"Turn around. Legs apart. And keep quiet.”
"Fuck, Bruce." Clint replied hoarsely, doing as he was told. His hands were braced on a railing before him. He was in the middle of exercising. The gym was empty for once, and he had time to spent just one honing his hand-to-hand skills. His hands gripped the metal rail tightly as he tried to remain calm. But the solid hot line of his erection pressing against his track pants was suddenly driving him mad. And the fact that Bruce was being forceful? God Bruce wasn't like this. Sweet Bruce who stayed in his lab too long, or forgot to eat, or felt awkward around the whole gang.
"If you talk, I'll stop." his voice was right next to Clint's ear, causing the archer to bite back a moan. "This is my body, and I'm going to do what I want with it. Understand?" Bruce finally pressed his body against Clint's. And that's when the moan came out. Bruce stepped back and roughly grabbed the pretty blond locks of Clint's hair and pulled it back, "I want an answer Barton, not a moan." he growled loudly.
Clint wanted desperately to misbehave, just to see how far Bruce would go. The pull on his hair was just on the edge of being too much, but it felt too good for him to voice any complaint. His breaths were already coming out in pants, and his hands kept rhythmically flexing around the bar. "I-I understand." he whispered harshly. Fuck he'd do anything to get Bruce like this again.
Bruce released Clint's hair and stroked a soft, soothing hand Clint's back, (consider ‘stopping when the hand reached the waistband of his sweats. Clint chewed on his lower lip, forcing himself to not whimper, moan, or beg his lover into speeding the fuck up. He was aching for Bruce already and Bruce hadn't done a goddamn thing. "Bru-"
A sudden brush of air met his backside, seconds before the sharp pain against his now exposed ass. Did Bruce just.. Clint gazed over his shoulder and once again Bruce brought his hand down and slapped Clint squarely on his cheek. "Did I say you can turn around Barton?" Bruce spoke angrily.
"Fuck! You didn't say I couldn't!" he groaned loudly at yet another smack. Fuck being good. If being bad meant this side of Bruce, God he'd break all the damn rules.
"I said keep quiet!" Bruce snapped. Once again a hand wound it's way into Clint's hair and tugged the blond strands back. Clint's head went back against Bruce's shoulder, most of his body bending back at the action.
"Maybe you want to be punished. Is that is Barton?" Bruce snuck his hand around the front of Clint and began to stroke his quickly rising manhood. Clint gasped loudly and shamelessly bucked against the hand against his cock. "Look at you. Just a horny slut." Bruce spat into Clint's ear, causing him to cry out. The hand in his hair tightened further, the pain bleed into pleasure and caused Clint to rub against Bruce's trapped erection.
"God, just fu-" Clint's words died as Bruce wrapped tightened his hand around Clint's member and began jerking him roughly. Clint squirmed, and cried against Bruce, not even trying to be quiet. He was too far gone now.
Bruce watched hungrily as Clint bucked in his arms. He kept bucking forward into Bruce's hand and back against Bruce's pelvis. He was close, he was clearly fighting back his orgasm, wanting to delay out the inevitable.
Reluctantly Bruce moved away from the heat that was Clint's warm body. The archer didn't have time to react, his knees gave out and he crumped to the ground. The only sound in the room was their harsh panting. "Stand up." Bruce commanded. Slowly, and with shaky legs, Clint stood, but relied heavily on the bar. "You've been bad Barton. I think your punishment should start now." he spoke gravely.
Clint swallowed the lump in his throat, and stood silently. Clint's pants were around his ankles, his shirt was plastered to his skin. His face was flushed down to his neck, and his eyes weren't focused. He had to blink a few times to even see his hands before him.
Bruce stepped behind him, and without preamble, dropped down to his knees. He heard Clint curse above him and he brought his hand down against his cheek again. "This is my body, and I'll do what I want to it." he growled.
Clint's fingers flexed once again as he felt his cheeks being spread apart. His panting grew heavier as he felt the unmistakable texture of Bruce's tongue against him. Clint gasped and cried out at the touch, causing another slap against his ass. "No. You don't get to make a sound. If you do, you'll have to deal with this-" Bruce reached around and tugged on Clint's heavy cock, "-Alone."
That was the last thing Clint wanted, so he bent further down, bit down on his arm, and spread his legs further. "Such a slut." Bruce spoke before delving into the archers ass. Clint bit down hard against his arm, willing with all his might to not cry out at that tongue probing his insides. Bruce's tongue laved around in circles and twists, and it wasn't long because Clint could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. Bruce trailed up and down his crack, to his perineum and balls, and then back to his clenching entrance. It was all Clint could do to not come for days
Bruce pulled back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "You were good, Clint." he smiled. "You deserve this. Turn around" he commanded. Clint heard the words; the command. Knew he should be doing something but his brain was stuck in foggy-lust land. Bruce knew this though. Bruce plastered his own body against Clint's and brushed his lips against the shell of his ear. "C'mon, be good for me." Bruce's words were soft and encouraging, but his next action was anything but.
Bruce raised his hand, and once again, snatched up Clint's short hair. He yanked his lover back away from the railing. A gasp was torn from Clint's throat as he felt the stab of pain against his head and in his hands. That bar was his lifeline man!
Bruce suddenly turned the archer around and swallowed his erection as far as it could go. That was all it took for Clint, there was no way he would be able to stop himself now. He bucked up twice into Bruce's mouth and released a pathetic high whine as he emptied himself down Bruce's throat.
Stepping back, Bruce admired his handiwork. He had made the worlds best marksman a jittery, dazed, dirty mess. Clint's hair was plastered to his head, his eyes were glazed and far off, his skin was still flushed, his pants were around his ankles, and he couldn't tell which was way up. "I'll let you recover." Bruce pressed a kiss to Clint's cheek before leaving the archer alone.