Clint follows behind Principal Coulson with the trademark swagger (Tasha refers to it as his "sassy hips," but he secretly calls his "fuck me" walk). He's on the way to Principal Coulson's office because Coulson had caught Clint blowing Bruce from the football team in the school bathroom during lunch.
"It was just some good, innocent teenage rebellion, sir!" Clint whines.
Coulson coolly sidesteps various students milling near the no doubt most efficient route from the cafeteria to his office. "Barton, this is the fifth time --"
"Sixth," Clint interrupts smoothly with a wide, proud grin.
"Sixth time I've caught you engaging in sexual conduct --" Coulson continues with barely a hint of annoyance in his tone.
"Well, if we're going to rehash the past, we might as well pay attention to the finer details, sir," Clint goads.
Principal Coulson spares him a glance as bland as his suit before pushing open the heavy wooden door to the front office.
Clint crowds against Coulson's back, keeping pace with him until Coulson comes to an abrupt halt inside the empty inner office with his name on the door. "Barton, I swear to God --"
But Clint doesn't let him finish before dropping his bag and gripping Principal Coulson's silk tie to pull him in for a wet, messy kiss that was more tongue than technique. He moans like a whore against Coulson's lips and grinds his erection against the bulge forming in the principal's slacks.
"C'mon, baby, don't you want to?" Clint says. Clint's been working on him for months, but despite all the positive reactions Coulson's given him (if you know what he means), Coulson still hasn't fucked Clint.
It feels so good to grind up against Phil, and he's still so fucking horny from blowing Bruce. Usually he could come from letting someone fuck his mouth, but Coulson's interruption left Bruce running away and Clint with a case of impending blue balls.
Coulson groans as if in pain and finally starts to kiss him back. Clint thrusts his dick against Coulson's erection and grins in triumph when he feels how hard Phil is. Clint's stomach hurts, he's so turned on. "I knew it! You wanna fuck me, don't you?" he taunts. Clint can be really pushy when he needs to be, and right now, he definitely needs to get fucked. Coulson always resists him when it comes to this, but Clint can't figure out why he's holding back. They've given each other hand jobs and Clint's blown Phil under his desk plenty of times, but Phil still hasn't given in to fucking Clint's ass and Clint wants it, oh, how he wants it.
Phil pulls away from Clint's eager mouth and pushes him back a bit. Phil retreats to the chair behind the big mahogany desk covered in paperwork, a stapler, one of those old-fashioned lamps with the green lampshade, and a stack of files held down by another stack of files. Clint follows after him, licking his lips and grinning. Phil sits down and folds his hands together. Over his folded hands, he frowns at Clint. "Barton, we've been over this…" he begins in a frustrated tone.
Clint doesn't let him retreat; rather, he climbs onto Phil's lap and straddles his thighs. Phil leans against the desk chair's high back and rests his hands on Clint's hips with an annoyed sigh. Clint nips at Phil's jaw, licking and sucking a path from just under Phil's ear until he reaches the base of of his neck. "I know you want to fuck me," Clint repeats with a pointed drag of his ass against Phil's unfortunately still-clothed crotch.
Phil grips his hips and his head drops back with a thud. "I just caught you --"
"-- sucking Bruce's cock, I know. You know I love sucking cock," Clint breathes as he keeps working his hips in tight little circles. Phil's erection is pressing against the crease between his ass cheeks. Clint needs to feel it inside him.
"It's not about that," Phil says.
"Yes it is," Clint replies. "It's about me sucking someone who isn't you, and it's about you wanting to fuck me, but being a boring, selfish dick about it because I'm 'not eighteen.'" Clint finishes with a particularly hard nip at Coulson's lip and a sharp thrust of his hips.
Coulson opens his eyes and there's an angry pinch between his eyebrows. "You're right, I'm tired of catching you letting a bunch of stupid, selfish little boys fuck you, and I'm not about to become one of them," he snaps.
Clint's heart flutters in his chest and he has to cover it up by rolling his eyes. "I'm only, like, a month away from being eighteen."
Coulson shakes his head and tries to push Clint away, but Clint's not having any of that. He uses his thigh muscles to cling to Phil's waist and has a white-knuckled grip on the armrests. Clint looks down at Coulson from beneath his eyelashes and grinds down against his dick.
Phil betrays himself with an upward flinch of hips, and Clint knows he's going to win this, because Clint always gets what he wants when it comes to sex. If a string of foster homes with angry, repressed daddies and a stint as the bitch in juvie has taught him anything, it's that he can have what he wants if he just plays his cards right.
"And that's one more month that you'll have to decide what you really want, Clint. I'm not going to do something illegal simply because you think it'd be hilarious to seduce your high school principal," Phil says, frustration and a hint of something else coloring his surprising words.
Clint pauses his rolling hips long enough to gape down at Phil. "Whatever," he says for lack of anything better.
"Seventeen is just a kid," Coulson says patiently.
"I'm not a kid," Clint shoots back.
Phil's jaw clenches. "I know."
Clint stealthily starts rolling his hips again. His erection was flagging a bit, but it's back again with a few thrusts against the friction of his jeans. He's not wearing anything underneath. "So come on," he pleads, not wiling to give up yet. "It's not like you're my first."
Phil's reaction to that makes Clint wonder why Phil even cares. Phil's fingertips dig into his hips hard enough to leave bruises and his eyes go dark and stormy. "I know," Phil says again, this time with great precision. It does nothing to hide the fact that he's pissed off, but Clint can't understand it, so he just pushes it away.
"So there's nothing holding us back, then," Clint says. He stands up to unbutton his jeans and push them down. He grabs the small tube of lube from his pocket and drops it onto the desktop. Phil watches in silence with a strange expression. Naked from the waist down, Clint reaches for Phil's fly and draws it down slowly and carefully so as not to hurt Phil's erection.
He still hasn't given in, but Clint's not worried. Principal Coulson is only a man, just like the rest of them, and he will break just like them rest of them. Clint only has to wear him down a bit more, and then the feel of his come in Clint's ass will be the victory prize.
Clint climbs back into Phil's lap and pulls Phil's cock from his pants. He gives the silky length a couple of strokes as he licks his way back into Coulson's mouth. "I have an idea," he says against Coulson's wet lips. "How about we pretend like we're in ancient Greece, and I'm your boy. Fuck me between the thighs." Clint lewdly sucks on the Phil's tongue as he waits for an answer and moans as he takes them both in hand. "You can get me all lubed up and then push in and ride my ass 'til you come all over my balls. Then you can watch it drip down the inside of my legs."
Phil moans and Clint bites and sucks at his lips until Clint feels Phil's will break little by little. He reaches behind his back and grabs the lube. Phil watches with hooded, desperate eyes as Clint squirts a generous amount of lube into his palm to coat the skin of his thighs. Phil doesn't say a word as Clint stands and turns to lean down over the desk with his legs clenched together and his ass high in the air. He can imagine how he must look right now, and he has to cover the triumphant smile behind his arm when he feels the first tentative push of Phil's dick between his legs. He keeps smiling until Phil really gets into it, and then it's all Clint can do to hang on and reach down to tug at his own stiff dick.
"Yeah, just like that," he says tightly as he jacks himself to the dizzying feeling of Phil's slacks rubbing against his ass. The slick head of Phil's cock is just behind Clint's balls and Clint's knees shake just a little with the effort of keeping his legs together tightly enough to get them off.
Phil's quiet, but Clint eggs him on, saying whatever comes to mind. He's not close to coming, but suddenly Phil's sliding his slick length between Clint's cheeks and the head of hi dick catches at the rim of Clint's hole. Clint's hips buck and a dribble of precome beads at the tip of his cock. "Oh fuck," he pants.
Coulson pulls back, and Clint takes the opportunity to stand up and spin around so he can pin Phil to the chair again. Phil goes willingly, his pupils blown wide and his tie hanging crookedly from his neck like a pinstripe-patterned noose. Clint grins and straddles his lap again, eager to push Phil even harder. "I want you inside me," he says. Phil starts to say something, but Clint licks a stripe up Coulson's chin and grips his shoulders so Clint can use the leverage to grind down until the head of Phil's cock is at his entrance. "Shhh, baby, you don't have to say anything. Just let me make it good for you, okay?" Clint says soothingly as he releases one solid shoulder to reach down and hold Phil's dick still so he can push down on it.
The tension in Phil's body snaps like a rubber band and Clint sinks down until he can feel the soft skin of Phil's balls covered in a slight peppering of pubic hair that scratches enticingly against the sensitive skin surrounding Clint's hole.
"I knew you'd be good," Clint mumbles against Phil's lips as he works his hips. "Oh, god, Phil, I just wanna ride you 'til you come in me. You wanna come in me, don't you?" Clint teases.
"Y-yes," Phil stumbles over the word, his eyes clenched tightly shut as his hands grip Clint's hips.
Phil's cock is stretching Clint's hole and pulsing hot inside him. Clint's never felt this good with anybody else, but he'd never tell Phil that.
Clint uses every trick in the book to take Phil right to the edge before backing off enough to draw it out. He rides Phil hard, working his hips and thighs until there's a damp sweat on his chest and neck. Phil looks completely lost in the sensations, and Clint thinks he's finally won when Phil chokes out, "I hope you don't regret this."
Clint smirks. "I won't, " he says as he clenches down on Phil's cock and makes him come.
Phil jerks against him, choked-off grunts ringing in Clint's ears as Phil fills him up. Clint reaches down to tug at his own dick once, twice, three times until he's getting come on Phil's undoubtedly expensive shirt. Phil curses, but doesn't push Clint away.
Once Clint's ready to stand up, he picks up his jeans and pulls them on. Phil's is a mess in Principal Coulson's office chair, sitting there with a come-stained shirt and his dick softening against his thigh.
"Well, see you next month, I guess," Clint says before he flees from the room.
It takes months for Clint to actually sleep with Phil, even though he shows up on Phil's doorstep in the middle of the night more often than any other time. He left Coulson alone until his eighteenth birthday, but even moving to Columbus with Tasha to go to school at Ohio State hasn't made him get over the man with soft blue eyes who never looked at Clint like he was a problem instead of a person.
It's nights like this one, when the voices from Clint's past start to rise up and join together, telling Clint how worthless he is, that he borrows Tasha's car and leaves her a note even though he'll be back by morning before she has to go to work, and takes off.
When he gets to Phil's house, it's almost a quarter past 2 am and all the lights are out inside. That doesn't deter Clint, who rings the doorbell and stuffs his fists inside his Buckeyes hoodie to keep them warm in the frigid December air. When Phil answers the door, he doesn't look even the slightest bit surprised to see Clint standing there looking strung out on too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
"Come in," Phil says as he steps away to give Clint enough room to pass through.
Clint leads the way to the bedroom, and Phil obligingly lets Clint take off the flannel pajama pants and the brand new Ohio State t-shirt that Clint "left" here last time he showed up looking to escape from the memories that steal his sleep and strip him of his hard-won self-confidence.
They don't talk, except when Clint goads Phil into telling him how good it feels, how much he likes it when Clint rides him until they're both coming. Clint works and sweats and comes and he uses Phil to do all these things so that he can sleep, but that's a lie. He comes here because Phil may just be a man like the rest of them, but he's the only man who's ever let Clint come to him instead of the other way around, and he's the only person to hold Clint after so that Clint can sleep.
And maybe he wouldn't have been able to sleep with anyone else, because aside from Tasha, Phil is the only person Clint can trust. So he settles in when Phil holds him close, and he needs this, needs Phil to anchor him so Clint doesn't float away like a forgotten balloon let loose by some neglectful child.
They're quiet until Clint nudges back against Phil and Phil sighs. "What is it?" Phil asks tiredly. He's halfway asleep already, and Clint should feel bad about waking him up a second time, but something's been bugging him and he's finally feeling brave enough to ask.
"What made you give in that day in your office?" Clint asks, his breath caught cautiously around the lump in his throat.
Phil doesn't even hesitate before answering, but it's obvious that this is something Phil's thought about carefully. "You did." He pauses, and Clint almost starts to make a crack about how obvious that answer is when Phil starts speaking again. "You're…difficult…to resist, but it wasn't really about that. There was a part of me that knew it wasn't about sex, and that's why I 'gave in,' as you so put it."
Clint turns to look up at Phil over his shoulder. "What do you mean, it wasn't about sex?"
Phil shrugs and wraps his arm around Clint's waist a little tighter. "It was about agency," he says very carefully. "You've had enough people tell you what to do. I wanted you to know that whatever happens, you have control over your life and your body. I know that hasn't always been the case for you," Phil pauses to visibly calm himself, "but it should have been. It should have been. So that's why."
Clint snorts, even though he's not laughing on the inside. There's an unfamiliar feeling curling in his gut, and he's not sure what to make of it. "I'm not some pity fuck," he mumbles.
Phil raises his head and uses the hand not caught beneath Clint's pillow to turn Clint's head so he can look him in the eye. "It was never about pity, and you're far too intelligent to think otherwise. I had sex with you because I wanted to, but what led to me having sex with you was because it was what you wanted. It was, and will always continue to be, your choice."
Clint isn't really sure how he feels about that, but he thinks he may understand better if he takes the time to think about it. "Cool, I guess," he replies. It's lame, but he doesn't really know what else to say.
Phil pulls him closer and Clint closes his eyes to relax into the feeling of security he finds in Phil's arms.