Clint’s waiting outside Phil’s door when Phil rounds the corner to call it a night. His suit is still damp. His socks are soaked. He’s tired of hearing “still drinking” updates every twenty minutes over comms. It has been an annoying day. He doesn’t ask how Clint figured out which room is his in the maze of temporary corridors. Clint always knows without Phil telling him, and Phil punches in his code and lets Clint follow him in.
“Drove all that way to take a shot, and you didn’t even let me,” Clint says as soon as the door’s closed. He strips out of his t-shirt and sits down to unlace his boots.
“You didn’t come out here to take a shot. You came out here to do your job, which may occasionally include taking shots,” Phil points out as he toes out of his shoes and works on his tie.
“I came out here to take a shot,” Clint says as he stands again. His cargo pants are riding low on his hips. His feet are bare. He walks over to Phil and pushes his hands down from his tie, undoing it himself. “And you wouldn’t let me. But you certainly had no problem watching the big blond ox mud-wrestle for a couple of minutes.”
Phil shrugs out of his suit jacket and arches forward when Clint starts to unbutton his shirt. Clint shoves at his chest, and Phil goes sprawling back onto the bed. He gives Clint a quizzical look. “Territorial tonight?” he asks.
“I could hear you breathing,” Clint says. “Could hear you practically panting for that guy when he went for that hammer, all those muscles straining. I know what you’re like, Phil. You’ve spent a lot of fucking time feeling up my arms, kissing them, licking them. You think I wouldn’t catch on to your reaction to Mr. Muscles down in the mud pit?”
“Territorial it is,” Phil says, and he groans when Clint leans down and presses their mouths together, thumb stroking the corner of Phil’s mouth as he slides his tongue against Phil’s and presses his other hand to Phil’s erection through his slacks.
“You liked the show, didn’t you?” Clint hisses against Phil’s mouth. “His ass and arms all covered in mud, soaking wet. Were you thinking about it? Thinking about what it’d be like to get that ass under your hands, pulling those arms back so you can see the way he flexes while you bite at his shoulders?”
“Yes,” Phil admits because he did, for a moment, picture exactly that scenario, using the known curve and movement of Clint when he fucks him to slot “Donald” into place on the end of his dick. “He’s taller than you. It’d take more to get him where I wanted him.”
“You’d manhandle the fuck out of him,” Clint says. “Shove him around, slap his ass.” Clint stands and shimmies out of his cargos, undoes the belt on Phil’s slacks and strips him naked in one, hard tug. He climbs into Phil’s lap, underwear still on, the heat of his dick through his boxer briefs making Phil arch up. “Show him who’s boss.”
“I’ll show you who’s boss,” Phil mutters, and Clint twists his nipple in punishment. Phil grins and snaps Clint’s waistband. Clint twists his other nipple. It’s fantastic.
“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t move,” Clint tells him, leaning down and pressing his hands against Phil’s shoulders. “Going to fuck you until you forget what Fabio-lite looked like straining for that hammer.”
“It was a hell of an image,” Phil says as Clint starts to pull down his own underwear. “I’m not going to forget it for awhile.”
Clint pauses, dick hanging out over his lowered waistband. He’s hard, his dick flushed red. Phil wants it in his mouth more than he wants to breathe. “You trying to get me to fuck you harder?” Clint asks.
“I’m trying to get you to shut me up,” Phil replies. He pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Unless you want to hear more about how I’d fuck our mystery man. You think he likes getting his hair pull—” Phil drops his jaw so Clint can slide his dick all the way in when it hits his lower lip. He sucks and keeps still, letting Clint create the rhythm by moving Phil’s head back and forth at the speed he wants. Clint wants it fast, doesn’t want Phil to get his breath back, angles his dick so it rubs against Phil’s soft palette. Phil responds by shifting weight to his left elbow so he can grab Clint’s hip with his right hand and pull himself closer, nose brushing Clint’s pubic hair as Phil breathes out hard, Clint’s hands clenching in his hair when Phil ups the suction.
“Going to fuck you,” Clint murmurs. “Stick my fingers in your ass and make you beg me to move them.”
Phil pulls off Clint’s dick with a wet pop. There’s drool on his chin, and he leaves it there. “Yes,” he says. “Make me work for it.”
Clint pulls back, pushes Phil flat with one hand and caresses him from shoulder to hipbone as he reaches back for his pants and pulls out a tube of lube and a condom. “How much do you want to work for it?”
“A lot,” Phil says because it has been a truly obnoxious day, and getting to work for something he knows will end well sounds fantastic. “A whole fucking lot.”
“Hmm,” Clint hums and presses a dry finger between Phil’s cheeks, presses the tip of it against Phil’s hole. Phil bucks his hips and watches the grin on Clint’s face go from cocky to tender then back to cocky. He loves this moment, just on the edge of Clint taking complete control, the last second before Clint makes him lose his damned mind through his dick.
Phil bites his lip when Clint pulls his hand away. Watches Clint slick up two fingers at once. Phil grabs for the headboard out of habit, and his arms drop behind his head when he remembers that temporary beds for temporary quarters don’t have anything so unnecessary as a slatted headboard that he and Clint picked out precisely so they’d have something to grab as needed.
“Guess you’ll have to lift yourself up without any help,” Clint says. He leans over Phil, one hand pressing against Phil’s shoulder, the other between his ass cheeks, two slick fingers probing slowly against his opening. “And that’s too bad because you’re gonna want to lift yourself up a lot.”
Clint twists his fingers. He doesn’t push them any deeper, but the movement alone makes Phil buck his hips. “Yeah,” Clint says. He twists his fingers again, and they slide a tiny bit deeper. Phil grunts, and Clint pauses. “Think I’ll just wait right here for a minute.”
Phil wants to reach down and take over, wrap his fingers around Clint’s wrist and pull hard enough to get Clint’s fingers deeper, but Clint is pressed down on him, warm and heavy and breathing against Phil’s neck, and that’s almost as good. That’s worth the wait Phil knows he’s in for.
“Spent the entire goddamn day in the car,” Clint whispers in his ear. “Me, a bunch of shitty radio stations, and fuck-all nowhere to stop to take a piss. I finally find a place, and I walk in, and it just radiates you.”
Phil grins and tilts his neck as Clint bites on his tendon. “About a hundred miles out? Pretty, dark-haired woman in a plaid shirt at the counter?”
“Yeah. I had to pull over five miles after I stopped there to jerk off because I could track your fight, and all I could see was that fucking ridiculous shelf kick you love so much.”
“That kick is amazing,” Phil says. Clint pushes his fingers the rest of the way in, and Phil howls from the glorious burn and slide of it.
Clint bites his shoulder and ruts against his hipbone and hisses Phil’s name as he starts up a slow rhythm with his fingers. “Fucking Fabio-lite,” he growls, slipping back to the point of contention that got them where they are right now. Phil moans in approval. “Fucking pretty clerks to distract you. Fucking assignments that take you away from me.”
“It’s awful,” Phil agrees. He gets a harder thrust of Clint’s fingers, just like he was hoping.
“No mouth from you,” Clint says. He kisses Phil before Phil can respond, tongue fucks his mouth until Phil gets a hand into Clint’s hair and tugs hard. “Want something?” Clint asks. He pulls his fingers out completely, and Phil tries to follow them. He swears under his breath when Clint drizzles lube over his balls and down his ass. Before Phil can get his breath back, Clint massages the lube over Phil’s balls while sliding his fingers back in, adding a third.
“Fuck me,” Phil breathes out.
“Working on it,” Clint replies. He rests back on his heels and slides his hand from Phil’s balls to Phil’s inner thigh, rubbing his thumb into the crease between Phil’s leg and hip. “Would you fuck him?” Clint asks.
“Our mysterious stranger?” Phil asks. Clint pulls his fingers out, and Phil groans.
“Would you fuck him?” Clint asks, circling Phil’s opening.
“I bet he’s a toppy bottom,” Phil replies.
“You’d know,” Clint tells him. He slides his fingers back in and rotates them. “Would you fuck him?”
“Given the chance, all goddamn night.”
Clint pauses all movement, pulls his fingers out slowly, and rests his hands on Phil’s thighs. His eyes go dark as a flush crawls up his chest and neck. “You would?”
“I’d fuck him until we broke the bed, and I’d keep going.” Phil wraps his legs around Clint’s waist and shifts his weight, unbalancing Clint so Clint ends up covering him, hands on either side of Phil’s head, their noses practically touching. “And you’d be watching the whole time. Come down after and bend me over what was left of the bed and fuck me until I couldn’t see straight.”
“Hmm,” Clint says as he reaches behind Phil’s balls again. “Is that how you want it?”
“Fuck you until you can’t think? Can’t move? Can’t breathe?”
“Yes.” Phil arches when Clint shifts and lines up his dick. “Fuck me,” he says, and he won’t admit to begging unless Clint makes him. “Fuck me,” he repeats when Clint pauses, his dick pressing hard against Phil’s opening. He pulls away, and Phil scrabbles for him, digging his nails into Clint’s biceps.
“Changed my mind,” Clint says. He rolls off Phil. “Fucking you into the mattress isn’t what I want.”
Phil is tempted to jerk himself off, come all over Clint’s chest, and leave Clint to clean up the mess. But he also really, really wants what’s about to happen because the look in Clint’s eyes tells him it’ll be worth it. “What do you want?” he asks.
“I want you to work for it,” Clint says. He strokes himself a few times and lays back, tucks his hands behind his head. “I want you to climb on top of me and fuck yourself on my dick.”
This is exactly what he needs, Phil thinks. An objective he can accomplish. No gray areas, no miscalculations, no possibility he’ll make the wrong call. He grabs the lube and squeezes some onto his hand, works it over Clint’s dick until he’s extra-slick. He wipes his hand on Clint’s thigh, which gets him a growl, and then he straddles Clint’s hips and slowly sinks down. Clint grabs the backs of his thighs, fingers digging into Phil’s ass, and holds him steady as Phil works his way down.
“Easy,” Clint murmurs. His hands flex on Phil’s ass. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
Phil pauses and breathes out. He plants his hands on Clint’s hips and slides down farther. “I’ve got it,” he says. Clint shifts his hips, and Phil has to keep from collapsing, it feels so good, the movement of it, the way Clint’s hands have moved to his waist, palms warm on his sides as he makes Phil take it slow, makes Phil hold still as he moves his hips again.
“That’s it,” Clint says. “Like that.”
Phil’s panting in want by the time he settles in Clint’s lap. Clint lets go of Phil’s waist and pulls Phil’s hands into his, intertwining their fingers. He pushes up with his hips, and Phil rolls with it, head falling forward as Clint does it again.
“You’re going to sit there, and take it,” Clint says.
“Yes,” Phil says, and he lets everything on his mind empty out as Clint starts to fuck him steadily. Mission reports, the supposed Dr. Blake, the chance that the thunderstorm is going to require re-stabilizing parts of the temporary compound—all of it wipes out in the steady movement of Clint’s hips, the straining tendons in Clint’s arms as he uses his strength to keep Phil upright when he pushes up harder and makes Phil shout.
“Too much?” Clint asks, pausing. His hands flex around Phil’s, and it causes a muscle ripple all the way up his arms. Phil wants to shift the balance of power, pin Clint down, and bite his way from his wrists to his biceps.
“No,” Phil replies. He presses down, and it makes Clint buck up, and Phil shouts again at how good it is.
“So that’s what you want,” Clint says, and his grin is dangerous.
“You said you’d fuck the breath out of me,” Phil replies.
Clint drops his hands, and grabs Phil by the hips, and he pounds into Phil like it’s a race to see who will come first. Phil plants his hands on Clint’s chest and takes it, dick sliding along Clint’s stomach, not enough to make Phil come, but enough to add the buzz of wanting to to the thrill of getting properly fucked. Phil shouts when Clint twists just right, and Clint does it again. “Let me hear you,” Clint says, and Phil makes all the noise he can between giant panting breaths.
Clint hums in approval and fucks him harder, coming a few minutes later with a drawn-out groan and his hands bruisingly tight on Phil’s hips. Phil slumps against him when Clint stops moving. “Did you come?” Clint asks.
“No,” Phil tells him.
“Hold on,” Clint says, and he pulls out of Phil with care, rolls Phil onto his back, curls up warm and close at his side. He jerks Phil off as he kisses him with a soft mouth. Phil cups the side of his face and returns the kisses, moaning into Clint’s mouth for the last few strokes before he comes over Clint’s hand. “Stay put,” Clint says, and he rolls out of bed, walking into the attached, tiny bathroom.
Phil dozes as he listens to Clint wash up. He smiles without opening his eyes when Clint runs a hand down his thigh and then uses a warm washcloth to clean lube from Phil’s ass and balls. “Staying?” Phil murmurs when Clint pulls away.
“Like you could get rid of me,” Clint scoffs as he walks back into the bathroom. He comes back out a moment later, crawls into bed so he and Phil are face-to-face, and kisses him again. “Got your breath back yet?”
“Working on it,” Phil replies. He slides a hand up and down Clint’s flank before tugging until Clint’s leg is draped over his. “Missed you,” he says.
“Missed you,” Clint tells him. He kisses Phil’s forehead and settles back on the pillow. “Warm enough?”
“Get some sleep,” Clint says. “You look like hell.”
“There’s no one but you.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Clint asks, huffing a laugh. “God, you get soft post-coital.”
“Everywhere,” Phil agrees, and he grins when Clint laughs again and pulls him in closer.
“Thanks for indulging me,” Clint says into Phil’s neck.
“My pleasure,” Phil tells him, and he drops off to sleep to the sound of Clint chuckling against his skin.