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They'd been yelling at each other for five minutes and Clint didn't even remember what the argument was about any more. He had stormed into his quarters in a huff, and Coulson stormed in after him and stood with his back to the closed door, going off on him for taking a risk.
The risk had been worth it. He'd made the damn shot, that was all anyone ever cared about, so why was he getting reamed out for it. Reamed out by Coulson who never raised his voice, never lost his cool, never...
Fuck. Clint stared into the face, the eyes that were inches from his and suddenly knew that this is what Coulson... what Phil would look like on his back, moaning and panting and begging for more. Clint's dick jumped to half mast and he shouted,
"Fuck you, Coulson. One day I'm gonna..."
"What?" Coulson's voice had gone low and menacing, "One day you're gonna what?"
"One day I'm gonna rip that fucking suit off you and see what's left of you then."
"If you think the suit has anything to do with me riding you, you've got another thing coming."
"Riding me? Riding me? Jesus fuck Coulson don't fucking say things like that if you don't mean them."
Clint's dick had taken control of his mouth and he knew he was in a world of trouble now. Coulson's face was red and his breath was short and Clint expected him to throw a punch any second.
"What if I do?"
"What?"
"What if I do mean them?" Coulson took a step towards him and Clint backed into the middle of the tiny room, "Are you up for being ridden, Barton?"
"Fuck yeah, sir." Clint spat the 'sir' calling Coulson's bluff. He was bluffing. He had to be bluffing.
"Go ahead then. Undress me." Coulson held his arms out to his sides and looked at Clint with challenge in his eyes.
Clint swallowed. He was hard and horny and pissed off and humiliated and just crazy enough to keep playing this stupid game with his handler. There was no way he was going to back down first. He knew he'd probably get sucker punched the minute he put his hands on Phil. Fuck! On Coulson. But it would be worth it to see Coulson loose his cool and hit him. He'd have to admit, then, that he wasn't fucking perfect.
Clint grinned dangerously, and reached for the lapels of Coulson's jacket.
"Be careful, this suit cost more than you make in a month." Clint glared at him, pulled the chair out from the tiny computer desk, then turned back to Coulson, looking him straight in the eye.
He raised his hands again, tense, ready for a blow, and put his fingers lightly on the fine wool fabric of Coulson's jacket. It was warm with body heat. Clint nearly came in his pants. He was close enough to Coulson that they were breathing each other's breath. There was something in Phil's eyes. Something Clint had never seen before. Something...
Phil made a small sound in his throat and Clint realized that he had slipped his thumbs under the lapels of Phil's jacket and was running them slowly up and down the soft fabric of his white shirt, tracing the contours of muscles that it hid. Clint swallowed again, determined. Determined not to break first. He eased the jacket off Phil's shoulders and hung it carefully, neatly on the back of the chair. He stepped even closer and raised his hands to Phil's tie, slipping two fingers in behind the knot to hold it steady as he loosed it with his other hand. He could feel Phil swallowing convulsively, his Adams apple bobbing against Clint's fingers and fuck, that should not feel anywhere near as sexy as it did!
He loosened the tie and drew it off and draped it over the jacket. He raised his hands to the collar button of Phil's shirt. Make or break. If Phil was going to stop him, it was going to be now. Clint's hands were shaking. He tried to steady them. Phil swallowed again, and Clint wanted to dip his head and bite at his throat, make him moan and thrash. He unbuttoned Phil's collar.
Phil sighed softly. He had no idea where this was going, if Clint was just fucking with him, but he had to know. If there was any chance that Clint wasn't fucking with him, any chance at all that his gorgeous, insubordinate, brilliant, pain-in-the-ass, loyal archer could want the same things he wanted. Phil stood, hot and hard and wanting, letting Clint slowly undress him.
Clint's hands continued to shake as he undid the next button and the next. Somehow, their faces were now only inches apart. Clint tilted his head a fraction to one side. Phil went to the other. Clint's fingers were on the next button. They both slowly closed the gap, a fraction of an inch at a time, until they were breathing hot air into each other's part-open mouths.
Phil's hands were in Clint's hair and Clint hands were grasping handfuls of Phil's muscular back and their lips were crushed together, mouths open, tongues dueling, thrusting, seeking, probing. They gasped and thrust hard dicks together through layers of cloth and both men moaned.
"Want you," Phil growled into Clint's mouth.
"Fucking take me," Clint whined back, his hands tearing at Phil's shirt and undershirt, then at his own fly. "Want you to fuck me Phil. Wanted it forever. Want you to fuck me hard."
"Going to. Going to fuck you so hard and so deep. Going to bury myself in your perfect ass."
They kicked off shoes and struggled out of their pants and Clint scrabbled in the box under his bunk for the tube of lube he knew he had there.
Phil pushed him back on the bed and he went, willingly, wantonly, gasping and moaning as Phil's body covered his and pinned him down. Clint put the lube in Phil's hand and Phil growled and bit down hard on Clint's shoulder.
"Fuck yeah." Clint gasped.
"You like it rough?"
"What the fuck do you think?"
"Good. Because I'm not in the mood to be gentle."
"Bring it."
Two slick fingers pressed insistently into his ass and Clint was so turned on that he shoved himself down onto them.
"Impatient for my cock?"
"Want to see what you've got."
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough." Phil was working his ass with two fingers, stretching him so quickly that it burned. Clint bucked under him and Phil bit down on his shoulder again.
"Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah, Phil. Fuck me. Goddamn it, give me your cock. Give it to me. Fuck me, Phil." Clint didn't care if it sounded like he was begging. Didn't care about anything right now except for getting fucked as soon and as hard as possible. Phil shifted, pulled one of Clint's legs up onto his shoulder, and crowded in.
"Ready?"
"Fuck, yeah."
Phil drove in with one powerful thrust. Clint threw his head back and keened. Phil started to thrust, pounding him hard.
"Yes. Fuck, yes. Phil, harder. Fuck me harder."
Phil pounded him with everything he had, letting loose for the first time in as long as he could remember, knowing Clint could take it. Knowing Clint wanted it, needed it as much as he did.
Phil's next stroke hit his sweet spot and Clint howled and saw stars and came, clenching hard and spurting onto his own chest. Phil growled and pounded harder and screamed Clint's name as he came.
Phil collapsed on top of him, gasping. Clint wrapped his arms around Phil's sweaty body and petted him, kissing his shoulder lightly again and again while he got his breathing under control.
"You OK?" Phil finally asked.
"Awesome," Clint grinned. "You?"
"Awesome about covers it. So. That's been a long time coming."
"Yeah."
"I don't do one-time deals." Phil said, his voice steady and even. "I want this."
"I want it too."
"Good."
"Does that mean I can kiss you some more?"
"Go for it."