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Phil had only ever been Dommed by women; had only ever slept with women. Clint knew all that before he even started falling for him, and he’d always assumed that was that. Then the Brussels op had put them in a tight spot, and when they got out alive Phil had just—kissed him. Out of nowhere. Like it was a perfectly normal Phil Coulson thing to do.
And, well, whether it was a normal Phil Coulson thing to do or not, Clint wasn’t willing to let anyone he wanted that much get away that easily. Especially not Phil.
One night in and he was already done for. Phil’s breath against his neck, Phil’s tongue following the v of his shirt down his chest; Clint knew he’d never get enough. Phil’s hands were everywhere, and they felt good. Better than good; beyond good. If his brain was remotely close to functioning he’d probably come up with a word better than good but it was good.
Clint moaned against Phil’s mouth. He gave Phil’s ass a firm squeeze and then let go, sliding his hands back to Phil’s hips. He tried to push lightly, easing Phil back from where he was straddling Clint’s hips on his own couch, pressing them close together, teasing Clint with how hard he felt through their pants.
Pants that would be gone as soon as they could separate long enough to get them off.
For his part, Clint couldn’t remember why he even owned clothes in the first place.
Phil fought him a little, but eventually relented and sat back on Clint’s thighs. Clint leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Phil’s shoulder, breathing hard in and out through his nose. He couldn’t look at Phil yet. He could picture him though: Phil’s lips swollen and wet, Phil’s eyes blown wide with arousal, his hair just ruffled enough to make Clint feel proud and possessive and like Phil was his.
Phil was his, almost; Phil told Clint he wanted to be his. There wasn’t anything Clint wanted more than for Phil to be his.
“C’mon, Clint,” Phil panted against his shoulder, “take me to bed. Let me show you what a good sub I can be for you.”
How was he supposed to resist that?
His mouth—his mouth—Phil’s mouth on his dick was beyond anything. Clint cycled in a round of too much and not enough and too much again, and again, and again. He didn’t think he could hold back. He needed to last for Phil, to give Phil what he wanted.
“You’re beautiful,” Phil moaned as he slowly kissed his way down Clint’s thighs.
Clint couldn’t stop himself from crying out in ecstasy as Phil kissed his way back up his legs before wrapping his lips around Clint’s cock again. Phil moaned like he was the one in heaven, and Clint let himself get lost in everything Phil was willing to give him.