10. Chapter 10

Once, Clint felt helpless. It was not the day his parents died, or the day he and Barney were placed in an orphanage, or when he totally screwed up his very first solo mission for SHIELD and thought he was going to get canned all the way back to the circus. Those were bad days, but Clint had never felt like his ‘personal agency’ (as Coulson called it) was compromised. Feeling sad or angry or scared was not the same as feeling helpless.

Clint felt helpless standing in the middle of a stark, anonymous room with the Black Widow sitting quietly, willingly in chains while Coulson calmly walked up to her with a knife in his hands.

Clint felt helpless, watching, while the consequences of his decision to give her chance—to beg Coulson to give her a chance—played out in front of him.

Coulson could slit her throat, or die trying. All three of them could end up dead in a parody of a tragic love story. Anything was possible, and none of it was something Clint had control over at that point. More importantly, he cared like he rarely had before about anyone, other than Barney or Coulson. That was where helplessness was born, he decided: the act of caring about someone or something you had no control over.

If you didn’t care, you would never feel helpless.

Clint cared.

He woke up to that thought, the world hazy and white like television static. He was still in Phil’s arms, and from what Clint could tell, Phil was still asleep. Clint lay there, forcing himself to blink to just make sure that he did. His eyes were watering fine, and he knew that from the outside they were okay. But even with the marked lessening of the pain and the suggestion of shadows or light infiltrating the static that hurt to look at, he didn’t trust them. That was a first, and it bothered him. Something else to put into “Clint’s Fucked Up” box of goodies.

There was no way to know what time it was. He could not see whether the sun was up, he couldn’t read a clock. That was its own form of helplessness, but something Clint knew he could conquer by asking JARVIS to tell him the time, or have Coulson—Phil—tell him.

No, his new particular brands of helplessness was the fear that Phil wouldn’t need him.

He tried not to cringe remembering how pathetic he must has sounded, begging Phil not to backtrack into being his handler by asking about his pain levels. It was helplessness, pure and desperate, that had sent Clint reaching out for the man he loved but could not see.

Because Clint cared about Phil, and he cared about what Phil thought of him, and that was a whole new level of helplessness that Clint was ill-prepared to combat.

Laying in Phil’s arms, he brought one hand up and carefully placed it over Phil’s heart, that fragile organ that had been stopped one too many times by Loki and which Clint never wanted to live without feeling against his palm.

Phil shifted under his hand, and Clint assumed he had woken up. Clint braced himself, ready for anything from Phil trying to go back to sleep to getting up and walking out, and instead felt Phil’s fingers gently combing through his hair.

“I meant what I said, Clint. Please stop believing the worst of me.”

Clint sighed. “I’m bracing myself for eventualities.”

Phil sighed but did not stop. Clint let his hand drift until he was rubbing Phil’s chest and belly in slow, sweeping motions. “Pain’s down. About a three or four, and I think I’m seeing shadows through the static.”

“The static?” Phil’s hand stopped.

“It’s what it looks like: television static or something. Lots of white. Doctor said that was normal.”

Phil hmmm’d and Clint felt him nod. After a few moments Phil got up and made Clint sit so he could take his medicine and get his eye drops. Then Clint scooted backwards in surprise when Phil crawled in between his legs, pushing forward until Clint’s thighs were propped up over his, splayed wide.

“What am I going to do with you?” Phil asked quietly, his hands holding Clint’s hips down. Clint felt himself getting hard, even through the slight pain. One of Phil’s hands ghosted over Clint’s erection, and Clint gasped embarrassingly loudly.

“I don’t know, but I’ve got some suggestions on tap.”

Phil ground his hand down into Clint’s erection, hard, but he knew what he was doing and it sent spikes of pleasure up Clint’s spin. “You do?”

“Fuck. Yeah. Do me. I want this…I want to give you this.” Clint grabbed his wrist to hold his hand still, to make Phil understand.

“Do you understand that you don’t need to give me anything?”

Clint tightened his hold, but Phil didn’t try to escape. “Do you understand that I want to give you every-fucking-thing I have to give?”

Phil fell on him, the kiss blisteringly hot, his free hand grabbing Clint’s hair and twisting it so that all of Clint’s nerves sparked with arousal. Clint got with the program. The kiss was epic and Clint wasn’t about to let Phil take the lead on that score, so he put his hands on Phil’s ass and hauled him in closer, grinding their erections together. Phil groaned into Clint’s mouth and Clint grinned in triumph.

Phil pushed off, grabbed Clint’s knees and shoved them apart as he shuffled up even closer until his hips—and his erection—were pushing into the cleft of Clint’s ass. He stopped there, his body still above him. Clint reached out and put both hands on Clint’s chest.

“Phil?”
“If your pain goes above a six, you tell me.”

Clint frowned, because no way was he going to say a damn thing. “You’ll stop?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ll tell me, Barton, or I’m stopping right now.”

“Fuck. Fuck you, fuck you so much, you annoying bastard.”

“Clint. Understand this: I will not hurt you. I could not live with myself if I did. So you have to do this, for me, not for yourself. This isn’t about you. It’s about me, and my concern with hurting you.”

No one that Clint could remember had ever said anything like that. Usually in relationships it was a war of wills, Clint doing what he thought was right for himself because no one else would. Phil was asking Clint to be honest with him, simply because it was important to Phil. Somehow, that seemed to be enough. “Okay. Okay! I’ll tell you.”

“And where is it at now?”

“About a four. It’s not going too far down, the meds only help so much. They’re working, I can feel the tension letting up. But I’m going to be in pain.” Clint stroked his hands over and down Phil’s flanks. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can handle it, I just don’t want to make a mistake and cost you your vision.”

“Too late for worrying, I think.” Clint grinned, closing his eyes in the hopes of not looking insane.

Phil’s hands tightened on Clint’s thighs until Clint winced. “Stop buying trouble. We can make love or you can sit around moping, but not both.”

Clint froze up under him, he breath caught in his chest. “Make love, huh?”

“That’s what I prefer to call it when I’m with someone I love, but you can refer to it as fucking if that makes you more comfortable.” Phil gently pushed his hips again, his erection even harder and stronger against Clint’s ass. Clint sucked in a breath through his teeth.

“Works for me, the love thing. Making love. We can do that.” Just saying the words caused Clint’s stomach to cramp with unexpected hope and fear.

Phil lowered Clint’s legs to wrap them around his waist. “Glad to hear it.”

There was a great deal of kissing before Phil started to remove their clothes, mostly at Clint’s insistence. Dragging Phil’s sweater off of him, he paused long enough that Phil sat back.

“What color?” Clint held up the sweater.

Phil’s hand closed over his. “Blue. Dark blue, I would call it indigo. My tee shirt is white. My jeans are worn but not very faded.” He paused. “It’s 4:47 am in the morning. Your bedside lamp is on, as is the floor lamp by the chair. Your eyes are unfocused, aimed up past my right shoulder. The chair is where Natasha left it. There is nothing blocking the path to the door, or to the bathroom. I’m barefoot.” Clint felt Phil’s hand on his face, gently running his fingers over his skin. “And if I have to describe every room you are in, every day, for the rest of our lives, then I will. Because I love you. Now let me make love to you.”

Clint nodded. “Phil, okay, I get it. I get it.” His hands were shaking as he let go of the sweater and reached for Phil again. They navigated undressing in place until they were both naked and Phil’s dick was resting, hard and full, next to Clint’s. It was hot against Clint’s skin, against his own dick, and he wanted to grab them both in hand and jack them off, simply because they felt so amazing together. He could not see how Phil looked naked, but he felt Phil’s hairy thighs against his own, and he could touch all of Phil’s chest and hips and arms, skin on skin.

“Do you have—”

Clint reached over to where he knew the drawer was, opened it and pulled out the lube and a couple of condoms. He held out his hand, and Phil plucked the items from him quietly.

“You are amazing, do you know that? How easy it is for you, to just do things like that. I don’t think I can even explain it to you, because it is so natural for you.”

Clint frowned. “You’re right, that didn’t make any sense.”

Phil sighed. “I know.”

Clint waved a hand impatiently, feeling vulnerable and stupid. Phil chuckled, and Clint growled because it was another thing to add to his list of stuff about Phil he had never seen. Phil popped open the lube and after a few quiet seconds gently stroked his fingers over Clint’s hole. Clint spasmed in surprise.

“Something wrong?” Phil stopped.

“No, just taken off guard. I can’t watch what you’re doing so I don’t know what you will do next. It’s no big deal.” Clint lied, because it was a huge deal, and it was disconcerting, and it was everything he was scared of: not seeing it coming, whatever “it” might be.

“Hm.” Phil began massaging him again. Then he started talking. “I’m breaching you now, with one finger. I’m leaning over you, my other hand braced against the bed. My cock is flushed and red at the head, and if I know myself, I’m probably blushing from my ears to my chest.” He pushed a finger in. “If you could see me you would see how uncomfortable I am naked; you would pick up on all my tells.”

Clint brought the images to mind as Phil spoke, gasping at Phil’s intrusion into his body and his mind. “You’re not shy.” He ground the words out, his hips thrusting up as he tried to fuck himself on Phil’s finger.

“No. Not about my body, particularly, but about…intimacy. You know I was in the Rangers; standing in a room full of naked soldiers is not a problem. On top of you, touching you like this, everything about me here for you to take—” He drew in a deep breath as his finger curled up and brushed at Clint’s prostate, making Clint’s hips snap while he groaned. “Like this, I have no defenses.”

There was a bare, brutal rasp to Phil’s voice, as if he was barely holding on, and Clint felt himself cracking. “Phil.”

“Second finger now. I’m moving back, sitting on my heels to put my other hand on your hip.” He sighed, as if it was a relief for him to insert another finger into Clint’s body. “You are so beautiful. So unique. So perfect for me.”

Clint’s throat closed up and he gasped for breath. “Shit, Phil, Phil!”

“I’m withdrawing now.” His fingers slid out. “Now I’m rolling on the condom, my other hand locked around the base so I don’t come too soon; you would know how close I am if you could see me. My hands are shaking. Fuck.” Phil’s voice gave out. Clint’s hands flew out, grabbing at Phil’s thighs and holding on tight. He heard Phil taking a few more deep breaths before shifting forward again.

Clint picked up the dialogue. “I know, I can feel you: you’re leaning over me, one hand slipping under my ass to push me up, your other hand holding yourself, lining up with my ass, get in me you fucking bastard, get in me.”

“Clint!” Phil cried out softly as he pushed in.

If there had been any plan for slow and steady, Clint knocked it out of the running by hauling himself closer so that Phil was fully seated inside him. They both gasped a little, and the race was on, Clint holding his shoulders tight so his head did not move too much but his torso and hips jerked up to meet Phil’s hard thrusts. After a few awkward strokes they fell together into a punishing, matched pace. Phil wrapped a slick, tight fist around Clint’s dick and it was over for him in just a few pulls. He gave it up with everything he had, arching his body into it and moaning Phil’s name as his cum stuttered over his stomach.

After a moment he moved his hands to grab at Phil’s arms, which were tight with tension as his hips slammed into Clint. “C’mon, Phil, I feel you, I feel all of you, goddamnit!”

Phil ground down with one long, hard shove as he came, the rumbling from his chest resonating through Clint’s hands on his arms. He stuttered down slowly, collapsing against Clint’s chest. After a moment he took a breath as if getting ready to speak, but Clint talked first.

“At a two, maybe. Endorphins still running high, so there really isn’t too much pain going on and nothing new to report.”

Phil laughed against Clint’s skin. “Thank you.”

“I’ll never understand you.”

“I’m just an international man of mystery,” Phil chuckled, although it was dangerously close to being a giggle.

“And that’s why I love you,” Clint whispered, wrapping his arms around Phil’s sweaty, shaking body. Phil moved lethargically against him until they could kiss, and that was the last Clint remembered as he fell hard into sleep.