Clint has made an art out of driving his colleagues to the breaking point. Given how often it had gotten him shot in his mercenary days it was probably more than a little self-destructive as hobbies went, but fuck, nothing had ever given him as much of a kick as finding that weak point and hammering it until some over-controlled ass just went to pieces. The tighter their control, the better it was watching them lose it.
Which makes Phil Coulson, Senior Field Agent in Charge, the ultimate brass ring.
Clint has never in his life met anyone as tightly wrapped as Coulson. They've run half a dozen ops together, now, and while every other agent has taken a potshot--verbal or otherwise--at Clint, Coulson is as cool as a cucumber even when threatening disciplinary action. Clint is getting obsessed. His comm chatter has reached whole new levels of snark. He's picked fights with other agents. He's argued with field logistics. He's tossed every kind of insult he can think of. He's even taken a swing at the guy, but nothing, not even a flinch. Clint hasn't disobeyed orders--he doesn't actually want to get canned from SHIELD--but he's starting to think about it, just to see what that ridiculous calm is covering.
The breakthrough, when it comes, is completely accidental and shows Clint that he's been using entirely the wrong strategy. For once, he's not thinking about Coulson. They've just finished a two man op in Texas and it's probably a thousand degrees outside. Clint is tired ad sweaty and all he wants when they get back to their tiny hotel room is a cool shower and about ten hours of sleep. He starts stripping the second he's inside the room and he's naked by the time he gets to the bathroom door. When he opens it, the angle is just right to show him Coulson in the bathroom mirror. And the direction of Coulson's gaze makes it pretty damn clear that he's looking at Clint's ass.
Clint closes the door and takes his shower, but his mind is racing now. Usually when someone he works with wants him, it just makes them angrier at him. But Clint has already tried sexually charged insults, and they didn't work any better than the rest. On the other hand, if he can't get Mr. Professional to take a swing at him, maybe he can get him to make a pass, instead.
Clint's never fucked a guy before, much less tried to seduce one, but he knows Coulson finds him attractive, so he figures he'll pay attention and improvise as he goes. Showing off his ass at every opportunity is step one, and yeah, now that he knows what to look for Clint definitely catches Coulson checking him out. Step two is scaling down his misbehavior in the field; he doesn't want irritation to overwhelm attraction, but he keeps it up enough to hold Coulson's attention. Step three comes when Coulson makes what could almost be a throwaway comment about the archery improving Clint's upper body strength; sleeveless shirts become his new best friend.
He stalls there for a bit, but a visit to a gay bar to trade raunchy anecdotes (all invented on his part) yields some new tactics. He doesn't want to keep anything in his mouth in the field, so sucking on shit isn't an option, but chewing his own lips until they're red and swollen gets Coulson staring at his mouth just as much.
A couple of weeks of that makes it pretty clear that Coulson is very good at "Look, but don't touch," so Clint takes care of that hurdle himself. It's startlingly easy to find excuses to put his hands on Coulson, to rub up against him, and the more he does it, the more Coulson's ingrained restraint breaks down, at least when it comes to Clint. It makes him a little giddy, the way he can make buttoned down Agent Coulson lean into lingering touches, even reach out first, sometimes.
Clint's getting close, he knows he is. He just needs one more good, hard push to send Coulson over the edge. He almost laughs in glee when a mission goes off the rails and forces the two of them to dive into a tiny closet together. They're pressed together from knee to shoulder in the dark, silent except for the rush of their breath as they listen to their pursuit thunder by outside the door. They start out face to face, but when it's been quiet for a while Coulson says, "Get us out of here, Agent," and Clint has an excuse to turn around and tuck his ass into the curve of Coulson's hips. He has to be able to get at the door, right? The door, which is locked. Clint leans his head against it and laughs out loud.
Coulson sighs. "Let me guess," he says. "We're locked in."
"Yes, sir," Clint says, grinning.
"I know you're capable of picking that lock."
"Yes, sir." He's damn sure going to take his time, though. And there will be a lot of bending over and shifting position.
Coulson may be Mr. Professional, but he's still human. By the time Clint pops the door open, he's been grinding his ass into the man's dick for a good twenty minutes and Coulson isn't just hard, he straining at his pants and his breathing is far too even to not be consciously regulated. They stumble into the empty hall and Clint turns and rakes his eyes over Coulson, lingering on the bulge at his groin. He meets Coulson's heated gaze and waits for Coulson to say something. Maybe he'll start with "When this is over..." or, even better, "If we weren't in the middle of an op..." Clint's heart is pounding.
Coulson adjusts his suit and takes a breath. "We need to refresh your training if you can't pick a lock faster than that, Barton." Then he turns and walks away.
Clint swallows a groan. How is this man real?
They finish the op, of course, and Coulson gets the wrap up started while Clint goes back to their hotel room. There are a dozen agents on this op, and everyone is sharing with someone. No one else will share with Clint--he made sure of that--so he's with Coulson. He's made good use of it over the past week, walking around in his underwear and leaving the bathroom door open when he showers, but he's not actually thinking about his master plan when he gets out of the shower this time. It's just that hotel towels are tiny, and he's gotten out of the habit of bringing clothes into the bathroom with him. So he's practically naked when he walks into the main room to find that Coulson is back. He's taken off his jacket, shoes, and tie, and he looks Clint up and down openly. Clint pauses on his way to his suitcase, but Coulson doesn't speak. Stubborn bastard. Clint continues on his way and bends over the suitcase, laid out next to the bed. The towel rides up a bit and he's probably flashing Coulson some ass, but it's not like--
Hands seize his hips and jerk him backwards. "Woah!" Clint's ass collides with Coulson's cock and oh yeah, he's hard. Come on, say it, Clint thinks. It doesn't count if he doesn't say it.
"You," Coulson says, "are a god damned tease."
Not enough, not enough. "Something you want, Coulson?" Clint goads him.
"You know exactly what I want." Coulson shoves him and Clint goes sprawling face down onto the bed. The towel comes loose and he's naked now and shit, this is a little more intense than he ever planned to get, but Coulson still hasn't said it.
Clint doesn't want to roll over and show off his cock, so he looks over his shoulder. His mouth goes dry. Coulson has already shed his shirt. While Clint watches, he takes something out of his pants pocket and palms it while he opens his fly. Clint looks away quickly. "Come on, Coulson," he says desperately. "Say it. Tell me what you want."
The bed shifts under him and Coulson's hands are on his hips again, pulling him up onto his knees. Fuck, fuck, fuck, running out of time. Coulson pushes one of his thighs between Clint's, nudges them farther apart. "I'm going to do a lot better than tell you," he breathes, and that's all the warning Clint gets before a slick finger pushes into him, right up to the knuckle in one stroke.
Clint cries out, startled. Jesus, that must have been lube that Coulson palmed. It doesn't hurt, not at all, but it's weird, feeling Coulson's finger sliding in and out of him as he works Clint open and fuck, Clint has gotten in over his head. He never intended to actually sleep with Coulson, that was never part of the plan, but he's definitely going to get fucked if he doesn't say something right now. "Coulson--" he starts, but his words choke off when Coulson pushes a second finger into his hole. It burns a little, and Clint feels dizzy. He struggles for breath when Coulson sinks his fingers in deep, twists his hand and crooks his fingers and Clint shouts when a shock of pleasure goes through him. His cock throbs and that's when Clint realizes that he's hard, completely hard and already growing wet with pre-come. Why is he hard?
"First try," Coulson says, sounding smug. Clint wants to ask what the fuck that was, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a helpless groan. Coulson's fingers are stealing his words, pumping in and out of his ass, driving Clint's breath out of him and whiting out his brain with the occasional crook and flare of ecstasy. The burn of being stretched feels like it's seeping through his body, heating his skin and pooling in his dick. He's so fucking hard it aches, he hasn't been this hard in years, maybe ever, and Clint never meant to go this far, but it feels so fucking good.
He feels the nudge of a third finger just in time to gasp out a single word. The word that comes out is, "Slow."
I could have said stop, Clint thinks faintly as Coulson forces his hole to stretch wider. Why didn't I say stop?
"Jesus, you're tight," Coulson says. His voice is rough, but his fingers are as careful as they are insistent. He works them into Clint, coaxes him into loosening, relaxing, and then he starts thrusting in deeper, rougher. Clint can't help the high, tight gasps that escape him every time Coulson pushes in, can't help the way his hips hitch up to meet his fingers instead of shying away. "Fuck." Coulson's voice is ragged. "Please say you're ready. I don't want to hurt you, but God, I need to have you."
I need to have you. It sounds even better than Clint imagined. He didn't imagine the ragged sound of Coulson's voice, or the ache of his own cock. I need to have you. Pleasure washes through his whole body. He wants more. "Yeah," Clint gasps. "I'm good."
Some small part of Clint's brain is screaming What are you doing?!?, but it's drowned out by Clint's pounding heart and Coulson's eager moan. Coulson's fingers slide out of him and Clint waits for a moment, trembling all over, and then there's a wet, blunt touch against his hole. For a moment that's it and then Coulson pushes and Clint groans as Coulson's cock sinks into him in one long, steady thrust. It's longer and thicker than his fingers and Clint pants through the feeling of being so full. Coulson pauses once he's balls deep, gives Clint a chance to adjust to the aching stretch of his hole. Coulson's hand rubs Clint's hip soothingly. "Okay?"
"Yeah," Clint manages. "I'm-- You feel good." He does, he really does, so impossibly good. "More, Coulson."
Coulson laughs. "I think you can call me Phil," he says.
"Phil." It comes out as a moan, because Phil is pulling back and its like having his dick stroked from the inside, it feels that good. Phil pauses just before he slips free and Clint's body is humming with anticipation and then Phil is thrusting back into him and, "Yes, fuck yes," Clint babbles. "More, fuck Phil, gimme more."
"Yes," Phil answers him and there it is again, the delicious slide out, the incredible push back in.
Clint lets go, loses himself in the pleasure lighting up his body and rocks back into Phil's next thrust, pants and gasps and takes it when Phil picks up the pace and starts really fucking him, his hands tightening on Clint's hips as he pounds his cock into Clint's ass. "Yes," Clint gasps over and over again. "Yes, yes, God, Phil, so good, fuck, so good."
"Say it," Phil says. "I want to hear you say it, Clint."
Phil's cock drives into him and Clint sobs and the words tear free. "Fuck me, Phil." It feels like something breaks open inside him, and he can't stop talking now. "I want it. I want you to fuck me, please. I want it, I love it, your cock pumping into me, fucking me so good, stretching me open and filling me up, fuck, fuck, don't stop--"
"I'm not gonna stop," Phil grates out. He's moving fast and hard, thrusting deep, and he has to force the words out past the effort. "You're mine now, Clint, you and your gorgeous ass and your tight little hole. I'm going to fuck you and come inside you and fill you up with it, make you wet inside so you know who you belong to." Clint shudders and keens, his body winding tight. Phil's cock is thick and hot inside him, reaming him with every stroke, and Clint fists his hands in the sheets and pushes into it eagerly, moaning desperately. "And when I'm done," Phil goes on, "when I'm done fucking you, when this op is finished wrapping up and everybody goes home, you're going to come home with me, and you're going to strip down and crawl into my bed and spread your legs for me and I'm going to take you there, where I've spent too god damned many nights jerking off thinking about you."
"Oh God," Clint gasps. "You want me in your bed tonight?"
"I want you in my bed every night," Phil growls, slamming in hard, and Clint moans helplessly and comes. His ass clamps down on Phil's cock and Phil grunts through a couple more ragged thrusts before he's coming too, spilling wetly into Clint's hole. Over and over again it pulses into him. A shiver goes through Clint every time and he realizes with distant shock that he loves it, the slick heat of Phil finishing inside him.
Phil slowly pulls out and both of them groan and collapse onto the sweat and come streaked bedspread. Clint's lying face down and his ass aches and he realizes he hasn't looked at Phil since Phil opened his pants. He starts shivering, but there's sweat cooling on his body, that's all.
"Clint." Phil nudges him onto his side and Clint makes himself look at him. Phil is smiling the smile of the thoroughly satiated. He tugs and Clint scoots into his arms. Phil's skin is warm and he's leaning in and they're kissing. Clint sighs and kisses back, open mouthed and a little lazy. Phil pulls away after a minute. "Get some rest," he says, and pats Clint's ass. "You're going to need it."
Clint chuckles and tucks himself in close against Phil. Eventually, he's going to have to come clean about his plan and how it got away from him. But not yet. Once they've gone a few more rounds and Clint has shown Phil just how thoroughly he approves of how things worked out, then he can confess. In the meantime, Clint squirms a little, just enough to feel the wet, fucked out twinge in his ass, and thinks about the night to come.