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A Perfect Breath

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Clint moans into Phil's shoulder, hands clutching desperately at any and all skin he can reach. Phil's recovery has necessitated taking things slow, but now. Now he is better, and it is like before, and Clint never realised how much he'd been missing Phil's strength when they fuck. Getting enough is a foreign concept. There is simply no such thing as enough. Phil rolls his hips, a long slow motion that means he gives Clint every inch of his dick and Clint all but twitches like a landed fish at the feel of it splitting him open.

"Harder," he begs. "Pleasepleaseplease."

Phil hushes him, but Clint arches and pleads and feels like he's going to shake apart if Phil doesn't just – if he won't just take Clint to pieces. Phil gives in, fucks him hard and fast, twists so viciously at his nipple that Clint's body wars to get away and get closer all at once. All he can say is yes, yes to the bruising grip, yes to the hard, merciless fucking, yes to the sweat stinging his eyes and the way Phil stares at him.

"I need – uh! – more. Phil, Phil, please, I can't – "

He grabs Phil's hand and pulls it to his neck.

"Please – "

Phil's eyes are almost all pupil as he fits his palm around Clint's throat, not squeezing but holding him in place. Clint's gasping anyway, just at the feel of it. Phil slows his thrusts and Clint whimpers until Phil leans down and kisses him, deep and searching. His fingers flex against Clint's throat and it's like Clint's whole body seizes, more at the thought than the pressure. Phil's dick feels huge inside him as Clint digs his nails into his palms in a bid to stop himself from coming.

"You – feel so good," Phil tells him between kisses, his mouth moving against Clint's. "Fit me so well, Clint, so perfect for me."

"Phil – god. Please, I need it, I – "

"I know," Phil promises. "I've got you, it's okay. Shh, good boy."

Clint's body spasms all over again at that and this time Phil bites the angle of his jaw instead of kissing him.

"Come on come on come on," Clint chants because he's been wanting this, wanting Phil greedy and quick to make demands of Clint's body.

Talking of demands, Phil looks at Clint's hands and jerks his head up towards the top of the bed. Clint reaches up, wraps his hands around the headboard. Phil pushes and leans and bends Clint in fucking half, folding Clint's legs over his shoulders.

"You want it?" Phil asks, drumming his fingers against the side of Clint's throat.

Clint's, "yes," is out almost before Phil's finished asking the question.

"Deep breath."

Clint takes a shallow one at first, but Phil just waits for him to behave. When it's not been carefully planned this is how they do it. Phil's hand around Clint's throat firm, but not enough to stop him breathing, Clint clinging on to the breath in his lungs until Phil loosens his hand and he breathes again. The first few squeezes are quick, almost in time with Phil's thrusts into his body, making him gasp. The next time he holds on for longer, and Clint feels like he's flying.

Clint is used to filtering his perceptions. When he's in a hide, waiting for a shot, he's eyes and nothing else. When he's taking a shot, he's a machine concerned with angles and speed and force. He doesn't feel the cold or the wind or the rain except to correct for them, he doesn't hear the birds, he doesn't smell the garbage or the smoke or, one memorable time in Bonn, the sewage plant. All he takes in is what he needs to get the job done.

Sex with someone he trusts as much as Phil is like being cracked open, touch-taste-sound-vision, all senses on receive and it's safe for him to be overwhelmed. Phil knows it too, enjoys the sight of Clint's body going lax and easy, sometimes fucks him in front of a mirror so Clint can watch and it's almost equal parts terrifying and thrilling to see himself change under Phil's touch, his defences dissolving, smart-ass comments dying on his lips as he opens himself up to everything Phil wants to give him.

He can feel his pulse throbbing against the grip of Phil's fingers, knows the positioning of those fingers is no accident. Clint doesn't get it, but Phil goes crazy for feeling or hearing Clint's heart-rate spike while they fuck. Clint isn't going to last much longer, not with the hunger in Phil's eyes and the sightfeeltaste of how hard Phil's giving it to him. Clint taps the back of Phil's wrist in readiness and sucks in a breath.

Phil nods briefly and Clint's heart beats wildly at the cool calculation on Phil's face under the pure, animal heat. His hand presses up harder against Clint's jaw and Clint closes his eyes, blissful. Phil uses the leverage to fuck Clint hard, fast, brutal, and the moment stretches, deepens, twists in time with the way Clint's heart is pounding, the pressure he's starting to feel in his chest. He can almost believe the things Phil whispers to him about how perfect he is.

Clint's lungs are starting to scream at him now, along with the backs of his thighs and his white-knuckled fingers on the headboard. Everything feels so good, so raw and vital and all-encompassing that Clint barely notices when he comes. It's just one more in a long line of waves of pleasure crashing over him, turning him inside out. Phil's gratifyingly fast after that too, thrusts gone ragged and uncoordinated, his eyes flickering all over Clint's body and face.

He kisses Clint's jaw and says, "Baby, please," as he comes. They're a mess, but all Clint can do is slowly unfold himself and pant desperately at the ceiling and cling to Phil. Phil makes these quiet, groaning little noises as he lowers himself onto Clint, and Clint has this sudden, horrible feeling that he's going to cry. Sometimes, it just hits him, all the ways they nearly lost each other. It passes though, and Clint picks up Phil's hand, kisses the backs of his fingers.

Clint opens his mouth to say that was amazing, but what comes out is, "I love you."

Phil kisses Clint's chest and doesn't say it back, because he's learned his way around Clint's bullshit, and that includes his issues with reciprocation. A side effect of knowing Clint so well is that a few minutes later Phil asks him, "Hey. You okay?"

And Clint is, he really is. Phil is recovering, and Clint is a goddamn Avenger, and he trusts people who aren't Phil and Nat. Clint is better than okay.

"I'm just. So glad," he says.

He doesn't need to specify for what. It takes a lot to get an emotional reaction – at least a visible one – from Agent Phil Coulson, but they've talked some about how he felt while Clint was compromised and he'd had to live with the knowledge that either he or Natasha would probably be the one to take Clint down.

"Phil," Clint says, and the knowledge of what he's about to do sends a thrill through him. He's had a plan for a while, and a ring for even longer than that, and doing it while he's buck-ass nude and covered in cum inside and out didn't feature in any of his ideas, but it feels...right. "Hey, Phil?"

"Yes, Clint?"

"Will you marry me?"

He's surprised and a little terrified at the pause, and it obviously comes across somehow because Phil says, "Yes. Of course. I'm a little surprised, is all."


"That you want to. We already have power of attorney and medical proxy."

The yes was heartfelt, but Clint can't help saying, "If you think it's unnecessary – "

"No! God, I – " Phil laughs and kisses him. "God, I want to. I just never thought it was something you would – not need, but want in addition to what we already have."

"I do," Clint says. "Yeah, I – I really want to. I never did before you, but I've wanted to, with you, for a long time."


"I have a ring and everything."

"I doubt that."

Clint shrugs. "Doubt all you want. Third best bow case. Check whenever you like."

"Huh." Phil's mouth tugs up in a smile. "This how you planned it?"

Clint shrugs again, exaggerated this time, making an 'eh, so-so' gesture with his hand. "Broadly. I planned the amazing sex for afterwards, but hey. Adaptability."

"Quite right too," Phil says, and Clint thinks, yeah.

This is perfect.