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I've Been Waiting To Smile

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The guy is strong and firm behind Clint, fingers gripping his hips almost-but-not-quite as hard as Clint likes. He won't leave bruises, but his dick is big enough to give Clint that constant, pleasant feeling of being just almost too full, and it would be something, at least...

"Fuck, yeah, fuck, you're so tight!"

...if he could just shut the fuck up for two freakin' seconds.

The talk isn't doing anything for Clint's sexual frustration at all, and he tries to block it out; grips his own dick and tries to focus on just coming already. The guy changes his angle ever so slightly, and suddenly it's really working for Clint. He can feel himself getting closer and closer, and god, he really needs to come, he's been so frustrated and it's been months--

"Yeah, take it, take that cock," the guy groans, and Clint's dick actually wilts a little in his hand.

He's debating whether to kick the guy out before he comes, or just suffer the awful porn talk for a little while longer, when there's a deep sigh behind them, and Coulson's voice breaks through the guy's grunting.

"Why, Barton?" Coulson asks, voice strained with annoyance. "Why my bed? Why not your own?"

The guy yelps and scrambles to cover up, and hell--it's as good of an opportunity as any, so Clint pushes him off the bed entirely, not caring that he takes the covers with him.

"Oh, hey Coulson," Clint says, as casually as he can manage, like it's no big deal that he's lying naked on Coulson's hotel bed with what's still mostly a full erection, and Coulson just saw him take dick like a pro.

"Uh, the fuck, man," the guy says.

Coulson, who has not averted his eyes like a normal person would, glares at the guy. "Get out."

There's no arguing with that tone, and the guy must realize, because he glances once at Clint, before nodding quickly and nervously. "Uh... yeah. Sure, no problem." He doesn't get dressed--doesn't even remove his condom. He just gathers his clothes in a hurry, covers still wrapped around him, and then shuffles towards the door. "Sorry, man, I didn't--I didn't know he had a boyfriend, he didn't," he looks at Clint, "you didn't say--"

"Get out," Coulson repeats.

"Do you want your covers, man?" the guy asks.

Coulson draws his gun. "Out."

Clint, who's kept his face carefully blank the entire time, resist the urge to give the guy a little wave as he practically sprints out the door. When it's just him and Coulson in the room, however, he flops down on his back and throws his arms out to the side.

"Thanks, Coulson," he says. "No, really, I mean that. Thanks. That guy was terrible."

"Can you thank me by not being naked?" Coulson asks, putting his gun back in his holster.

It's not that Clint's an exhibitionist or anything (though he's certainly never been ashamed of his body), but he gets the somewhat juvenile idea that he can't cover up now. Not after having acted so blatant about it from the start. At least his erection is mostly gone by now.

"Why, Agent Coulson, you don't like what you see?" he asks with exaggeration, batting his eyelashes in Coulson's direction.

"Just--at least use your own damn bed next time," Coulson says.

"Sorry," Clint says, genuinely sorry, because he hadn't really thought about it when he invited the guy in. He'd just aimed for the nearest bed, preoccupied with the idea of finally getting laid.

"I don't understand why you couldn't wait until after extraction," Coulson says, frowning as he walks to the chair in the corner and starts loosening his tie.

"Same reason you were drinking on the job," Clint points out. "It's not like we've got anything better to do until they get off their asses and decide to pick us up. And in my defense, I didn't think you'd be back so soon."

"I could tell," Coulson remarks dryly as he takes off his jacket and drapes it over the edge of the chair. "I'm taking your bed."

Clint smirks. "What makes you think I haven't fucked anyone on that bed, too?"

"Seems to me you weren't the one doing the fucking," Coulson says, which makes Clint's eyes bug out a little. Coulson must have had a few at least, otherwise Clint doubts he'd be that frank with his language.

Still, Coulson's words remind Clint that he's still terribly frustrated and didn't even get off, and he huffs out a quick breath, suddenly mildly annoyed.

"You're still naked," Coulson points out as he sits down on the bed across from Clint's and starts taking off his shoes and socks.

"You let the guy take off with the covers, deal with it," Clint says, surly. "I'm sure your eyes will recover in time for extraction."

Coulson laughs then. It's barely more than a dry chuckle, but it's there, low and kind of mean sounding. "Yeah, looking at you naked is a real hardship," he bites out, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Clint blinks. "How many did you have, sir?"

Coulson doesn't answer. "Just go to sleep, Barton." But just then, his eyes flicker over to Clint, then dip quickly down to Clint's crotch, lingering on his cock for just a moment, before Coulson looks away again. It's enough to make Clint feel like his entire body is suddenly on fire, and he couldn't stop his dick from chubbing up again even if his life depended on it.

Stretching and turning sideways to fully face Coulson, Clint pushes down what precious little shame he does possess, and smirks. "I don't think I can sleep. Too horny."

Coulson's eyes do that quick flicker thing again, but his tone is unchanged when he says, "I'm not leaving so you can jerk off, Barton. Go to the bathroom or get your own room--but you're footing the bill if you choose to go that route."

Clint tries to find a way to say, Actually I was hoping maybe you could help me out? that won't make him sound as porn-bad as the guy they just kicked out, but it's tough to come up with something suitable. In the end, he just reaches down to grab his cock, giving it a couple of lazy strokes to help it get to full hardness. It seems to work as good as anything.

Coulson's eyes follow the movement of Clint's hand, out of the corner of his eye at first, and then slowly his head turns until he's watching Clint plainly. Clint's smirk softens into a smile, because Coulson's hot and he's not kicking Clint out or freaking out, and Clint thinks about Coulson and the strength he knows is hidden underneath all those suits. It makes his dick twitch a little in his hand as his pulse starts racing.

And Coulson, because Coulson is Coulson and has known Clint for longer than most people, meets Clint's gaze and holds it steadily. As always, he's scary smart, competent and amazing, and he easily sees the invitation for exactly what it is. Coulson carefully unstraps his gun holster and places it on the nightstand between the two beds, and it's almost like a peace offering, before nodding once at Clint.

"Once this happens, there's no going back. You sure this is a door you want to unlock?" he asks. "You sure you want this?"

Clint takes all of two seconds to consider.

Between his years at the circus and his years at SHIELD, Clint's a limber guy, and he gets himself turned around, rolled over and on his hands and knees on the edge of the bed, in a single, fluid movement. His ass facing Coulson, Clint braces his shoulders against the bed and reaches behind himself, spreading his ass cheeks and dipping into his still loose hole with two fingers.

It should maybe make him feel exposed, displaying himself like this, but there's a sharp intake of breath behind him, and all Clint feels is turned on. He's sensitive still, and he can't stop a shiver from running through his body as he fingers himself, does his best to show Coulson exactly how loose and open he is. Shows him how easy it would be to just sink into Clint's body and take.

"Can't get enough, hm?" Coulson murmurs from behind Clint.

There's a part of Clint's brain that immediately goes, Another talker! in outrage, but somehow, this is Coulson, and the things he says don't sound trite or lame. They just sound hot.

"Which part turns you on more?" Coulson asks, and there's the sound of the bed shifting and clothes rustling, "The idea of me fucking you, the way I know that other guy couldn't, or the idea of taking two dicks, less than ten minutes apart?"

Clint's entire chest tightens at that, and he gasps, letting his ass go with one hand so he can reach down and grip his dick. It's harder than it has been all evening, and already drooling onto the bed, and Clint wants to come so badly he aches with it.

There's the sound of movement as Coulson pushes off his bed and bridges the small gap between them, and then Clint can feel warm hands gently stroking down his flanks and across his ass, Coulson's thumb coming dangerously close to where Clint's still got two fingers buried in himself.

"Well?" Coulson asks. "Which is it?"

Clint shifts and tries to move his body sideways to get Coulson's fingers where he needs them the most.

"Answer me," Coulson says, and it's not quite an order, but it's certainly not a request either.

"I don't know," Clint gasps. "Either. Both."

There's a puff of breath, and Coulson sounds pleased when he asks, "Lube?"

"In my bag," Clint says quickly. "There's condoms, too."

It's tempting to use his legs to keep Coulson there behind him, but thankfully Coulson is only gone for a few seconds. When Coulson returns to stand behind Clint, his fingers are slick. He slides them down Clint's asscrack and this time there's no hesitation; he just puts his thumb right at Clint's opening, nudging Clint's own fingers.

"Coulson," Clint says, breath hitching because he's so close to having a part of Coulson inside of him, and the mere thought is making his dick jump again, more precome leaking from the tip.

"What do you want from me?" Coulson asks, voice barely a murmur. "Do you want me to call you names? Do you want me to tease you? Or do you just want to be fucked?"

"I don't know, I don't know, anything, fuck, just--" Clint gasps, and then groans as Coulson's thumb presses against him and slips inside. "God, yes."

Coulson doesn't talk anymore for a while. He goes completely quiet and the only sounds in the room are Clint's harsh breathing and little gasps as Coulson continues to finger him. When Coulson replaces his thumb with his index and middle fingers, he pushes Clint's hand away at the same time, and Clint's only too happy to let Coulson take the lead. Coulson can get deeper than Clint could, and his fingers are long and firm, stroking along Clint's insides until Clint feels like his legs are jello. The ache in his balls is getting persistent, and he wants to jerk off so badly, but he's stubbornly holding out.

"You can touch yourself," Coulson says, fucking mind reader that he is. "You don't need my permission, Clint."

"Maybe I'd like it," Clint says, then twitches a little as Coulson's fingers stroke over his prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through Clint's entire body. "Maybe I want you to fuck it out of me."

There's more sounds of clothes rustling, but when Clint turns his head to look, Coulson's barely got his pants unzipped, just enough for his cock and balls to stick out of the open V of his fly. His dick is hard and heavy, not quite as long as the other guy, but a lot thicker, and Clint's mouth runs a little dry. Suddenly he's desperate to get it inside of him, in his mouth or in his ass, he doesn't care. Coulson moves closer again, and Clint's pulse skyrockets as he realizes this is apparently as undressed as Coulson's planning to get.

"Fuck," Clint breathes, and has to put his head down on the mattress again because he feels dizzy, "fuck, in your suit, Coulson? Really? That's--that's so fucking--"

"Be quiet," Coulson says firmly, but there's a warmth in his voice too, like fond amusement, because they both know getting Clint to shut up when he doesn't want to shut up, is a monumental task. His fingers, briefly stilled in Clint's ass, start moving again.

"I'm ready," Clint insists, "I'm ready, Jesus fuck, I'm so ready, Coulson, just fuck me already!"

"Oh, I know you are," Coulson says, and he still sounds amused. "I just like the way you feel. But I could probably have slid right in the moment you spread your legs for me."

"Damn right," Clint agrees, and he's actively gyrating his hips now, trying to push back to take Coulson's fingers deeper, trying to find Coulson's cock in the hope of screwing himself back on it.

Coulson's other hand lands on Clint's hip, stilling his movements, before pushing him down a little, so his ass is directly in front of Coulson's crotch. It's not an entirely comfortable position, Clint's thighs straining with the effort to remain in his half-crouch, but then Coulson pulls his fingers out of Clint's ass and reaches for the foil packet next to them on the bed. Clint promptly decides he will happily stay like this forever if he can just get Coulson's dick in him already!

He doesn't say anything, but Coulson must sense his impatience anyway, because he says, "Almost," with that pleasant warmth in his voice still.

He doesn't tease any more once he's got the condom on, which Clint is grateful for. He just puts his cock right up against Clint's asshole, pausing for just a split second--long enough for Clint to draw a breath--and then pushes inside in one long, smooth motion.

Coulson's thick, and Clint's chest feels suddenly tight, because this, this is exactly what he needed, being stretched like this and filled in all the right ways. Coulson keeps going until he's all the way inside Clint, and somehow, when he bottoms out and Clint can feel the scrape of Coulson's pants against his ass, it's the hottest thing Clint's ever experienced.

"Oh my god," Clint moans, realizing that he's rutting his ass backwards, trying to get more even though Coulson's already as deep as he's gonna get.

Coulson makes a faint noise of agreement behind Clint, and stays still for a few moments, breathing heavily as he lets Clint adjust to his girth. When Clint makes an encouraging noise, Coulson slides one hand down Clint's ass to rest his thumb against the rim of Clint's entrance, just where they're joined, and it's like sparks go off in Clint's groin.

"Oh god, fuck--come on, come on," Clint grits out, desperate and needy and really wanting to get fucked. He grips his own cock tightly, uses his thumb to spread his precome over the head, and presses back against Coulson again. "Come on!"

Coulson's smiling, Clint can tell from his voice, when he says, a little strained, "I got you, Clint."

Coulson moves his thumb so he can hold onto Clint's hips with both hands, and then he starts moving. Clint almost wants to sob with it, because Coulson's thrusts are languid, but firm, and his grip is strong and powerful, and it's just what Clint needed. It's perfect.

"Harder," Clint breathes, and Coulson somehow knows exactly what he means, because his next thrust actually rocks Clint forward on the mattress, at the same time as his fingers grip his skin hard enough to leave bruises. Clint squeezes his eyes shut and still sees stars, jerking himself off with rapid strokes and bracing his knees against the bed to meet each of Coulson's thrusts. Each time Coulson slams home, it forces a grunt out of Clint, but he honestly can't help it; he feels like he can't draw enough breath into his lungs, and it's heady and amazing.

"Greedy," Coulson remarks. "Wanting more, even though you're still loose from getting fucked by that guy."

"Couldn't--doesn't even compare," Clint manages, trying to open his eyes and failing. "Wasn't good. You're good. You're--you're good."

Coulson makes a sound Clint's never heard him make, a sort of half-growl, half-groan. It's sexy as hell, and Clint's balls are pulling upwards, the pressure rapidly reaching a boiling point.

"Are you close?" Coulson asks tightly. He sounds out of breath, and his fingernails are digging into Clint's skin.

Clint nods against the mattress, thighs trembling and sweat running down his forehead. "Yeah," he pants, "yeah, I've been close, I'm so close, I was waiting, I was, I wanted--"

"I remember," Coulson bites out. "You wanted me to fuck it out of you."

And Clint's normally not this verbal in bed, but this is Coulson, and Coulson's words are burning hot, and Coulson's inside of him, and Clint says, "Fuck, yeah, fuck," and then comes so hard his toes curl.

Coulson, with his unflappable determination, doesn't even slow down--he just pushes through it, fucking harshly into Clint as he shoots onto the mattress. It's not until Clint finally starts to come down from his orgasm, pleasure fading to sparks as Coulson continues to move, that Coulson bends down low, puts his chest almost completely to Clint's back, and lets his thrusts turn sloppy. "Clint," he groans, close to Clint's ear, and it sounds so unlike the Coulson Clint knows, so desperate and hoarse, like he's almost surprised at how much he's enjoying himself. Clint clenches tightly, as tight as he can for Coulson, and then smiles because he can feel it when Coulson's dick twitches and shoots.

Clint holds himself up and holds Coulson up, his limbs trembling, until Coulson seems done, and then Clint just pitches forward and doesn't even care that he's mashing himself into his own wet spot, or that Coulson's crushing him. He feels like he can finally breathe again, the relief of a satisfying orgasm so strong that laughter is bubbling up inside him.

Through everything, Coulson's been so steady, like he always is, so it's a surprise to Clint when Coulson pulls out and then just flops haphazardly onto his back next to Clint, one arm thrown across his face as they both gather their breath.

The laughter that's building does escape then, and Clint pokes a finger into Coulson's bicep. "You all right, sir?"

"Really?" Coulson moves his arm enough to aim a serious side-eye and a raised eyebrow at Clint. "You're gonna sir me in bed?" he asks, and when Clint opens his mouth, interrupts him with, "And not in a kinky way?"

Clint just pokes him in the bicep again. "As if you don't like it," he accuses, and when Coulson just covers his face again, he knows he's right.

"I trust you're able to go to sleep now, Agent?" Coulson asks, voice caught in a very interesting tone, not quite Agent-Coulson, but definitely not the sex-drenched voice he was using when he had his fingers, and then his cock, inside Clint, either. The thought stirs something inside of Clint, like if he decided that he wanted to go another round, his body would definitely try to jump onboard that, and he smirks.

"Like a baby. How about you, sir?"

Raising his head to glance at Coulson, Clint can see that Coulson's dick is slowly going flaccid, condom dangerously close to slipping off. He's getting lube all over the front of his pants, but he either doesn't notice, or doesn't care, and it's so unlike Coulson, it gives Clint pause.

"I think I can manage," Coulson says, and then finally sits up with a groan, catching the condom and carefully slipping it off just in time to avoid it spilling everywhere.

Clint rolls onto his back and watches with a vague sense of surrealism as Coulson disposes of the condom and then goes about getting ready for bed, finally taking off his pants and shirt, and ending up in his white undershirt and boxers. When he crawls under the covers of his own bed, he rolls over so his back is turned to Clint, and says, voice in full on Agent-Coulson mode again, "Extraction should be here sometime tomorrow afternoon. Try to get some sleep, Agent Barton."

Clint considers for a moment, before he leans up on his elbows and says, "So, that dude still has my covers..."

Coulson doesn't look at him, or even move, for several long moments. Clint's very close to resigning himself to sleeping straight on the mattress--and it's not that he can't, but who would willingly choose to?--when Coulson rolls over and lifts up a corner of his covers in a clear invitation.

Clint grins and quickly takes a moment to wipe off the worst of the come smeared across his groin with his discarded t-shirt from earlier, before unashamedly diving into Coulson's bed. Coulson just puts his arm around Clint and covers them both up, and something in Clint's chest expands with warmth and happiness. He spends a few seconds making himself the little spoon and enjoying the way Coulson feels against his back, before settling down and sighing happily.

"Are you getting lube on my underwear?" Coulson asks against Clint's neck, shifting his hips a little. Against his ass, Clint can feel Coulson's dick, soft now, and hidden beneath his boxers.

"You already got lube on your pants and shirt," Clint reasons. "I figured we might as well go for a full set."

Clint's entrance is still sensitive, and he wiggles a little, just enjoying the feeling, until Phil stills him with a hand on his hip.

"Stop that," Coulson says. "If you're hoping to go again, you're gonna have to wait. I'm too old for this."

Clint blinks then. "You'd be willing to go again?" The idea of more toe-curling orgasms, the idea of having Coulson inside him again, frankly makes Clint's mind short circuit a little. They haven't even kissed!

Coulson's silent for a little while, and Clint wonders if he ruined the moment or whatever, but then Coulson says, far too casually, "If you want. I mean, like we said, that door's unlocked now, so, whatever."

So, whatever.

Clint smiles and snuggles back against Coulson, pressing as close as he can manage. "Coulson, believe me when I say: I want. I really, really want."

Clint can't see Coulson's smile, but he can feel it against his neck, and he can hear it in Coulson's voice when he says, "My name is Phil. You can call me Phil."

End.