clint "idk the archer or something" barton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brandingproblem) wrote2023-01-10 03:10 pm
brandingproblem) wrote2023-01-10 03:10 pm
open post
overflows, misc psls/memes, starters that don't seem to fit anywhere else, etc
overflows, misc psls/memes, starters that don't seem to fit anywhere else, etc
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But that might have to do with the fact he continues to edge his way along Clint's body, letting his mouth trail over the places his fingers don't. He's responsive, and frankly, there's always been something about that sort of reaction that Steve has liked. It's encouraging, maybe, and once Steve is settled in a decent place between his legs, he only tips his head enough to nudge the hand in his hair before continuing his exploration.
He doesn't go right for his cock, instead moving along his inner thigh as he slips a hand under his knee to adjust his position. It's all sort of gentle, almost guiding him, but then, he's dragging his teeth across tender skin, following with the wet glide of his tongue. He even sucks at that spot between hip and thigh until it's an angry red, and before there can be any complaints, he does it to the other side in the exact same place. Like a reminder he'd been there, that he'd experienced Clint this way. ]
Still good? [ And how rhetorical it actually is because he doesn't wait for an answer, pressing his cheek against the length of him until his lips graze the head. Then, fingers braced on Clint's stomach, Steve hums quietly as he swallows him down without hesitation or any care that he could choke. ]
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Shit, it doesn't feel like it's been a while for you. [That's the praise he's getting, Clint just barely squirming under the attention. If there were nerves at the start of all this for Steve, there sure aren't now, at least not that he can tell from the way he licks, bites, sucks his way along skin like he's a god damn expert. He moves easily however Steve wants him, as bent or wide or over shoulders or anywhere that lets the captain get his mouth wherever he'd like.
It's the pair of marks sucked until they're enough to last that get him a little more vocal, a brief whine, somewhere tucked into that good spot between pain and pleasure. Makes the hand lightly gripped at the back of Steve's head tense, a little dig of nail. Steve's always been a quick study. Of course it'd translate to everything else, including other people.
The question is pretty clearly rhetorical, but Clint's never been one to shy away from being mouthy.] Good, real good, I might even say great, I--fuck! [He's got just enough leverage to watch, and what a god damn sight it is. And however good it looks, it feels even better, the curse practically punched out of him. No hesitation, not even a teasing warmup, just going for it with that light hum that vibrates right to his core.
For emphasis:] Fuck. [In case the effect of a hot mouth swallowing him whole wasn't perfectly clear.] Yes please, we are so good.
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As he'd pointed out earlier, a while doesn't necessarily mean lack of experience, and once Steve's gotten his aim set on something, everything else just sort of falls into place. There's no time to consider how embarrassing it might be or what he'd look like; from Clint's vocal cues, he'd say he wasn't doing half bad at figuring out what draws even more out of him. Be it the twist of his tongue or the slow pull of his mouth. Maybe even the way his hand gives him a firm squeeze. And it's not as if he doesn't enjoy this either, one hand still balanced against Clint's core to keep him from wiggling and writhing too much as he sets a rhythm that might almost be considered brutal.
There's no reason to be slow, nothing that says he has to take his time. Not with this. Steve thinks it might even get a little more interesting if he manages to pull an orgasm out of Clint first, easing back so he can settle his hands in a better position. At his hips, under his ass. It's enough to get more leverage and set his own pace, groaning quietly as the tension continues to build, and eventually, Steve decides to pull off, fingers returning where his lips had been so he can find his way back up to kiss him.
Maybe he should say something? Or reassure him that he's good about taking it slow? Even if none of this feels like it's slow, sinking into the heat of Clint's mouth to suck at his tongue. Let his teeth scrape over flesh. It's messy and good and a clear precursor to the rest of it.
So, he just knocks his forehead against Clint's, his breath still surprisingly even. ] It's okay. [ He strokes him harder, unrelenting. ] I've got you.
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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.]