[Absolutely none of this is slow, which is frankly a surprise, but an entirely welcome one. Kind of figured there'd be more flirting, touching, building up, but Steve has apparently set his goal to be 'get Clint off ASAP', and if there's one thing Steve Rogers does very well, it's set a goal and see it through.
So, no complaints. At all.
It's a myriad of sensations, all of which combine to be just shy of overwhelming. 'A while' sure hasn't kept Steve rusty, lips and tongue doing all kinds of wonders, building up the heat down low very quickly. The hand holding him down is just enough to keep him down, to keep him in place, to keep him from bucking. Part of what makes that so hot is the trust. He likes his freedom, but knowing that it's Steve, knowing that it's someone who wouldn't hurt him (much, accidentally), twists something that could be harrowing back around to something delightful.
He's not quiet about it. Even when his higher functions start deciding to go on vacation, he gives bursts of praise between moaning panting groaning gasping, reminds him how good it is, tells him there, just like that, bites out tight curses, hisses out his name. When the hands move to his ass, well, fuck, that's even better, and gives him the opportunity to move. He tries, for Steve's sake, not to buck much, but his back arches, shoulders pushed back into the couch.
The whine in the back of his throat when slick mouth leaves him is quickly swallowed by a punishingly thorough kiss, and the hand that replaces keeps up the same intense pace.
One leg hitches up around Steve's hip, his own hips finally feeling free to try and match pace and still failing. His hands grip tight where they land like he needs something desperately to cling to against the oncoming train, one at the back of his head, the other arm wrapped around broad shoulders and holding fast. Clint's coming undone, and this asshole isn't even breaking a sweat. The audacity. Steve goes harder, making the breath in Clint's chest stutter to a momentary stop, and paradoxically talks to him so soft and gently. Like a fucking trust fall. Let go. It's safe.
As if that was ever in doubt.
He closes the gap for another kiss, moaning into it, and another that becomes more an excuse to bite more than anything, and when he can feel the tension in his body wind up to snap, he goes in for one more. When he does let go of the coiled spring of his body, he curses sharply, once, every inch of him pulled taut against Steve, trembling with little jerks, pleasure washed over him. It leaves him panting heavy against Steve's mouth when the rest of him starts to slacken, his grip, his leg, the needy pit inside him temporarily satisfied.]
You definitely remember a lot of the steps. [Almost slurred out, pleased as absolute punch.]
no subject
So, no complaints. At all.
It's a myriad of sensations, all of which combine to be just shy of overwhelming. 'A while' sure hasn't kept Steve rusty, lips and tongue doing all kinds of wonders, building up the heat down low very quickly. The hand holding him down is just enough to keep him down, to keep him in place, to keep him from bucking. Part of what makes that so hot is the trust. He likes his freedom, but knowing that it's Steve, knowing that it's someone who wouldn't hurt him (much, accidentally), twists something that could be harrowing back around to something delightful.
He's not quiet about it. Even when his higher functions start deciding to go on vacation, he gives bursts of praise between moaning panting groaning gasping, reminds him how good it is, tells him there, just like that, bites out tight curses, hisses out his name. When the hands move to his ass, well, fuck, that's even better, and gives him the opportunity to move. He tries, for Steve's sake, not to buck much, but his back arches, shoulders pushed back into the couch.
The whine in the back of his throat when slick mouth leaves him is quickly swallowed by a punishingly thorough kiss, and the hand that replaces keeps up the same intense pace.
One leg hitches up around Steve's hip, his own hips finally feeling free to try and match pace and still failing. His hands grip tight where they land like he needs something desperately to cling to against the oncoming train, one at the back of his head, the other arm wrapped around broad shoulders and holding fast. Clint's coming undone, and this asshole isn't even breaking a sweat. The audacity. Steve goes harder, making the breath in Clint's chest stutter to a momentary stop, and paradoxically talks to him so soft and gently. Like a fucking trust fall. Let go. It's safe.
As if that was ever in doubt.
He closes the gap for another kiss, moaning into it, and another that becomes more an excuse to bite more than anything, and when he can feel the tension in his body wind up to snap, he goes in for one more. When he does let go of the coiled spring of his body, he curses sharply, once, every inch of him pulled taut against Steve, trembling with little jerks, pleasure washed over him. It leaves him panting heavy against Steve's mouth when the rest of him starts to slacken, his grip, his leg, the needy pit inside him temporarily satisfied.]
You definitely remember a lot of the steps. [Almost slurred out, pleased as absolute punch.]