

You released his hair to run your fingers through it, and Clint moaned against your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours. You moved your hands around to his chest and down his stomach, mapping out each muscle of his torso and every scar in his skin as if committing him to memory.

Most were light, barely discernable from the rest of him. A few more were from deeper wounds, raised against his skin and memories of much more difficult days.

Clint broke away as you did, his eyes meeting your own as you traced a larger scar near his hip with your fingertips. His eyes closed, a crease forming between his brows and his breathing labored. You touched your other hand to the side of his neck as he lowered his face towards you, pressing his forehead against yours.

You kissed him, softer than before, letting it linger until you felt him relax a little. It was no secret that he had scars – years of working as an agent of SHIELD had left its mark – but you hadn’t realized until now that maybe his joking, self-deprecating attitude towards them was a smoke show. That maybe he was embarrassed or self-conscious next to people like Rogers or Thor.

You deepened the kiss slowly, the hand on his throat gliding around to the back of his neck and holding him to you as you flattened your hand against his side. You pushed him gently to the side, moving with him to straddle his waist. The sheets tangled between the two of you, and Clint’s hand moved automatically to your hips.

You leaned down to kiss him again, pressing your lips to his softly before trailing them down over his throat to his chest. Clint exhaled, his head falling back against the pillow and his hand coming up to curl in the hair by your ear as you did. His other hand traced shapes on your back with his fingertips, lingering in lazy circles at the small of your back.

Clint’s hand faltered as your lips pressed against a scar just below his sternum, and you glanced up to see his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tight.

“Hey,” you murmured gently, running careful fingertips along the side of his face. You traced the outline of his bruise carefully, his stubble scratching lightly at your skin. “Clint.”

He opened his eyes, his breath uneven as he exhaled.

“You okay?”

He nodded slowly, his hand tightening slightly in your hair.

“It’s just skin, Clint.” you said quietly, ghost two fingers along the curve of his bottom lip. “And it’s just me. It’s you and me.”

Clint leaned up to capture your lips with his, his arms wrapping around you. It was sweeter, headier than before, reassurance and desire all pressed together into an intoxicating embrace. You could still feel the oil on your skin, on his hands… warm and slick. One of his hands trailed down your back to your underwear, slipping under the waistband to take a possessive hold of your backside. You moaned into his mouth, the sound turning to one of surprise as he turned, laying you back onto the mattress and hovering over you, his knee between your thighs.

His lips moved to your jaw, and you gasped as he slowly sucked a mark into the flesh below your ear. You arched up against him, your hand reaching for his belt. Clint caught hold of it, his fingers curling around yours as he pulled back to meet your eye.

“You sure?”

You nodded, eyes on his as you unbuckled his belt. He took hold of your waist as you tugged it free and tossed it aside, raising your hips as Clint finally untangled you from the sheets and slid your underwear down your legs. He let his hand travel slowly up your leg, circling your knee gently before continuing at a glacial pace up the inside of your thigh. You could feel goosebumps form everywhere he touched, and you parted your legs carefully, your body buzzing with anticipation. His other hand rested on your thigh and his gaze held yours as he finally slid his fingers against your sex.

Your hips rose off the mattress at the first touch to your clit, a moan drawn from your throat. You clutched at the hand he had on your thigh, your chest rising and falling in a staccato rhythm as he slowly worked you undone. He watched you with dark eyes, studying every tiny reaction you had to his touch.


You broke off in a whine as he slid two fingers inside you, pumping them slowly. His other hand left your leg to hold yours, interlacing your fingers and squeezing. His thumb circled your clit, and he smirked as you thrust up against his hand.

He brought your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of your fingers. “Slow down, Y/N. I got you.”

“Clint, please…”

“Tell me what you need, baby.” he whispered, and you moaned, too loud for the dull light as he quickened his thumb against your clit. His smile widened cockily, and he bit your fingers teasingly. “Use your words.”

“God, you’re a— fuck!” your free hand clutched at his wrist as your body tightened, holding his hand in place as you came. You pitched forward, and Clint released your hand to take hold of the back of your neck, leaning down to kiss you as you came down. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you whimpered against his lips as he slowly withdrew his hand from your sex.

“I’m a what, exactly?” he teased, lips brushing over yours. He kissed your cheek as he lay you down again, lips travelling along the line of your jaw. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“You heard me,” you said, eyes rolling back as he took your earlobe between his teeth. He chuckled, breaking off as you ran your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp with your nails. You felt him shudder, his hips pressing between your thighs, a soft gasp in your ear sending shivers down your spine. You turned your head to kiss his throat, reaching between the two of you to unzip his pants. You could feel the hard outline of his cock under your fingertips, and Clint groaned, his head falling against your shoulder. “I need you, Clint.”

His lips brushed against your collarbone, muffling his voice. “God, that might be the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.”

Clint kissed you again as he fumbled for the bedside table, pulling a condom from the drawer. He moaned against your mouth as you released him from his pants and wrapped your hand around him, squeezing slightly as you stroked him. He was thick and hard in your hand, and you felt your belly flip with excitement. Clint sat back on his haunches as he opened the little packet with his teeth, his fingers rolling almost idly over your clit as he slid the condom down to the base of his cock. You whimpered, eyes closing at the sensation.

Clint braced himself above you with one hand, the other tight around the base of his cock as he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. You wrinkled it in response, smiling as you captured his lips with your own. You wrapped your legs around him slowly, your breath catching as you felt the head of his cock slowly press inside you.

Fuck…” Clint drew out the word, teeth grazing your jaw as your head rolled back. Even just the tip of him stretched you wonderfully, and you clung to his shoulders, nails biting at his skin. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, tightening your legs around him. “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t you dare stop.”

Clint grinned, dusting kisses over your face as he thrust into you slowly. You moaned as he did, burying a hand in his hair. The both of you exhaled shakily as he buried himself to the hilt inside you, filling you completely. Your hand tightened on his hair and he moaned in your ear, and you swore that sound was damn near addictive.

Clint fucked you at an almost infuriatingly slow pace, his eyes holding yours. Clinging to his back, you pushed your hips up to meet his, each thrust sending pleasure through you and eliciting light, breathy moans from your throat.

“So pretty…” Clint whispered, angling his hips to brush against your clit with every thrust. He slid a hand up over your waist to your breast, rolling his thumb over your nipple. “You sound so goddamn pretty…”

“Clint, I’m…” you broke off, eyes closing tight as the feeling inside you built. You were so close, and he felt so good…

“No, no, no…” he touched a hand to your cheek gently. “Look at me. Please, baby.”

You opened your eyes, lips parting. Clint brushed his thumb over your bottom lip carefully, and you kissed it. He smiled, his breath warm against your skin and his eyes bright with pure, undiluted affection. The threads of desire and lust burnt beneath it, but it was the fondness in his gaze that made you arch up against him. It was almost overwhelming, but in a way that made you crave it, that made your heart pound in your chest. “Clint—”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, brushing oil-slick hair away from your forehead. “And I’m right behind you.”

Clint kissed you again as you came, your body shaking in his embrace as your orgasm rolled through you. Clint followed after you, the rhythm of his hips unsteady as he buried his face in your neck. You gripped at his hair, pulling harder than before, and Clint came with a grunt, his teeth scraping your skin.

He untangled himself from you slowly, his lips touching your collarbone with light pressure before he rolled onto his back beside you. You felt his hand fumble for yours and you took hold of it, his fingertips grazing your thigh. You heard him remove the condom and toss it in the trash, and the two of you lay in near-silence for a moment, both of you catching your breath.

“I’m pretty sure there’s a joke somewhere here about a happy ending,” you said quietly, turning your head towards him. You could feel oil and sweat on the sheets and on your skin, feel the slickness between your thighs, and the gentle circles Clint was drawing on the back of your hand with his thumb. “But I can’t quite think of it.”

He snickered. “I think you kind of just did.”

You laughed lightly, smiling as Clint squeezed your hand. He turned to face you, shoulder bumping against yours. “Did I ruin the moment?”

He shook his head, a crooked smile showing the dimple in his cheek. “Nah, you’re perfect.”

“Careful,” you teased, your cheeks warm. “It’ll go to my head if you keep talking like that.”

Clint chuckled, arching his neck to kiss you. It lingered, sweet and affectionate and maybe even romantic. “I’ll take my chances.”