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Clint was horny a lot. This was nothing new or even all that interesting, really. He'd always had a ridiculously high sex drive, but life had a way of teaching you how to cope. It was amazing what he could do while sporting a hard-on, and how good he'd gotten at hiding when he had one but was too busy to deal with it. The only person who always knew was Natasha, and since she'd never been required to help him take care of said hard-ons, she'd never given him shit about them either.

The only real problem came when Clint somehow found himself in a steady relationship. He'd never actually had one, so he hadn't really been prepared for how to deal with it. But barely a week into sleeping with Phil, it became distressingly evident that their libidos just did not match. Even if Coulson hadn't been one of the busiest men on the planet, his natural level of sexual urges was still fairly low, so there was a supremely awkward conversation about that very early in their relationship. But Clint made sure that Phil knew there was no pressure. Clint was used to taking care of this business himself, after all. Having maybe one hard-on out of a hundred taken care of by someone else was still a luxury he wasn't accustomed to.

However, Clint also made it obvious that Phil had only to mention a time or a place, and there would be sex. Anytime. Anyplace. At all. Even if for some unknown reason Clint wasn't actually horny at that particular moment in time, it would take nothing more than a look or, hell, even a mild breeze before he was good to go again, so that was no obstacle.

To Clint's absolute delight, Phil took his words to heart. He'd send a text with nothing but a location and a time (usually just “ASAP”) and Clint would move heaven and earth to get there. Given their crazy lives, he didn't always make it, but more often than not, he actually did. He had a nice collection of speeding tickets to prove it, each one of them pinned to his wall as a reminder of how it had been totally worth it. He'd even made notes on a couple of them.

“JC, passed out after this one!”
“Fury's desk = hot but inadvisable.”
“Tony is a total peeping tom. Can't complain.”

Phil had rolled his eyes at his collection, but hadn't commented, which usually meant he agreed. And then they'd had sex, so Clint took it as the victory it was.

Fortunately, Clint was also of the opinion that all sex was good sex, so however Phil wanted it, he could have it. Clint was even starting to feel particularly partial to frottage, because Phil really liked it, plus it required next to no prep, thereby increasing the chances of a quickie happening. Which it had. Multiple times. In a stunning variety of places. Clint had never been happier.

* * *

Phil was a busy man. Always. And frankly, he liked it that way. He'd never actually thought he'd end up having any sort of steady partner, so Clint took him somewhat by surprise. What was even more surprising was how Phil barely had to move or even breathe for Barton to go red in the face, and practically rut up against him as soon as they were alone. Sometimes even when they weren't. It was flattering in a way Phil hadn't really been prepared for.

But it had indeed been somewhat dismaying to realize that he would never be able to keep up with Clint's sexual needs. Phil was already well aware that he was horny a lot less than your average guy, but compared to Clint the difference was astounding. Thankfully, they were both experts at problem solving, so very early in their relationship they had come up with a compromise that seemed to work nicely. Phil could have sex whenever the mood struck. Even if Clint was half-way around the world, he would find a way to get home and deliver. In return, Phil would happily offer a handjob or blowjob when he had a moment, even if he wasn't interested in reciprocation just then. Which had resulted in some memorable instances, one of them ending up with Clint biting his fist and coming all over Phil's hand while Fury was on the line.

All in all, Phil was very happy with how things were working out.

But of course there had to come a time where circumstances were reversed. It was simply the nature of the universe or something. One night, Phil realized suddenly that he had no work to do that couldn't wait until morning, and that Barton would be home from his mission, and most likely waiting in Phil's bed, naked and willing for whatever Phil might be up for. Which it was rapidly becoming obvious might be quite a bit more than usual. So Phil took off early, nearly giving his secretary a heart attack, and headed home.

Knowing that Clint would be ready at the slightest suggestion, Phil didn't even bother calling out. He just locked the door to his apartment behind him and shed his clothes on the way to the bedroom. He was already half-hard and more eager than he could remember being since the first heady days with Clint. Down to his boxers and socks, Phil entered the bedroom, only to stop dead in the doorway.

Clint was indeed on the bed, flat on his back, naked, the covers kicked to the floor. But he was asleep. Deeply. Clint was a notoriously light sleeper, and usually the slightest footfall was enough to have him jerk awake. So when he didn't, Phil had to assume he was pretty much unconscious.

Slightly disappointed, Phil told his libido sternly that it couldn't expect payoff every time, just because it had been spoiled for months, shed his last clothes, and crawled into bed next to his comatose lover. But even in sleep Clint was apparently always wired up, because just brushing against his side made his cock perk up, and he was at half mast before Phil was even settled next to him, not bothering with the coverlet in the sleep-warm room.

Phil caught himself looking at the rapidly thickening shaft speculatively, and forced himself to close his eyes and go to sleep. Just because he was horny, and for one time in this relationship had to ignore it, didn't mean he should take leave of his senses and molest his boyfriend in his sleep.

But as soon as his eyes were closed, his mind whizzed back to one of their conversations about this very situation. Clint had come racing home from a mission and within seconds of bursting through the door he had been on his knees, sucking down Phil's cock like a starving man. Which he probably had been. Afterwards, while they were catching their breath splayed out on the carpet, Phil had felt slightly bad for pulling Barton away from whatever he'd been doing, and apologized. But Clint had just kissed him and made it clear that he'd meant it when he'd said whenever, wherever.

“I'm serious,” he'd said, sex-flushed and gorgeous. “I don't care if I'm injured or asleep or in a meeting with the President of the US of A. If you're up for it, then so am I. Even in a coma, I still want you. Trust me. My dick can't lie,” he'd joked, pointedly looking down at said dick, already perking up again mere minutes after an intense climax.

Lying in bed, hearing Clint breathing slowly next to him, suddenly it was all Phil could think about. His morals were usually impeccable, but Clint made his head spin – had done so from day one – and sweet Jesus, did he always smell this nice?

Before he was really aware of what he was doing, Phil let his hand slide down Clint's chest and took hold of the now fully hard cock. It twitched in his hand, but Clint still didn't move, which started Phil's guilt all over again, and he snapped his hand away. Dammit. He really wanted Clint just then, but he was obviously exhausted and Phil didn't want to wake him. In their line of work, you had to catch sleep when you could, never knowing when a call might come in. So he settled down again, this time on his back, and idly stroked himself instead. Which was nice, but so not enough. Not when Clint was lying naked right there.

Phil turned his head away, hoping to distract himself, but then he noticed that the drawer in his nightstand was slightly open. The only things in that nightstand was Phil's extra reading glasses and... lube. Yanking open the drawer, he immediately confirmed that it had definitely been in use recently. Which had to mean that Clint had been pleasuring himself earlier. And Phil had been a witness to that enough to times to know exactly what that usually entailed.

It was suddenly hard to breathe and Phil's own cock pulsed with the images playing in his mind. He turned back over, facing Clint, and in a moment of reckless impulse, he reached down between Clint's splayed legs and dipped a finger in between his buttocks.

Still wet.

There was only so much he could take, his mind already clouded by his severe case of lust, so he told his morals to fuck off, and finally let his hands roam. Clint mumbled in his sleep, but didn't wake up from the stroking and kneading. Evidently, Phil shouldn't expect cooperation, and for once he didn't care. He rolled on top of Clint, kissed his slack, half open mouth in something like apology, and moved down his body with lips and tongue. Just because Clint was asleep didn't mean Phil wasn't going to see to his needs.

He spent long moments just mouthing at Clint's nipples, and was gratified when the chest underneath started heaving. He moved further down, licked Clint's navel, nosed through the line of dark hairs leading lower, and finally wrapped his lips around the head of Clint's cock. The slight groan from Clint only served as encouragement, so Phil picked up the abandoned bottle of lube, slicked up two fingers and worked them inside. They slid in so easy that there could be no doubt left that Clint had been fingering himself earlier. Maybe even used a toy of some sort. He had brought over a few of his personal favorites, keeping them in Phil's bathroom, and while Phil didn't much care for that sort of thing personally, he had to admit there was something dizzyingly hot about seeing Clint using them on himself. So the thought that he'd been doing that only hours previously made Phil shiver with want.

Before losing all rational thought, Phil decided to at least try and wake up Clint enough for him to be aware and have the chance to refuse, however unlikely that was. But even calling his name and shaking his shoulders firmly had no effect. Clint merely mumbled some more and even rolled his hips slightly, so Phil waved goodbye to his sanity, spread a generous handful of lube on his almost painfully hard cock, and hitched Clint's legs over his elbows. Sliding inside the tight, hot hole was bliss. Absolute bliss. There was no other word for it. When he was about half-way in, there was suddenly pressure and he stopped, slightly panicked at the sight of Clint's eyes flying open, and strong hands shooting out to grip his shoulders.

“Oh, fuck,” Clint wheezed, sounding pained. Phil tried to pull back and start apologizing, but Clint wouldn't let him. “I thought I was dreaming,” he whispered, his eyes wide. Phil swallowed, unsure of how to proceed, but Clint rolled his hips again, forcing him in deeper. “More, please. Oh god, more.”

Finally having the permission he needed, Phil let out a sigh of relief and pushed all the way in. Clint moaned and moved his hips in encouragement, even as his tired arms fell back onto the bed. His eyes fell closed again, and his body was lax, but Phil was more than happy to do all the work. He hoisted Clint up higher, until his hips were off the bed, and thrust in hard, setting a fast pace. Clint panted, his mouth falling open with pleasure, and Phil reveled in it.

“So good,” he groaned. “Always so good.”

Clint nodded vaguely in agreement, his cock pulsing visibly where it was resting against his stomach. Phil reached around Clint's leg and started jerking his cock in time with his thrusts, which made Clint toss his head, and his thighs started shaking. Knowing the signs, Phil thrust just a little more upwards, adjusting his angle, and barely half a minute later, Clint came in weak spurts over Phil's fist.

“Fuck,” Clint grunted, before going completely lax again, and apparently going right back to sleep. But there was no way Phil was stopping now. Instead, he pulled out, crawled up the bed and rolled Clint onto his side. Pushing up Clint's leg and exposing his hole again, Phil spooned up behind him and slid back in. No longer having to hold them up, Phil could thrust more easily, and he soon lost himself in the delight of senseless fucking. There was a strange luxury in not having to care about his partner's needs, and he was soon snapping his hips harder and harder, every slap of his hips against Clint's ass like music to his ears.

He felt the wave of his orgasm coming as if from very far away, and it crashed down on him hard, his hips stuttering and his toes curling as he finally emptied himself into Clint's welcoming body. For a while he just lay there panting, struggling weakly with his rapidly returning morals. But it was really difficult feeling truly bad when his cock was softening between Clint's buttocks, sliding in a generous trail of come.

And then, as if reading his mind even in his sleep, Clint pushed back against him and muttered: “Mmm. Phil. Love your cock.”

After that, Phil decided to follow Clint's example and maybe put off feeling guilty until morning.