It was the last day of school, at last, and after a good three weeks of having to deal with an entire building full of antsy teenagers and the teachers who'd had enough of them, Principal Clint Barton was ready to close up and go home. The building was nearly empty and graduation was tomorrow, but he had one lingering loose end to clean up—a loose end that was knocking on his open office door.
Phil Coulson slouched into the room, swinging the door shut behind him and slumping down in the chair opposite Clint. He was dressed in his usual: a black leather jacket, white t-shirt, jeans and black boots, like someone in a bad 50s rebellious youth movie. Phil wasn't a bad kid really; he just liked to pretend he didn't care. Clint knew the type.
"So, Phil, it seems we've come to the end of our time together."
"Pretty much, Clinton," he said, grinning, because he was the kind of obnoxious kid who amused himself by calling his principal by his first name. "Graduating and everything, or so they told me. No five-year plan for me. Too bad; we coulda had fun." He winked.
Clint raised an eyebrow, but continued, opening the file on his desk. "Our meetings must have worked, because your final grades are quite good."
"Carrot and stick, isn't that what you said?"
"So you did listen."
"Sometimes." He sat up then, leaning over the desk. "I've come to collect my carrot," he said with a smirk.
Clint scowled. "Your carrot is the college education you're about to embark upon, along with the skills you've learned here that will enable you to take full advantage of the opportunity."
"I was thinking about something a little more immediate," he said, and—was that a leer? Did he just look Clint up and down?
"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean," Clint replied, trying to sound as uninterested as possible, even as he could feel the blood rushing to his skin.
"You don't think I realized how unusual it was to be meeting one-on-one with you instead of my guidance counselor?"
"I take a personal interest in every student at this school," Clint replied.
"You don't think I've noticed how you look at me?"
"You're the one who was always winking."
"But as soon as I went past I could feel your eyes on me, watching me walk away. You don't think I went home and jacked off over that? Bet you did, too."
Clint couldn't answer that—not truthfully, anyway.
"You think I really try to pick up girls outside your office? Those cheesy lines were for you, Clinton." Phil sat back slightly. "I see something I want right now."
He swallowed before asking, "And what is that?"
"You," he said. "I want to sit in your lap and kiss you."
"Mr. Coulson, you've gone far enough," Clint said, sitting up, his fists clenched in his lap. "This entire conversation is inappropriate and—"
"What?" he asked. "I'm six months past my eighteenth birthday. And I don't know if you were paying attention, but you stopped being my teacher about twenty minutes ago. Graduation's just a formality; you know that."
"I don't think—"
"Come on," Phil said softly, standing up, and Clint could not keep his eyes off him. "I've been good, haven't I?" He backed up to the door and locked it. "I did everything you asked me to." He slipped his jacket off, setting it across the chair, and his white t-shirt stretched across his chest. "Got my grades up, my applications in on time." He moved forward, walking around the desk, and Clint found himself pushing his chair back and turning to face him. "Don't you think I deserve a reward, Clinton?"
"Clint," he gasped. "My friends call me Clint."
Phil grinned. "Hello, Clint," he said.
And then he was sitting down in Clint's lap, and Clint couldn't, wouldn't stop him, even if he should. Phil's body was compact and solid, like Clint's; a man's body, all lean muscle under a layer of cool cotton. Clint thought of those strong thighs wrapped around his waist and shuddered. Phil reached for Clint's tie, loosening it slightly, staring into Clint's eyes all the while. Then he put his two hands on Clint's cheeks and pulled him forward into a rough kiss.
Phil tried to pull back quickly but Clint wouldn't let him; the dam was breaking under the strain and it was all rushing out now, all the lust he hadn't been allowing himself to feel over the past months. He grabbed hold of Phil's ass, steadying him, pulling him further on to Clint's lap, and deepened the kiss. Phil might have started it, but Clint was going to finish it.
"What kind of a reward did you have in mind?" he asked, gratified to see that Phil was a bit out of breath.
"Whatever you wanted to give me," he said.
Clint was rubbing his hands along Phil's denim-covered thighs and when his thumb brushed against Phil's erection the other man flinched. "But what do you really want, Phil?" he asked, then kissed along his neck.
"Oh god," he said, "I want you to fuck me. Please."
"Do you have—"
"In my jacket pocket."
"Well go get it," he said.
Phil got up reluctantly, and went to his jacket.
Clint stood up as well. "Take all of that off, and bend over the desk," he said, pulling off his tie and rolling it neatly.
"You aren't going to give me the stick, are you?" Phil asked, but he did as he was told, handing the small tube to Clint and then pulling off his shirt.
"Not this time," he replied. Clint tried not to stare at the dark thatch of chest hair revealed; he had his own disrobing to attend to and was carefully folding each item of clothing.
"Wow, Clint, you've been hiding all that under those suits?"
Clint looked down at himself; it had been a while since he thought of his body as something someone else was looking at. "I work out," he said.
"Apparently." Phil took off his jeans and paused, looking self-conscious.
Clint nodded. "All of it," he said.
Off came Phil's boxer briefs, revealing his hard cock and that perfect, taut ass that Clint had spent much of the year trying desperately not to stare at. Then Phil assumed the position, laying across the desk.
Clint was still in his own briefs, trying to maintain some semblance of authority, though he wondered if he'd ever really had it with Phil in the first place. He squirted a bit of lube on his fingertips and slipped one carefully into Phil's arse. "Damn, Phil," he said. "So tight. Done this before?"
"Yeah," Phil said, grunting slightly. "Friends, you know. See what it's like."
Two fingers, scissoring, stretching, because Clint wasn't sure if he believed Phil or not. "And?"
"Kept thinking about you," he said, his body relaxing into the burn of it.
"Good," Clint said. "You should." He took his time, watching Phil's body react, his breathing quicken. Phil was struggling to be quiet but the tiniest of whimpers would escape his throat and the sound made Clint harder still. He rested his hand lightly between Phil's shoulder blades to calm him.
When he was satisfied that Phil was ready (and, to be honest, when he couldn't wait a moment longer) he wiped his hand on one of the paper towels in his desk drawer. "All right, back in the chair. That way you can take it as slow as you like."
"What if I don't want it slow?" Phil asked, standing up.
"Then I'll slow you down," Clint said, kissing him. He slipped off his briefs and sat down.
Phil had the condom in one hand and was just about to roll it on when he stopped and licked a slow stripe up the underside of Clint's cock. Clint gasped.
Phil looked up at him with a shy little smile, miles away from his usual smirk. "Just wanted to taste you," he said, rolling on the condom.
Clint adjusted the chair down a bit, so Phil could rest his feet on the floor, then pulled him close. "All right," he said. "I've got you."
Phil straddled Clint's lap once more, reaching back to align Clint's cock with his hole, then bent his knees. Clint's hands were firm on his hips, holding him steady, keeping him from moving too much all at once. They weren't talking now, just staring into each other's eyes as Phil took Clint into him, whimpering with it, and Clint was moaning at the tight, perfect fit.
Finally their hips touched. "You like that?" Clint asked.
Phil's hands were on Clint's shoulders now, and he nodded, his forehead touching Clint's own. "So full," Phil said, panting. "So full of you."
"Relax, baby. Makes it easier."
Clint could feel him trying, wriggling around on Clint's dick to get the feel of it just right. Then he lifted himself up, just a little at first and then more and more, Clint helping by thrusting up into him and holding him steady on Clint's lap. Phil's head had slipped down to Clint's shoulder, and he was making that lovely little whimpering noise right in Clint's ear. Between that and the slick tightness all around his dick Clint wasn't going to last long. He was trying to work out which way this should go when Phil made that decision for him, twisting and clenching around him. Clint held Phil steady and pushed up into him, shouting his name, and then they collapsed back onto the chair.
"Fuck," Clint said, panting.
Phil's head was laying on his shoulder, his body remarkably relaxed for a teenager who hadn't come yet. "That was ..."
"Pretty good for a first time?" Clint asked, wrapping an arm around Phil's waist.
Phil fidgeted in Clint's lap. "Yeah?" he admitted. "I didn't want to say. Didn't want to give you another reason not to."
"You were great," Clint said, kissing his hair. "And it's not over."
"Oh, you don't have to—"
"Of course I do," Clint said, wrapping his free hand around Phil's cock. "Think I'm an asshole?"
"Not all the time," Phil said, smiling, and they kissed soft and lazy while Clint jacked him off, which predictably didn't take long at all.
"Good?" Clint asked.
"Yeah," Phil said, sighing.
Clint laughed a little. "Told you we could still play the principal and the delinquent. We just had to change it up. Next time can we do it in your office at the high school?"
"C'mon, how many times have we had sex in your office?"
"I don't meet with children in my office so it doesn't matter if I get a flashback to fucking you on the desk."
"Mmm, that desk has been good to us," Clint said. "But the home office is better for costumes."
"I like the suit, by the way."
"Thanks. I'd say we have to find opportunities for you to wear that leather jacket but then more people would know how fuckable you are, and that isn't in my self-interest."
"Don't worry, Principal Barton," Phil said, cuddling in a little closer. "That can be our secret."