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Just Hang Tight

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Why did he think this was a good idea?

It usually falls to Tony to do this- this being dangling from the ceiling naked, spread out and available, blindfolded and gagged, while everybody else sits around and chats and eats crackers or whatever- but Pepper's out of town this week. Sadly, that means Tony doesn't get to play at all, relegated to sitting on the opposite side of the room and providing color commentary, and some-fucking-how he talked Clint into taking his place. It sounded like a great plan at the time, but in Clint's defense, Tony had his hand around Clint's dick when he proposed it, so a lot of things would have sounded like a good idea right then.

There's a hand on Clint's thigh, and Clint jumps, in the limited way that he can when he's all trussed up like this. The hand strokes him soothingly for a moment, and Clint calms down- which is good, because the next thing that happens is that someone works the plug out of him, sliding their cock into him instead.

Oh, right. That's why he thought this was a good idea.

He's not entirely sure who it is; he knows who's in the room, which narrows it down considerably, but he's not exactly an expert at telling guys apart by their dicks. Whoever it is, he's got a thick cock, filling Clint up like he wants to be filled, spreading him out and keeping him there. Probably Thor then; Steve's pretty big too, but while Steve is by no means an innocent, he still seems deeply confused by this whole thing. Clint can't really blame him, because he really has no idea either. It feels good, so he's doing it, and for now he's letting that be good enough.

He grabs ahold of the ropes as he fucks Clint, using them to pull him onto his dick over and over. Clint can't contribute anything, can't do anything at all except take it, just let himself get pounded. He's not sure he wants to do anything else; he won't feel like walking in the morning, but he was already counting that out anyway.

Someone steps up beside him, close enough that he can feel their presence, and Clint can tell who it is pretty quickly. Natasha, he knows; there's the purely practical fact that her hands are smaller than anybody else's, but her touch would be familiar anyway, the particular way she scratches her nails over his skin, back and forth, serpentine.

And then a crop lands really hard on his back, and that's pretty definitive as far as confirmation goes.

He hates warmup, but he yells behind the gag anyway. It still hurts a whole fucking lot, even though it's really quickly starting to feel good. Natasha knows he can take it, and yelling doesn't work on her. He can beg and moan all he wants, but until he signals, he's getting exactly as much as she wants to give him. He can feel that she's holding back, though; there's something else coming, and Natasha is just prepping him for it, taking him down a little so that he's good and ready.

The person who's inside of him starts moving faster, shaking Clint's body with every thrust. He slaps Clint's thigh as he does it, like he's urging him to go faster- it's definitely Thor. Thor doesn't particularly like hurting people, but he's pretty demanding, and he doesn't treat Clint like he's made of glass. That matches too; Thor's got stamina, but in situations like this one, he doesn't see the point in dragging it out, not when there are other people to take his place.

Clint is enjoying it, but he's nowhere near relaxed. It occurs to him that this has all the marks of a Natasha plan, keeping him on his toes, lulling him into a false sense of security- which Natasha knows doesn't work on him, and he knows she accounted for that too. She set it up this way specifically to watch him squirm.

Then he realizes that he is literally in a web of ropes that Natasha constructed, and if he could he'd smack himself on the forehead.

Thor is getting close now, and Natasha only hits Clint harder. She picks out this one particular spot, hitting him over and over again, and it hurts like fire; the only thing that saves him from having to call out is that Thor comes, holding Clint tight against him, making him take all of it. And like that he's gone, goes off to talk to whoever with just a job-well-done pat.

It's gotten him a temporary reprieve, but Natasha doesn't stop entirely. She's got a little more for him; just when he's decided she's done, she slaps him hard on the back with both hands, one on either side of his spine. Clint groans behind the gag; she scratches her nails down his back before she does it again, and Clint shouts, only doing it louder when she hits him a third time. His back feels hot, so much that he knows it must be bright red, but he really doesn't have a problem with that, not when it feels so good.

He flinches when he feels her hands on his back again, but it's just a fakeout, no sting to it. She scrubs her hand through his hair in goodbye, and then he's alone for a while, just hanging there. That's the part that feels sort of weird; he's okay with getting played with all night long by anybody who wants him, he's totally fine with that, but when he's just looking attractive, it's very strange. He feels like he might be, wrapped up in all these ropes, dark green to stand out on his skin, his body open and ready and- not to brag- pretty inviting, and knowing that is so odd somehow.

Someone unbuckles the gag, rubbing his jaw for a moment to relieve some of the tension. Clint opens his mouth, ready for whatever, but then there are lips on his, kissing him gently. It's weird; his mouth is fair game for anybody in this room to use, but only one of them is allowed to kiss him. The rest of them, they're his team, they're his- it's creepy to call them a family right now, but whatever, he loves all of them more than he could ever manage to say.

But he doesn't belong to them like he belongs to Phil.

"Are you good?" Phil asks quietly, running a hand through Clint's hair.

"Yessir," Clint says, licking his lips.

"Open your mouth," Phil says, and Clint does it immediately, waiting for it; he's not expecting the mouth of a water bottle against his lip. "Hold still."

Of all the things that require the most patience, the most trust, the most submission, Clint just really never knew letting someone give him water would be so far up the list. He knows intellectually that Phil's not going to make him choke, that Phil knows what he's doing even though Clint doesn't, but for some reason trusting him with this mundane thing is so hard, makes him want to panic.

But no; Phil tips the water into his mouth, a little at a time, and Clint swallows gratefully, suddenly realizing how thirsty he is. Finally Phil takes the bottle away, giving Clint a kiss.

"That's a good boy," Phil says, and then there's a hand on Clint's cock, stroking him slowly, and Clint moans.

"Thank you, sir," Clint sighs, and Phil presses a kiss to his temple. He hears Phil moving in front of him, and Clint almost asks him to stay, not to leave him. Then he hears the sound of a zipper very close to his face, and then Phil is running the head of his cock over Clint's lips, and yeah, he's totally okay with that.

There's a hand on his chest now too, and it's just not really surprising when the person pinches his nipple, hard enough to get Clint's attention. He's pretty sure he knows what's coming, and he can't decide if he's dreading it or not. Sure enough, there's the first clamp, and Clint makes an inarticulate noise of pain around Phil's cock- which Phil seems to appreciate, given the way he grabs Clint's hair and starts to fuck his face.

As it turns out, Bruce, of all people, is more than a little bit of a sadist. It's kind of amazing to watch him do it; he's so precise, so focused, knowing exactly what to do to get exactly the reaction he wants, and usually the reaction he wants is full-voiced screaming. He knows how to make it hurt so amazingly bad, and Clint only lets him do it because he knows just what to do to make it feel breathtakingly good, too.

Bruce has started setting the first zipper, bright points of pain down the left side of his chest. Between that and Phil's cock and the wonderful and considerate person who's still stroking him, it's a wonder that he hears the conversation that's going on behind him at all, but it cuts through anyway.

"Don't do this if you don't want to," Sam is saying. "You don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with, okay?"

Clint thinks for a moment that Sam's talking to him, but another voice comes in. "I want to," Steve says, and if Clint could raise his eyebrows right now, he would- he's probably physically capable of it, but that shit seems really complicated. "It's just a little much to take in."

"Not for Clint," Tony calls.

"Are you sure he's okay with this?" Steve asks hesitantly.

"He doesn't get a choice," Phil says, in that voice that makes Clint feel like he's going to turn into liquid; somehow it's way hotter that it's Steve he's talking to like that. "If you don't trust him to know that's what he wants, then you need to go."

"It's all fine," Sam says, in a considerably kinder tone. "Clint's alright. Worry about you."

Steve takes a breath, like he's steeling himself, and this would all be really weird if Clint didn't find it as fucking hilarious as he does. "Okay," Steve says. "I'm in." There's a pause. "You know what I meant."

There are hands on his thighs, running over his skin, and as if he knows Clint's gotten distracted, Bruce chooses that moment to pinch the skin of Clint's underarm and twist. Clint shouts around Phil's cock, making a choked, muffled sound; Clint was not aware that was the most painful thing in the goddamn world, but learn something new every day.

Steve is pushing inside of him now; his dick's not as big as Thor's, but it is certainly enough. He doesn't seem like he's in a hurry, fucking Clint in long, smooth thrusts. The motion is moving the clips that Bruce is still applying, making them shake, making it hurt more, but Bruce is undeterred. When they snap off, he just puts them right back on, and Jesus, Clint is going to have some amazing marks when this is done.

Steve is getting into it now, and Phil is still fucking his mouth like there's no tomorrow, and Clint doesn't know how he's handling it, being pulled in all these different directions. There's just so much, so many sensations, and Clint's grip on everything is getting pretty tenuous. He's losing it, being reduced to nothing, just a thing that feels and takes, just an object.

It is exactly what he wanted.

He loses his sense of time entirely after that, just hangs there and lets them have him, lets them do exactly what they want. It feels like Bruce has covered pretty much all of him in pins by the time he stops. He runs a hand over Clint's abdomen, and Clint has the sudden realization that the next place he feels a clip might be on his dick. He's not sure what he'd do about that, not sure that even now he can go there.

Except that then a hot, wet mouth closes over his cock, and Clint moans, trying to move to get more, despite the fact that it's pretty hopeless. It's so fucking good, and Clint feels like he's going to go off any second, just let it all pour out of him.

Phil slaps Clint's face, just a tap to get his attention. "Don't come," he says sternly, and fuck, fuck, nobody said anything about not coming. Clint really wants to protest; he's not ready to safeword over it or anything, but he'd definitely beg right now.

Bruce definitely is a sadist, because no sooner than Phil's said that, he yanks one of the zippers off. Clint screams, struggling against the ropes; it was a short one, but it still hurt like fuck. He knows it's only going to get worse, and Bruce proves that to him very quickly, pulling another one. This one must be longer, because he pops the clips off one at a time, slowly enough that Clint has just enough time to anticipate every one.

He'd thought the pain stuff wasn't Steve's thing, but apparently Clint was wrong about that; Steve grabs him by the shoulders, fucking into him hard and fast. Not to be outdone, Bruce rips off another zipper- fuck, how many of those things does he have, Clint's going to die before he's done with them- and Steve slams into him hard enough that it knocks the wind out of him, coming deep inside him.

As Steve gets it back together, Bruce starts on another of the zippers, taking this one off a little at a time. Steve finally pulls out, stroking Clint's calf before he goes- and Bruce, that asshole, yanks the rest of the zipper off all at once. He's really earning his sadist cred today. Clint is not going to make the mistake of forgetting that.

"One more, and then the clamps," Phil tells him, fucking his mouth a little more slowly; his teeth are clenched, and Clint really doesn't know how he's hanging on either. "Then you can come."

Clint thinks he can do that, no problem, except that whoever's sucking him off starts getting after it, taking him down and swallowing around him. Clint's eyes were already watering, but now he's definitely crying. Bruce tugs at the end of the last zipper for a moment, making Clint sweat it out. He finally starts pulling, and it's so fucking long, it seems to last forever, Clint is making sobbing noises around Phil's cock but it's still going, still hurts so much, it finally stops but in the next instant Bruce takes off the clamps, and Clint comes so fucking hard, Phil's come hitting the back of his throat a second later. The person who's sucking him doesn't stop, and all of a sudden it jolts through him again, one more wave before he's out, completely spent.

He just hangs there for a while, just sort of being; Phil is there, saying nice things to him and stroking his hair, but he can only kinda tell what else is going on. Someone's making sex noises somewhere nearby, and ten bucks says Natasha ambushed Sam and is riding him as hard as she can. Thor apparently thinks it's funny and/or hot and is cheering them on, which seems like him. Tony is already on the phone to Pepper to tell her about all of this, and it sounds like he's enlisted Bruce to fill in the details he couldn't see- and probably to hold the phone up, because it definitely sounds like this turned into phone sex about thirty seconds in.

"I'm good," Clint says hoarsely, because he thinks Phil may have asked.

"That you are," Phil says. "Tell me when you want to come down."

"Eh," Clint says. "Take your time."