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It takes several months before Clint can admit it.

Still, it shouldn't come as a surprise that he ends up talking about his biggest fantasy, because it's Phil, and Phil's always been able to break down all of Clint's barriers. Clint trusts him with his life, so why not also with his secrets?

"Is this what you wanted?" Phil asks, sliding his cock into Clint's body, arms holding him tight as Clint trembles and moans underneath him. "Answer me."

"Yes," Clint breathes.

"Tell me," Phil says into Clint's ear, the gentle tone of his voice at odds with the demand. His hands have closed over Clint's wrists and he's holding them firmly against the mattress.

Clint's head is swimming, because Phil has been teasing him for what feels like hours. The slow drag of Phil's cock where he's still pushing in and in, is maddening. "Tell--tell you what?" Clint asks, ass clenching and arms straining against Phil's strong grip.

Phil licks up the side of Clint's, neck before moving to mouth along his jawline. "Tell me what you wanted. Use your words, Clint."

A blush spreads across Clint's face; he can feel it on his already heated skin, and he feels vulnerable and embarrassed. It's hard getting the words out, but Phil had asked him to--no, told him to--and Clint follows Phil's orders.

"I--wanted your cock inside me," Clint says, eyes closing. Phil bottoms out, the curls of his pubic hair pressing against Clint's ass cheeks. "I wanted you to--split me open and fuck me."

"Mm," Phil says. "Open your eyes, Clint."

Phil's not moving in Clint's ass, and Clint resists the urge to shift upwards, trying to get some friction against his cock. "Open your eyes," Phil says, voice hardening just a touch. "Look at me."

Clint has to force his eyes open, but as soon as he does, Phil pulls his hips back a little. Clint's eyelids are already fluttering shut again, before he catches himself, looking into Phil's eyes.

"Did you think about this earlier?" Phil asks, then pushes back in. He's not even really fucking Clint, just slowly sliding in and out.

Clint makes an undignified whine, because he can't help it. "Please," he begs.

Phil ignores his plea. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

"S--since the last time," Clint admits, a full-body shudder running through him when Phil's cock twitches inside of him. Phil's almost, but not quite, hitting that spot, that good spot, inside of him. Clint wants to wiggle around. He wants to push Phil onto his back and ride him to a frantic orgasm; he wants to put his legs around Phil's waist and pull him in, hard, in the way Clint likes it best. He does none of those things. "Wanted you to fuck me, sir," he says instead, which causes Phil's cock to jump again.

"What else do you think about?" Phil asks.

It's tough to maintain eye contact. It's embarrassing. Clint's skin is prickling with it, and if he wasn't already sweating, he would definitely start to under Phil's heated gaze.

"You," Clint mumbles.

"That's not an answer," Phil says, and he increases his pace just a fraction, hips rolling on each instroke into Clint. He gets so deep that Clint has to fight to keep his eyes open.

"What else do you think about?" Phil repeats. "Details, Clint."

Clint's eyes are stinging. "Why, sir?" he asks, blinking to clear his vision. Something is tightening in his chest, and he is so desperate to get a hand around himself and jerk himself off, because Phil's cock is hard inside of him and Phil's grip on his wrists is so strong, and Clint doesn't think he's ever had sex like this.

"Maybe it's my curious nature," Phil deadpans, and then releases one of Clint's wrists. Clint can't stop the whimper that escapes him, but Phil reaches down between them and grabs Clint's cock instead, and Clint sighs in relief. It's slick; Clint's been leaking for what feels like forever. Phil's breath is hot against Clint's skin as he rubs Clint's cock, thumb sliding wetly over the head. "Tell me," Phil says firmly, and Clint feels helpless to resist.

Clint's free hand twists in the sheets and he struggles to keep eye contact with Phil. "I--" he starts, then has to clear his throat and try again. "I think about--you fucking my mouth. I think about you coming on--on my face."

Clint's never been one for dirty talk. He's not sure what Phil wants from him. All he knows is that he feels like he's going to crawl out of his skin if he doesn't get to come soon. "Phil," he begs, "please."

"Keep going," Phil demands, "I know there's more."

Of course he knows there's more; why wouldn't he? He's Phil, he knows Clint, knows something is wound tight inside of Clint, tension spreading to every limb as he chases his orgasm.

Face on fire with embarrassment, Clint can't bear it anymore. He cranes his neck so he can squeeze his eyes shut and attempt to hide his face against Phil's skin. "I--" he says, but then his throat closes up on him, words getting stuck on the way out.

Phil's voice goes gentle and soothing again as he starts jerking Clint off in earnest, a lazy, but regular up-down of his hand across Clint's dick. "Clint, tell me. It's okay."

"Please," Clint begs, not really sure what he's begging for. It feels like too much. His cock is leaking precome everywhere, making Phil's grip slippery.

"I've got you," Phil says, pressing a chaste kiss to Clint's lips, in stark contrast to the filthy motion of his hips. He's still working his hard cock relentlessly in and out of Clint's body, his hand is still closed around Clint's wrist in a near bruising grip, but the kiss is soft and careful against Clint's mouth, as if he can coax the words from his lips. "Come on, Clint. Tell me."

Clint shudders; his eyes may be watering, it's hard to tell. He feels dizzy and lightheaded. "I think about--more."

"More?" Phil asks, and Clint nods.

"Having more." Clint's not sure he's making sense anymore, but he feels like he's about to come apart at the seams. He wants to thrust up towards Phil's cock, up into his fist, so bad that he aches with it, and he just has to get the words out, and Phil will give him what he needs, he knows it.

"I think about," Clint says, putting all his focus into keeping his voice steady, his words clear, "I think about getting fucked with--more. More than just your cock in my ass." He swallows heavily and forces the words past the lump in his throat. "More than just one cock," he clarifies, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest.

He expects terror. Fear that Phil might react negatively. His face is hot with embarrassment, but the fear never comes. Instead, Clint just feels--safe. And for every second that passes, he feels safer still. Pinned down under Phil, who is still moving, insistent thrusts not faltering for a second. Phil keeps fucking Clint, keeps stroking him in the same even rhythm as before, head bowing down again to kiss the side of his neck.

"Why?" Phil asks, but he doesn't sound judgmental. He doesn't sound angry or disappointed or disgusted. He sounds--intrigued.

Clint's head is swimming. "I like--" He has to start again when his voice breaks. "I like feeling--vulnerable. And safe. All at once. It's hard to explain."

"Try," Phil orders.

And it's so hard to talk about, so hard, but Clint's ass clenches hungrily around Phil and he wants to come so bad.

"When you're inside me, I feel..."

Clint tries again. "When you're inside me, I feel--safe. Held in place. Spread open, like... It's like you can see--all of me." Clint's face feels like it's on fire. "I like--I like feeling safe. I like--being able to let myself be vulnerable. I want more of that."

"Thank you for telling me," Phil says, then on the next upstroke twists his hand over Clint's cockhead in a way that makes stars burst behind his closed eyelids.

"Phil," Clint says, on a whimper that he's too far gone to feel ashamed about. He can't contain it anymore; he gyrates his hips as much as he can, trying to get more of Phil's cock and meet his next downward thrust.

"Do you want to come now?" Phil asks.

"Yes," Clint gasps, "please, yes!"

Thankfully, Phil's done teasing. He just says, "All right, come for me," and it's like pulling the trigger on a starter pistol. Clint shifts upwards towards Phil with completely unrestrained urgency, just ruts against him, desperate for friction as he chases the pleasure building in his gut.

"Phil," he gets out, stutters really, and then he tips over the edge the next time Phil's thumb swipes over the slit of his cock, every muscle of his body tense as he shoots between them.

"God, yes," Phil groans, and their bodies make hard, slapping sounds as he slams into Clint's ass while Clint's still winding down from his orgasm. When Phil comes, it's with a harsh exhale against Clint's neck and a tightening of his fingers around Clint's wrist.

His fingers stay wrapped around Clint's wrist while they come down from their orgasm highs together. Clint pushes his nose into the skin behind Phil's ear and twists his wrist just a little, just enough for the pads of Phil's fingers to slide across his skin. It feels tender, like there might be bruises.

"I love you," Phil says, sounding out of breath and stunned with it.

"I love you," Clint says back, because here, pinned underneath Phil and the weight of all of Phil's emotions, his defenses are down and he can't help but admit it.


Clint doesn't forget about their conversation, not exactly.

He files it away at the back of his brain, dismisses it as another dirty fantasy admitted between the sheets, and they go about their lives.

He doesn't expect--doesn't even think for one second--that anything will come of it, until one day Phil comes to Clint's room with a notepad and a smile Clint's never seen on his face before.

"Hi," Phil says, "can we talk?"

Normally, those words would send Clint running for the hills. Nothing good ever comes from can we talk? Except the smile on Phil's face is gentle and he doesn't at all look like he's going to break up with Clint or scold him for something. Clint trusts Phil more than anyone else in his life, so he just nods and lets Phil in.

"Come sit with me," Phil says, somewhere between an order and a request.

They end up sitting on Clint's big bed together, Clint leaned back against the headboard and Phil sitting sideways on the edge of the mattress. Clint throws one leg over Phil's, and smirks at him, "I like where this is going."

"I've been thinking," Phil says, ignoring Clint's blatant come-on. "About your fantasy."

Clint instantly know what he's talking about, and his heart shoots into his throat. Still, he says, "Which one?" with what he hopes is a confident leer.

It doesn't work. Phil knows Clint better than anyone, and gives him a look that says he clearly doesn't believe him. It's still so kind, though--and just mildly amused.

"I was wondering if that was something you'd be interested in actually doing?" Phil asks, and then helpfully clarifies, "Double penetration."

Clint blinks owlishly at Phil, in his work suit and with that smile on his face, saying Double penetration. "Uh."

"If it is," Phil continues, "then we should talk details and lay out some ground rules."

Clint's brain, which has only partially been keeping up with this unexpected turn of events, suddenly decides to take in all the information at once, and Clint realizes with a jolt that Phil's talking about an actual, real, live person joining them in the bedroom.

"Hey, no, uh, no," Clint says, then hurriedly amends, "I mean, yes, I would very much like to do that, don't get me wrong, but I..." He trails off, not sure how to say it, and only then realizes that he's just admitted out loud to Phil that he'd actually be interested in making his fantasy a reality.

Phil waits patiently.

"That's--a lot of trust to place in a person," Clint eventually settles on, swallowing heavily.

"I know," Phil says, eyes warm as he puts a hand loosely on Clint's wrist. Clint looks at the point of contact. His wrists didn't bruise the last time, but he's still experiencing the sensory memory of it, of Phil's fingers circling and squeezing.

"I know that's a lot of trust, and that's why we're having this conversation, Clint," Phil says.

"We could just like, use a dildo or something," Clint mumbles, vaguely embarrassed.

Phil pauses for a moment, considers, before saying, "Clint," quietly. Clint's eyes shut as he just sits and lets himself feel Phil's palm against his wrist. He's never been much for handholding, but this, this he likes. Phil's gun callouses and fingertips against the spot where Clint's skin is softest, right underneath his thumb. Phil's hands on him, holding him in place and anchoring him.

Clint doesn't like being tied up, but he likes it when Phil puts his hands on him and holds him in place.

"Clint," Phil says again. Clint's name always sounds so good when it comes from Phil's mouth. Like it's a good, solid word, that makes Phil happy to say. "Is that really what you want?" Phil asks. "Will it be enough?"

Clint wants it to be. His face is heating up again, and he suddenly feels--exposed.

Talking about things is difficult.

"I--don't know," he gets out.

Phil's silent for a few moments, before the mattress shifts and Clint has to move as Phil comes to sit between his legs, so close that he's almost pressed entirely against Clint.

"Clint," Phil says, and although his voice is still warm, there's the barest hint of an edge to it. "Tell me the truth."

Clint swallows. He's not sure he can get the words out.

"Look at me," Phil says, more gently now, and it's enough for Clint to do as he says. When he opens his eyes, Phil's somehow still smiling. Clint's entire chest aches with how much he loves him. "Is that really what you want?" Phil asks. "A dildo?"

It feels like a betrayal. It feels like he's telling Phil he's not enough. "No," he says anyway, because Phil had told him to tell the truth, and Clint never likes to disappoint Phil.

Phil's little smile widens with something that looks a lot like pride.

"All right," he says. "Then I've got a few possibilities for us, if you want to?"

And oh, Clint wants. But the hot sting of shame still burns in him and he forces himself to meet Phil's eyes. They are just as warm and kind as they always are, and Clint feels, not for the first time, like Phil can see right through him.

"Is this something you want?" Clint asks.

Phil puts down his notepad and cups Clint's face with both hands, and his smile turns ever so slightly wicked, sharp at the corners of his mouth as his eyes twinkle. "Clint," he says, leaving no room for doubt, "trust me when I say, I can't think of anything hotter than seeing you like that."

Leaning in, Phil presses a surprisingly chaste kiss against Clint's lips, before moving his mouth across Clint's cheek to kiss his cheekbone. "I like you all stretched out for me," Phil murmurs, and Clint's dick stirs in his pants. "I would love to see you take two cocks at once."

Phil pulls back and picks up the notepad again, and part of Clint immediately wants to say, No. Stay here. It's so much harder to talk about this when I have to look you in the eyes. Something inside of him still feels greedy for wanting this.

Phil, on the other hand, seems completely unconcerned as he flips open the notepad.

"I took the liberty of doing some preliminary research," he says, in a voice that's somewhere between Phil the guy who's fucking Clint on a regular basis, and Phil Coulson Agent of SHIELD. It's actually pretty hot to see Phil so preoccupied with doing this right, and some of Clint's apprehension melts away when Phil looks at him again and puts a warm hand on Clint's thigh.

"First of all, I think we need to agree on some ground rules beforehand, if we're bringing a third person into our bed," Phil says, which makes sense. "Just so we're on the same page here, we're only looking for sex, right?"

Clint nods a little dumbly, having trouble wrapping his mind around how easily Phil's talking about this. Phil looks at Clint like he expects him to answer, though, so Clint says, "Yeah, just sex." He's not looking for a polyamorous relationship. Feelings are complicated enough when there's only Phil involved. Thankfully, Phil looks pleased with that answer, which probably means he feels the same way. He glances at his notepad again.

"You mentioned before that you like feeling vulnerable, right?"

"I feel like I'm getting interviewed," Clint mumbles, almost on reflex. He can feel his face heating faintly again, and it's really tough to talk about this.

Phil looks like he's suppressing a smile as he puts a hand on Clint's neck. His fingers tighten just a little, and it makes Clint feel--safe. He releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and Phil kisses his forehead.

"Yes," Clint mumbles, grounded in Phil's fingers pressed against his skin. It's not easy meeting Phil's eyes, but Clint does it anyway. "I like feeling--overwhelmed, I guess? I mean, my draw weight is over two hundred pounds, there's--there's not a lot of times I feel like I can let go and have it be...meaningful, you know?"

Phil nods thoughtfully and taps a finger against the pad as his eyes scan it. Clint wonders what he's got scribbled down on it. "So you respond to the idea of feeling vulnerable and," Phil glances at Clint, "submissive?"

Clint's face is definitely heating up now, but there's also something hot and heavy in his crotch area, and it's not until Phil's fingers stroke against his neck again that Clint realizes he's hard in his jeans. The movement of Phil's fingers is clearly a request for an answer, and Clint lets out a breathy, "Yes."

Phil kisses his forehead again, like a reward. Clint wants to crawl closer, but they're already sitting pretty close.

"I thought you might," Phil says easily, and then his hand migrates from Clint's neck and back to his wrist, once again not gripping it, just wrapping long fingers loosely around it. "You seem to respond pretty well to this."

Clint's erection might burst out of his jeans all on its own.

"It's the--helplessness," Clint gets out, because he wants to explain this to Phil. Phil, who breaks down all his barriers and knows him and understands him and still doesn't judge him. "I like feeling helpless, because--because I know you're there to take care of me."

Phil's entire face does a complicated thing, even though his smile never wavers. "That's a lot of trust to place in me, Clint," he says, but the way he says it makes it sound good. It makes it sound like he's awed that Clint would trust him that much. Clint thinks that's silly, because of course he trusts Phil that much. Why wouldn't he?

"Do you want me to tie you up?" Phil asks.

Clint considers for a second--tries imagining himself tied up and restrained--and then rails against the idea. "No," he says quickly, erection wilting ever so slightly, and gut protesting. "No, I don't like that."

Phil nods and considers, looking at where his hand is still touching Clint's wrist. "But you like it when it's me?"

Clint thinks carefully about it. "Yes," is the conclusion he reaches. "It's--it's different when it's you. When it's you holding me down. It's different when I can feel your hands on me."

"Okay then," Phil says, like that's all the explanation he needs and he's perfectly okay with that. Knowing Phil, he probably is. "Anything else?"

Clint thinks about it. "I like uh, getting told what to do," he says.

"I tell you what to do all the time," Phil teases.

"You know what I mean," Clint says, nudging Phil's thigh a little with his ankle. "It's different. It feels..." He considers, tries to find the right words. "It feels like I can let go."

It's not a good description of what he's feeling when Phil gets authoritative in bed, but it's the best he can do. Phil watches him for a few, long moments, not saying anything, but his gaze is warm and kind.

Eventually, Phil just smiles wider and says, "All right."

Clint wants to cling to Phil and never let go for how easy he's making this. "All right."

"I've come up with some possible candidates," Phil says next, and Clint's heart jumps into his throat.


Phil nods. "Yes. I haven't approached anyone, but I made a short list of people who are reasonably likely to say yes to an invitation like this, but who also meet requirements for making this a good experience for everyone involved."

"A list," Clint repeats numbly.

"It's a short list," Phil says, his lips twitching in amusement. His thumb strokes across the inside of Clint's wrist, and it's ridiculous, but Clint instantly feels more calm.

"Who's on it?" Clint asks.

Phil turns the notepad around so Clint can see. The list has two names on it: Steve and Natasha.

Clint feels like he can't breathe.


Phil smiles serenely at him. "I thought that might interest you. Natasha, I think, would maybe be the easier choice, because I know you guys have history together, but... I figured Steve might be more what you were looking for?"

His brain can't quite process what he's hearing. Suddenly, in his mind's eye, he sees Steve, Steve's body that they created in a lab to be the perfect soldier. Steve, with his sharp mind and strong heart and the way he smiles at his team, lazy and proud on a Sunday morning, or the way he can seemingly command the very molecules in the air, just by putting one authoritative hand on his hip.

Phil watches Clint carefully. His eyes roam over Clint's face, linger on Clint's slightly parted lips for a few moments, before he meets Clint's gaze again.

"I take it you'd be amenable to that suggestion?" Phil asks.

Clint doesn't understand. He had expected jealousy or hurt, not Phil's blind trust. Trust that Clint loves him and wants him, even if he also wants Steve.

"Do--do you really want...?" Clint starts to ask, and Phil arches an eyebrow at him before he can even finish the sentence.

"Do I really want to see you with Steve?" Phil moves his head closer, puts his face all the way up to Clint's as his voice drops. "Seeing my greatest hero splitting my boyfriend open on his cock? Yeah. I'd say that's something I want." He mouths kisses across Clint's jaw. "Definitely something I want," he breathes, as he finds Clint's mouth and captures it in a deep kiss.

Boyfriend, Clint thinks. He called me his boyfriend.

It should sound juvenile, but all Clint can think is Yes, so that's what he says. "Yes," he says, "Yes," into the kiss, and Phil smiles.


Phil invites Steve for dinner the next day.

"Why wait?" he asks with a wry grin in Clint's direction, and Clint refrains from jumping up and down, eager and nervous all at once. They could do this in the Tower, he knows, but apart from getting some distance from the rest of their occasionally overly nosy teammates, something about being in Phil's apartment makes Clint feel better about everything.

Clint spends a while in the afternoon on his hands and knees in Phil's big bed, Phil's fingers in his ass, stretching him. "If he says yes," Phil says, "just think about later. Just think about that cock inside you, alongside mine."

"What if he says no?" Clint asks--has to ask--as Phil pulls out a little, his index finger catching on the rim of Clint's ass.

"If he says no, I'll still fuck you through the mattress." Phil sounds so casual about it, like he doesn't even notice the way Clint's cock jumps at the thought,

Clint bites his bottom lip and resists the urge to jerk off, wanting to hold out. Yeah. Even if Steve says no, he can wait.


Steve arrives right on time, and Clint makes it through dinner with minimal awkwardness, as Steve and Phil chat easily about work and Steve's recent pop culture discoveries. Clint manages a few comments about Steve's musical tastes as they move to the armchairs Phil's got around his coffee table, Clint slouching down in the chair that faces Steve's, and Phil sitting down to his right.

Of course Steve notices something's wrong; he's not their team leader for no reason, and he's always been more in tune with Clint than most. Clint figures it's due to lingering suspicion after the Battle of New York. Everyone else assures him it's not suspicion, it's concern. Clint's not sure he believes that, until Steve suddenly leans forward and says, warmth in his voice, "What's wrong, Clint?"

Clint tries not to jump out of his skin, and can't look either Steve or Phil in the eyes at the moment. "Nothing's wrong," he mumbles. He wishes, not for the first time that evening, that he had a beer in his hand, but Phil had insisted on no alcohol.

"Clint," Steve says, and his voice deepens just a touch, like it does when he's about to dole out orders in the field. "You've been jumpy all evening, and Phil keeps looking at me weird. Something's going on here, and I'd like to know what."

It's not a surprise. For all that Steve's a wall of solid muscle and star spangled abs, he's also lightning smart and terrifyingly perceptive when he wants to be.

Clint looks at Phil, wondering which one of them should handle this. Clint's never been at his best with words; that's why he's the muscle and Natasha's the undercover field agent. He's even worse when it comes to words pertaining directly to his own feelings and desires. He pleads silently with Phil to take pity on him, and Phil studies Clint's eyes thoughtfully for a moment, then nods. Clint lets out a relieved sigh.

"Steve," Phil says, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and meeting Steve's eyes with a steady gaze. Clint both envies and admires Phil's confidence. "You know Clint and I have been in a committed relationship for a while?"

Clint suppresses a twitch at that, because after all these months, it's still a concept that makes his heart pound in his chest. Phil is his. They're in a relationship.

"I'm aware," Steve says, though his tone suggests he's got his suspicions about where this conversation is heading. Clint wonders if Steve has any idea. It's hard to tell with him sometimes.

"Well, feel free to stop me if I'm making you uncomfortable, but sometimes, we like to--explore. Branch out," Phil says delicately. "Though given our line of work and the lives we lead, there are certain things we've not yet had the chance to experience. Mainly because we haven't really been able to find anyone we--trust."

Something shifts in Steve's eyes and Clint knows he understands. Still, he looks like he's waiting for Phil to go on, so Phil keeps talking.

"Which brings me to my point. Clint and I have a," Phil's lips twitch into a smile, "a proposition for you, as it were."

Phil lets the end of that sentence hang in mid-air, as Steve looks from Phil to Clint and back again. Clint forces himself to meet Steve's eyes, even though he suddenly feels very, very exposed.

Steve's eyebrows migrate slightly towards his hairline, but Clint doesn't detect anything but surprise and vague embarrassment on his face.

"Me?" Steve asks, like that's the most surreal part of this conversation.

Phil nods. "Yes. You're a good man, you're trustworthy, we both feel safe with you. You have the added bonus of not being able to catch any diseases due to the super soldier serum, and," he chuckles a little, "you're reasonably easy on the eyes, Steve." Phil's tone adequately conveys that this might be the understatement of the century.

Interestingly, that's also the part that makes Steve blush.

"What makes you think I have either the experience or the--" Steve's hand waves a little in the air, like he's searching for a word and coming up short, "--the anything to be the right person for this?"

"I hope you realize that no matter what Stark says, nobody actually believes you're an innocent virgin," Phil says, arching an eyebrow like a challenge. It's enough to make Clint snort, and relax just a fraction.

Steve smirks a little. "Well," he says. "Maybe not." Then his smirk fades and he looks at Clint. "This is something you both want?"

Clint's head is swimming. Steve's still got that solid blush staining both his cheeks, but he's not leaving, and he's not freaking out. Why isn't he leaving or freaking out?

"Clint?" Steve asks, still waiting for an answer, and Clint manages a nod that's maybe a little too eager.

"Yes," Clint says quickly, "I--yes, definitely."

"His idea, in fact," Phil says, which for a brief moment feels like blame--but then he gives Clint such a fond look that Clint feels something in his stomach flutter like butterflies.

Steve looks down for a moment, pressing his lips together, like he's deep in thought. The blush grows stronger and when he looks up again, he rubs his neck a little, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "So, uh, if we do this, it would, uh, it would just be a--a sex thing, right?"

Phil nods, so Clint does the same.

"Okay, that's--yeah," Steve says, and he sounds downright pleased with that. Clint wonders how long it's been for Steve, if he’s gotten laid since waking up or if he's gone without since before the ice. Steve's blush grows stronger. "Just the one time, or--more than once, or...?"

"I dunno, how fast can you get it up again?" Clint says, completely without thinking, because making smartass remarks is part of who he is.

The moment the words leave his mouth, his heart shoots into his throat, but then Steve and Phil both laugh, and it goes a long way towards dissipating more of the tension in the room.

"I think we can be flexible on that," Phil says when the chuckles die down. "But the important part is: any one of us can call an end to things at any point in time, okay?"

Steve's face is beet red now, but his expression hasn't changed. He still looks like Steve: kind and determined, with a smile that makes something stir inside Clint.

"Yeah," Steve says, and he sounds vaguely out of breath. "Yes. Yeah, I'd, I'll do it."

Phil smiles, and gives Clint another one of those fond looks, and Clint feels like the floor has gone all wobbly underneath his feet. He's glad he's sitting down, otherwise he might have fallen over. He can feel his heartbeat speed up, because Steve said yes! Clint's asshole clenches and unclenches, and he can feel his cock thickening already.

"Just a question," Steve says, but he doesn't sound worried or scared, just curious. "When you say you like to explore, how kinky are we talking? Like, floggers and safe words kinky?"

Clint enjoys seeing Phil's eyes widen just a tiny bit as Captain America says floggers and safe words, and he's still not sure if Steve's gotten laid since the ice, but at least he's not completely clueless. It bodes well.

"Not that kinky," Clint says, because Phil looks like he needs a moment to compose himself before he can talk again. A glance towards his pants confirms for Clint that Phil's got things happening, too. Not really a big surprise.

Steve's face has started to return to its normal color. "What do you want from me, then?"

Clint is hyper aware of how Phil licks his lips as he scoots forward to the edge of his seat. "Clint," Phil says, and his voice has dropped just a little, falling into that comforting almost-murmur that makes Clint's entire body respond on instinct. "Tell Steve what you want."

Heat licks up Clint's face again, but Steve said yes to this, and Steve is looking at him with something that looks an awful lot like desire. "I want--I want both of you," Clint says, forcing himself to hold Steve's gaze. His erection is full now, hard and insistent against his fly. "I want both of you at the same time."

Steve's nostrils flare, and his fingers tighten on the arms of the chair.

"How?" Phil prompts Clint. "Tell him how you want us."

Clint's breathing is loud in his ears. "I want both of you to--fuck my ass." The words almost get stuck in his throat, but he forces them out; he watches Steve carefully for his reaction. "I want you to fuck my ass at the same time."

Steve's breath leaves him in a rush, like he was holding it in. Clint can feel the puff of air on his face. A weak sound escapes Steve, and he nods, eyes locked on Clint. "Can you take that?" he asks, and he sounds awed. He looks flushed again, but not from embarrassment.

"He can," Phil says, with pride evident in his voice.

"I can," Clint echoes. The world seems to dim around him. This is happening, he thinks numbly.

"He likes being manhandled a little," Phil says. "He wants to be able to let go."

Steve swallows heavily. "I think we can manage that," he says, thickly.

"Clint," Phil says, warmly, sweetly. "Will you kiss Steve?"

"If he lets me," Clint says, a corner of his mouth quirking up on its own accord.

Steve just nods, and remains seated in his chair, hands still gripping the armrests tightly.

As he slides out of his seat, Clint is acutely aware of the rub of fabric against his ass, and he dimly wishes he was naked, wishes he already had someone between his legs, stretching him, filling him. He keeps his eyes focused on Steve, looking for any sign that he's changed his mind, but Steve's gaze is steady. Anticipatory, sure, nervous, definitely, but he also looks--eager.

"Hi," Clint says, slowly straddling Steve's lap. He smells vaguely like deodorant, and his thighs are firm and strong under Clint's own. Clint resists the urge to grind down.

"Hi," Steve says back, mouth curving upwards in a little smile.

"Is this gonna make things weird?" Clint asks, as he leans in, because he has to.

"Weird is our default state of existence, Clint," Steve says, smiling for real.

Clint closes the distance between them and kisses him.


Kissing Steve is different than kissing Phil; Clint had expected that. Still, he feels almost overwhelmed with it, heart pounding in his chest and pulse rushing in his ears. Steve's careful at first--not hesitant, just more like he's making sure that Clint really wants this--but once Clint nudges his bottom lip with his tongue, Steve opens up and kisses him back greedily.

Steve licks into Clint's mouth, and Clint happily gives up control of the kiss, letting Steve drag his tongue along Clint's upper lip, swiping across his teeth before stroking along Clint's own tongue. One of Steve's big hands comes up to settle against the side of Clint's neck. It's warm and a little clammy against Clint's skin, and he moans in his throat, shifting his hips in an attempt to get some friction on his cock. When he slides forward, he can feel Steve's own erection, and Clint feels dizzy with want.

There's a rapid exhale of breath from Phil's direction, and Clint breaks the kiss to look his way.

Phil's obviously hard now, legs spread to accommodate the erection straining against the front of his pants, but apart from that he has made no move to make himself more comfortable. Suddenly, he feels impossibly far away, and Clint resists the urge to crawl to the floor and wedge his way between Phil's legs so he can open his pants and suck him down. Steve's hand is still on Clint's neck, thumb stroking almost absently over the skin there, and it helps Clint feel grounded.

"You okay?" Phil asks, and the way he's looking between them makes it obvious he's asking them both.

Clint nods and looks to Steve, whose eyes have gone heavy-lidded.

"Yeah," Steve says, and Clint's never heard him sound like this before. He likes it. "I'm--I'm very okay."

Steve's sex voice is doing things to both of them; Clint can tell by the way Phil's breathing changes just a little.

"We're moving," Phil tells them both, firmly but gently, though his voice is hoarse.

"'Kay," Steve says, though he sounds a little dazed. "Bedroom through there?" he asks, nodding towards Phil's bedroom door.


Steve looks up at Clint, and then tilts his head a little. "Manhandled, huh?"

Just a little, Clint wants to say, but the words die before they reach his lips. He trusts Steve, and he trusts Phil, and it's like electricity suddenly starts humming underneath the surface of his skin when he realizes that they already know. That they'll take care of him.

Clint nods.

He almost yelps when Steve's strong hands suddenly fold underneath his ass and Steve lifts him as he stands up, but then Steve's kissing him again and it doesn't matter. Clint's ankles lock behind Steve's back on reflex, and Steve breaks the kiss so he can see where he's going.

There's a strangled sound from Phil, but when Clint sees him over Steve's shoulder, he's following them eagerly into the bedroom. There's heat in his eyes and one of his fingers is twitching in excitement at his side. Clint gives him a smile, which Phil returns easily, and then Steve's dumping him onto his back so he's lying across the bed.

"Get naked," Phil orders, but his voice lacks the harshness it has when they're working.

Clint obliges, clumsily ridding himself of his clothes, because this is still so surreal. He made out with Steve!

Steve undresses as well, though at a slightly slower pace than Clint. There's the slightest hesitation when he's down to his boxers, and Clint can't take his eyes off the outline of his hard cock under the fabric. Then Steve's pulling them off, and his erection bobs out in front of him. Clint's mouth falls open, and he doesn't even realize it's done so until the bed dips and Phil says, quietly, "Clint, I want you to suck on Steve for a little, can you do that for me?"

Clint wants to look at Phil, he wants to be grateful for the direction, but honestly he can't tear his eyes away. Steve is kneeling at the foot of the bed, and his cock is hard and leaking and inviting, and Clint needs to feel it in his mouth.

Rolling to his hands and knees, Clint foregoes all finesse and just takes Steve in as far as he can.

Above him, Steve gasps, his hips hitching forward just the tiniest bit, like he can't help himself, and Clint hums.

He sets a rhythm almost immediately, not fast, but just enough so he can drag his tongue across the head of Steve's cock on each upstroke and get his whole shaft nice and wet. Steve's panting lightly, and when Clint looks up, Steve's staring down at him like he's never seen anything so hot in his entire life. Phil usually looks at him like that, and having Steve focus that kind of attention on him is making all sorts of things happen in Clint's groin. He resists the urge to touch himself, though, loving the slow burn of the building tension.

Behind him, Clint hears the familiar sound of the lube cap opening and closing, and then the bed dips again as Phil shuffles closer. Phil's fingers are cool with lube, and Clint shivers when they first touch him, stroking right up between his ass cheeks without preamble to prod carefully at his hole.

"Coulson--Phil," Steve says above him. Clint moans around Steve's cock and is rewarded with a fresh taste of Steve's precome on his tongue.

"Show him how good you are for me," Phil murmurs from behind him, and it's comforting. That's Phil's fingers on him, Phil's voice in his ear. Clint closes his eyes in bliss and relaxes as best he can, and two of Phil's fingers slide right in, like it's nothing.

"Jeez," Steve says, sounding out of breath and awestruck.

"He's so eager," Phil says, and he sounds proud again.

Clint's head is spinning. He's stuck between the two of them, Steve and Phil, mouth on Steve's cock and Phil's fingers sliding into his ass, and he wants to lie down and spread his legs for them, the shame burning in his stomach an afterthought. He doesn't care how wanton he'll look, he just wants them to fuck him, to fill him up, to make him lose himself in it.

"Did you have to--stretch him before?" Steve asks, stumbling a little over the words when Clint teases his tongue over his slit.

"A little," Phil says, and Clint can hear the smile in his voice. "But even if I hadn't, he would have stretched nicely for us."

Clint feels the stretch of Phil's third finger, but he still shifts his ass backwards as best he can, wanting even more. He thinks about how much more is still to come, and whimpers, his cock leaking precome onto Phil's sheets.

"If we do this again, maybe I'll plug him up for a while first," Phil says, and Clint moans again. The idea sends shivers down his spine, and suddenly he desperately wants a second time, just so he can experience that. "Imagine that. We could slide right in, Steve."

Steve doesn't answer, but his breathing is labored. When Clint opens his eyes and glances up, he sees that Steve is no longer looking down at him, eyes instead fixed on nothing, a dazed look on his face.

"Keep sucking," Phil says quietly, and even though Clint never stopped, he goes at it with renewed vigor, sucking hard and raising one hand to caress Steve's balls. It makes Steve's hips snap forward, and Clint can't contain the little gagging noise he makes when Steve's cock hits the back of his throat.

"Sorry," Steve says on a heavy exhale, "sorry, I just, I--"

"Trust me," Phil says, "he can handle it."

Clint moans in agreement, and Steve huffs out a laugh. "You're pretty incredible."

It takes Clint a moment to realize that Steve's talking to him and not to Phil, but when he does, he jerks a little in surprise, his asshole clenching around Phil's fingers.

Phil leans down and presses a kiss to Clint's lower back, and Clint's not sure why he's surprised when he realizes Phil's already naked; it's just like Phil to undress without him even realizing. Phil's fingers pull out of Clint, and he wants to keen at the loss of them, but Phil's cock nudges against his hole before he can make a sound. Clint pulls off Steve's dick with an intentionally loud slurp, wanting to get into a better position, but Phil's hand on his neck stops him.

"Not yet," Phil says. "Like this, first. Keep sucking him. Steve, can you hold out?"

"I've got stamina," Steve says with a smile, and any other day, that would have been a challenge to Clint's ears. Not today, though. Today he wants Steve hard and ready and inside his ass.

"Please," Clint whispers, asshole clenching and unclenching as Phil teases his cockhead against it.

"We've got you," Phil says, and then presses forward.

Clint's body lets him in easily, greedily. Clint stifles his groan of satisfaction by closing his lips around the head of Steve's dick again, and then finds that the sound escapes him anyway when one of Steve's hands comes to rest on top of his head. Not pushing, not pulling on his hair, just resting there. Phil's hand is still on Clint's neck, though his fingers have started pressing against Clint's skin a little, and Clint feels grounded in a way he's never felt before, Phil's cock in his ass, Phil's fingers on his skin, and Steve in his mouth.

Phil's thrusts are immediately steady, and he strokes his other hand down Clint's hip, spreading his fingers wide to drag them along Clint's skin. Clint has to brace himself with both hands again, and closes his eyes when Steve nudges forwards into his mouth again, meeting the slight forward momentum Clint gets every time Phil thrusts into him.

Clint relaxes his throat as best he can--he's never been able to deep throat properly, but he wants to--and just focuses on Phil's hand on his neck, Steve's hand on his head, as they thrust into him from each side. It's comforting to be able to let them set the pace and do with him as they please.

Clint's brought out of his reverie when Phil's fingers slide from his hip to his ass, and skirt the rim of his slick hole. The ring of muscle is stretched, but Clint knows he can go wider already. Phil's fingers press where they're joined, and then Phil's thumb slips inside.

"That's..." Steve says, and then just trails off. Clint's not even sure how much he can see from his vantage point, but he obviously knows what Phil is doing.

Sucking hard and dragging his tongue flat against the underside of Steve's dick, Clint does his best to be a distraction as Phil pushes his thumb deeper and gently stretches him further. It's difficult maintaining his focus, and he knows he's getting sloppy, but he wants to make this good for Steve, too. When Phil takes his left hand off Clint's neck, Clint wants to protest--the hand had made him feel so safe and secure--but then Phil uses the fingertips of that hand to tease around Clint's hole, and he feels okay about it.

When Phil's left thumb slips into him as well, it starts to burn; Clint's breath hitches, and drool escapes out the side of his mouth to slide down Steve's shaft. Steve moans above him.

"You're doing good," Phil murmurs, "you're doing so good."

It must be an obscene picture, Phil with both thumbs hooked into Clint's asshole on either side of his cock. Clint wishes he could see, and he needs more, he needs more now.

Pulling off Steve's cock, Clint digs his fingernails into his own palms and puts his head down. He feels ashamed at his blatant display of neediness and terribly vulnerable, as he begs, "Please," hoping that one word will convey his desires.

For a moment, he thinks Phil will object, will deny him what he needs for a little while longer. But maybe Steve gives Phil a look, or maybe Phil just realizes how badly Clint needs this, because Phil's fingers slip out of him and he pats Clint's hip a little, leaving behind a small smear of lube.

"All right, come on."

Phil hasn't even been in him for that long, but Clint still feels empty when he pulls out. He's turning without consciously deciding to, seeking out Phil and wanting to be near him. Phil stacks the pillows against the headboard, then sits back against them and reaches out a hand to grab Clint's wrist, tugging him into his lap so he's straddling Phil. His knees are bracketing Phil's body and their erections press together. Phil kisses him with a tenderness that shouldn't come as a surprise to Clint, but somehow still does. And even though Phil's been right there with him the whole time, finally getting to be so close to him makes something unfurl and loosen inside of Clint.

He closes his eyes as he grabs Phil's cock, positions it, and then sinks down easily, sighing in rapture. Once he's seated, he just stays still for a moment, experimentally squeezing around Phil's cock. He loves the way it feels, fat and hard inside of him, and he puts his head on Phil's shoulder, wraps his arms around him and clings.

Phil makes a slight movement with his head, like he's nodding, and then the bed dips under Steve's weight. Steve straddles Phil's legs behind Clint, and Steve's big hands carefully grab Clint's hips, stroking up his sides. Steve's lips press against the nape of Clint's neck, and he only barely registers the sound of Steve grabbing more lube, before surprisingly warm fingers ghost along the base of Phil's cock where it disappears inside of him.

Steve gets two slick fingers inside of Clint, and he can feel Phil's dick twitching in response to the feeling. Clint already feels full, and he breathes evenly, keeps his eyes closed, and focuses on relaxing. When Steve gets a third finger in, the stretch burns, but in the most amazing way, and Clint's cock jumps. Something heavy settles in his chest, coiling tight with shame and arousal, and he can't help but love every second.

"I can't believe this is possible," Steve says against the nape of Clint's neck, voice amazed and thick with want, and Clint whimpers in response.

"Come on, Clint," Phil says as Steve adds more lube. "Open up for him, come on, I know you can." Phil shifts his hips upwards just the tiniest bit, cock straining inside of Clint, and Clint feels dizzy and comforted all at once.

Steve's fingers are moving more easily now, and Clint can feel Phil nod again. "I think he's ready."

Clint's heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest, and he leans heavily on Phil, wanting to give Steve better access. Phil's hands slide down to Clint's ass, pulling his asscheeks apart, and a helpless sound escapes Clint's throat; he feels completely exposed--vulnerable--and his skin is tingling everywhere.

"Clint, open your eyes," Phil orders, kind, but firm.

"No," Clint whimpers, pressing his face further into Phil's neck.

"Look at me," Phil says, a slightly harder note in his voice now. Clint doesn't want to disappoint Phil--he never wants to disappoint Phil, he wants to be good for Phil--and he forces his head up, forces his eyes open so he can see Phil's face. Phil's smiling at him, eyes alight with something Clint can't name. "Keep your eyes on me," Phil says, and then there's a blunt pressure at Clint's ass.

Clint breathes deeply, eyelids heavy, and he wants to close them, wants to lose himself in the sensation of Steve's cock pressing in, in, in, but Phil had told him to keep his eyes open, so he will. It shouldn't be, but it still feels like a surprise when Steve slides in, like Clint subconsciously hadn't thought he'd actually fit, and Clint's breath shudders harshly. He has to fight his body from spasming, because Steve is inside him, Phil's inside him, they're both inside him, and it's filthy and wrong and amazing in all the best ways. Clint feels like he's about to split apart, and he's covered in sweat.

Steve's own breathing is labored against Clint's neck, cool on his clammy skin, but Phil appears remarkably calm as his fingers gently squeeze Clint's ass cheeks, massaging them even as he continues holding him open. "Can you feel it, Clint?" Phil asks, which is a dumb question, because how on earth could he not feel this? But Clint still nods, head almost lolling forward with the motion.

"God," Steve says behind Clint, in a tone that sounds oddly broken. "He's so tight. You're so tight, Clint."

"Good?" Phil asks, and Clint can feel Steve nod as he slides inwards in miniscule increments.

Clint's full, so very full; he's going to split down the middle, and he never wants this feeling to stop ever. The burn of them, of both their cocks stretching him wide and open, is making his skin feel hot and prickly, but he welcomes it. It's overlapping with pleasure until he can't tell which is which anymore; maybe it's the same thing. When Steve's groin hits his ass, Phil's fingers trapped between them where they're still spread across Clint's ass cheeks, Clint lets out a long exhale and his hands cling to Phil's arms. Phil's eyes are wide and blank, like he's never seen anything so beautiful in his life, and it's making Clint feel heady and drunk.

"All the way in," Steve murmurs, and the words tickle Clint's skin.

They stay like that for a while, letting Clint adjust further, before Phil's fingers squeeze his ass again. "We're going to move now," he tells Clint, before leaning in to kiss his way up Clint's neck. Head falling back and eyes sliding shut, Clint groans, low and guttural in his chest, and then they're both moving.

It's clumsy and awkward, no real rhythm to it, but Clint can feel them; Steve's cock is sliding into him and Phil's cock is sliding into him, and he's taken them both inside, they're both so deep. Nothing exists outside of the stretch of his ass, the pressure, the way he can feel them deep in his body, and Clint feels like he wants to cry.

Clint misses it because his head is swimming and his entire body is so on edge, but Phil must say something to Steve, because suddenly Steve's big, strong hands wrap around Clint's wrists and gently maneuver them behind his back. For a moment, Clint can't move at all, and his eyes fly open as his cock spasms violently against Phil's stomach, dribbling precome and making everything slick and wonderful. He thinks Steve will push him forward, into Phil's chest, so he gasps out loud when Steve does the opposite: he pulls on Clint's wrists and tugs him close to his own chest.

Steve leans in, and the wide expanse of his chest feels massive behind Clint, like a towering, comforting presence. Because of the way his arms are trapped between them, Clint has to arch his back in order to lean against Steve, and it should be awkward, but it's not. Steve feels inexplicably safe, because Steve is Clint's team leader, his friend; he's honorable and good and he feels like a leader, in this as in everything else. It's so easy to let go, and Clint's chest might burst with emotion.

Steve's fingers are firm as he holds Clint's wrists steady, trapped between their bodies, not giving him any room, and Phil puts his lips against Clint's ear and murmurs, "Feel how strong he is, Clint."

Clint whimpers and pants, and there is fog creeping into the corners of his vision, as Phil keeps talking. "You know I can hold you down, Clint, but not the way Steve can. He's got all that serum running through his veins. Feel how strong he is."

Almost as if following an order, Clint pulls tentatively on an arm and finds that he can't move at all. Steve grunts in Clint's other ear, getting his cock as far into Clint's body as he can, as his fingers tighten around Clint's wrist. "I got you," Steve says. "We got you."

Clint's head falls back against Steve's shoulder and he sobs with it. His cock is painfully hard between them, but his arousal is a dull rush underneath the dizzying sensations of Phil and Steve's cocks in him, Steve's fingers around his wrists. He feels impaled and spread open, he feels exposed and raw, helpless at their mercy, and so, so very loved.

One of Phil's hands comes up behind Clint to close over Steve's hand, so they're both holding his wrists. A noise forces its way up from somewhere deep in Clint's chest, and his cock quivers against Phil's stomach.

"Can you come like this?" Phil asks. "Can you come on our cocks, just like this?"

Clint nods without even thinking about it, because how can he not? It's like every hair on his body is standing on end, electricity in the air and underneath his skin, and Phil hums happily. "Good. Then that's what I want you to do. I want you to come on our cocks, Clint."

It's been building in his balls for what feels like forever. Another sob escapes him as Clint strains towards it, back arching as Phil and Steve continue moving inside him, and he jerks against Steve's grip, unable to help himself, and loves how Steve isn't giving an inch.

"I bet he'll leave bruises," Phil breathes into Clint's ear.

Clint's orgasm is immediate, and unlike any other he's ever had. It doesn't peak, it doesn't punch out of him, or slam into him. Instead, the pleasure is just suddenly there, washing over him in slow, cresting waves. He might be making a sound; he has no clue. It's like they're fucking the come out of him, pushing it out with every inward movement of their dicks, Clint's hole stretched and abused as he's held in place by their hands, by their cocks, by Steve's chest pressed against his back. Clint's eyes are wet, dampness streaking down his cheeks, and his mouth is open; he feels like he can't get enough air into his lungs, like he might pass out from it.

"Good boy," Phil murmurs, which is far hotter than it has any right to be.

Clint wants to go boneless between them. His vision is blurry. His vision is never blurry.

It's like breathing underwater. Everything's gone hazy and it's like he's got cotton in his ears. He's crying and he can't stop it, rapture spreading through his limbs and heat still pulsing outwards from his groin. Clint feels torn apart, he feels turned inside out, he feels like he's been reduced to the very core of what makes him Clint. His entire world has narrowed down to the two cocks in his ass, and Phil's love, blanketing him, always.

Phil mouths down Clint's jaw, and from somewhere far away, Clint can hear him say, "I want to come, Clint. Make me come."

Steve's hands are strong, and he feels solid and warm behind Clint, and Clint's not even sure how he manages, but he makes his body move. Phil told him to, so he does.

He shifts his hips to work both their cocks at the same time, head still leaned back on Steve's shoulder as he looks at the ceiling and doesn't really see it. Everything's heat and ecstasy, nerve endings on fire with pleasure, starting at the rim of his stretched hole and spreading to every part of his body. He tries clenching his hole tighter, wants to make it good for Phil, but he has no idea if he's successful. He's stretched to the limit, floating on a euphoric cloud that has left his surroundings dim and hazy, and all the sensations he's feeling are a jumbled mess he can't process fully. Phil groans into Clint's neck, though, so Clint must be doing something right.

When Phil comes, it's quiet and intense. Phil's fingers tighten around Steve's hand on Clint's wrist, and he presses his forehead against Clint's collarbone. He grunts as his cock twitches, and both Clint and Steve moan, because Clint can feel it, and he guesses Steve can too. Everything gets slick as Phil keeps hitching into Clint's body, his cock pressed snugly against Steve's as he shoots.

"Good," Steve murmurs, though Clint's not sure if he's making an observation or praising Phil; it's hard to tell.

Phil pants into Clint's sparse chest hair as he comes down from his orgasm. He doesn't stay in Clint for very long after that, cock softening enough that the mere presence of Steve's cock forces him out. Clint tries not to whimper as Phil leaves his body, because he already misses him there.

Everything's messy and wet and slippery. Clint's come cooling on his cock, Phil's come easing the way for Steve, and Clint briefly wonders now what?, before Steve makes a strained sound behind him and asks, "Can I?"

Clint isn't sure who Steve's addressing--he can't even begin to process what to say or how to react--but then Phil says, "Yes, god, yes," and Steve's pushing at Clint, making him shift off Phil's lap and onto the mattress next to Phil. His fingers loosen their grip on Clint's wrist, and for a terrifying, dizzying moment, Clint feels like he's on the edge of free fall, alone and abandoned. A whimper escapes him, and Steve's grip tightens again as Phil makes a quiet shushing noise.

"We still got you," Steve reassures him, and Clint sighs in relief, because he needs their hands on him still. He's not ready for anything else, yet.

Before he can form any more thoughts through the haze of his mind, he's shoved forward, face turned sideways towards Phil and pushed half into the mattress, ass in the air. Steve sets a punishing pace almost immediately, super soldier strong hips slamming against Clint's ass as he fucks into him.

Phil slides down to lie next to Clint, and one of his hands comes up to cradle the side of Clint's face, Phil's smile happy and sex-drunk and fond. "You're so good," Phil says, "you did so good for us, you were so good, you took us both in, and you were such a good boy."

It's obscene, the things he says, and Clint can't move under Steve's strong arms.

"Is he still tight?" Phil asks Steve, who grunts, desperately.

"He's--he's wet," Steve says. "He's loose."

Turning his eyes back to Clint, Phil leans in to kiss his temple and says, "Tighten up for him, Clint, make it good for him. He's been so good to us. Don't you want to make it good for him, too?"

Clint sobs, tears running across the bridge of his nose, and he fights the haze as he tries, doesn't want to let Phil down, doesn't want to disappoint Steve. He wants to make it good, he wants to be good, so he clenches his hole as best he can, the sore muscle stretched so far beyond what he's used to.

"You're gonna feel this for days," Phil says, and he sounds amazed by it, happy and possessive.

"Oh god," Steve says, "oh god, Clint, Ph-Phil, I'm gonna come--"

Steve's hips stutter behind Clint, and it almost hurts when Steve shoves all the way in, emptying himself into Clint's body with a groan that makes Phil's breathing momentarily quicken again. Clint's hole feels stretched and loose. Gaping. Used.

Clint closes his eyes and feels like he's floating.

"Good boy," Phil whispers again, proudly.

The praise makes Clint go warm all over.

Clint doesn't collapse when Steve pulls out and moves aside; his legs are locked in place, and his ass remains in the air. He can feel come leaking out of him and dripping off his balls, and shame burns faintly in his chest for how happy he is about it, how it makes him feel so--safe. Clint can feel the bed shift as Phil sits up and makes an appreciative sound, a little Mm, that makes Clint's toes curl.

Steve's still half-leaning over Clint's back, the grip on his wrists having loosened a little, but he doesn't completely let go. Phil makes another noise, and then catches some of the wetness running across Clint's balls with his fingers, stroking up to his loose hole, fingertips dipping in briefly, but not lingering as he pushes the come back in. Clint whimpers, his hole fluttering uselessly around nothing.

"Oh," Steve says, sounding breathless. "That's..."

The smile is evident in Phil's voice again. "Yeah."

Phil's fingers trail up to Clint's wrists, and he gently moves Steve's hands away. "Come on," he says, nudging Clint down onto his stomach, and moving his arms down to relax.

Clint feels sore everywhere and his brain is--fuzzy. He's drifting on bliss and aftershocks and adrenaline and something else that he can't even begin to describe, much less name. He keeps his eyes closed and buries his face into the mattress, not wanting to ever leave this headspace he's in, where he feels safe and warm and loved, secure in the knowledge that Phil and Steve will take care of him.

The bed shifts a little, before one of Phil's stupidly soft towels swipes at the wetness between Clint's asscheeks. A full-body shiver runs through him as the fabric brushes over his sore asshole, and he whimpers at the loss when he's cleaned up and Phil moves away.

"Steve," Phil's voice says, and it sounds questioning maybe? Clint can't process it; he wants Phil back.

"Shh," Steve says. A big hand encourages him to turn onto his side, before Steve's curling around Clint, one hand smoothing sweaty hair back from his forehead. It's not Phil, but it's enough for now, because Steve is safe and warm, and his chest is smooth and solid. Clint buries his face against Steve's collarbone, using the ridge to ground himself. He hears Phil's footsteps leave the room and then putter around the kitchen, and he focuses on that sound, and the feeling of Steve's hand, still stroking across his head.

Phil's footsteps are back within minutes, and Clint opens his eyes to find Phil holding out a water bottle for him. "Drink," Phil says, but his voice is warm, so Clint obeys.

Once he's got half the bottle down, Phil sets it aside on the nightstand and gets on the bed on Clint's other side, arms wrapping around him from behind.

"Do you want me to--?" Steve hesitates, but before he can say anything else, Phil stretches out a leg across Clint's to poke Steve in the shin.

"Stay," he says.

Clint tips his head back to look up at Steve. Something like relief spreads across Steve's face, and he smiles before pressing a kiss to Clint's forehead. Almost immediately, he seems to realize what he's done, and hilariously, blushes bright red. "I--I didn't--"

"Oh, no," Clint mutters, eyes sliding shut again as he tries to snuggle forward into Steve's solid chest and back into Phil's arms at the same time. "Forehead kisses from the man who just fucked my ass. What a scandal."

Both Phil and Steve laugh a little, and Clint smiles happily. He wants the world to stay out of focus for just a touch longer, and he feels sheltered between Phil and Steve in a way he can't describe. His skin is still buzzing with excitement, but the adrenaline is leaving his body and he feels sleepy and tired and very sore, in the best possible way.

"Thank you," he gets out, even though the words are sticky on his tongue. Even now it's hard to admit how much he wanted--needed--this.

Steve snorts. "Trust me, it wasn't exactly a hardship," he says.

It's on the tip of Clint's tongue to make a snappy comment about hardships, but sleep is beckoning him, and opening his mouth to talk seems like too much of an effort, so he remains silent.

Steve puts one arm around Clint, stretching so that it also touches Phil behind him. Phil's fingers are moving in lazy patterns across one of Clint's pectorals, and Clint's last thought as he succumbs to sleep is that if they ever do this again, he's definitely wearing a plug beforehand.