fic: Armed and dangerous (1/1)
Jan. 28th, 2013 12:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leashy_bebesTitle: Armed and dangerous
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Clint/Bruce
Summary: After watching Clint in an archery competition, Bruce apparently gets a pretty one-track mind.
Notes: College AU, established relationship, talk of (but no actual) bondage, and a really brief reference to breathplay (blink and you'll miss it). OKAY LOOK BASICALLY RENNER'S ARMS ARE VERY ATTRACTIVE. Arm porn. (Look, in my defence, I managed not to call it welcome to the gun show, so I think I deserve a little bit of credit.) Yup. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
isisanubis, who is a beautiful friend ♥
Disclaimer: Marvel's, not mine.
Word Count: ~2600
Clint has never really had anyone along to watch him compete before. Natasha comes sometimes, but mainly it's always been a private thing. It's not like he thinks about the crowd, or even really about the other competitors, so it's not like it means anything that he knows Bruce is somewhere in the stands behind him.
Still, he can't resist showing off a little at first, shooting faster than he needs to. Soon though, the old familiar rhythms kick in and everything else fades. In all honesty, Clint gets almost as much of a kick from an hour in an empty range as he does from a long stop-start day of competition. Winning helps though, and he does, by his widest margin yet in the solo, and a slightly smaller one in the team event.
Even as they celebrate he finds himself scanning the crowd for Bruce and okay, maybe it means something. Clint's not a competitive guy, not really. He's a show off, sure, but there's a difference. It's not about the prestige of winning, it's about being noticed, being singled out because of something good. Maybe it does mean something that he's so glad Bruce is here to see, to notice.
By the time they get back to the dorm Bruce is the kind of very insularly twitchy that means he's one suitable horizontal surface away from jumping Clint's bones. They manage to get an elevator alone and Bruce kisses Clint straight away.
"You're amazing out there," he says and there's something low and warm in his voice that makes Clint wonder, not for the first time today, exactly what kind of kick Bruce got out of watching him compete.
"Yeah?" Clint says, crowding a little closer to Bruce. "Tell me."
"I know you – you notice things all the time, things I'd never see, but it's like a – like a busy focus. The only time I see you completely focused on one thing is on the range or in bed. Forgive me a little overlap."
It oughta scare Clint more, probably, how easy it is for Bruce to get under his skin, to voice essential truths about him that Clint's never been able to put into words. But then Bruce is someone who watches and data-gathers and parses, all in the name of understanding motivations, so maybe it shouldn't be that big a shock.
"You're so hot when you understand me," Clint blurts as the doors open in front of them at his floor, and Bruce laughs, fiddles with his glasses.
"You're so strange."
"Yeah, yeah," Clint says, bumping their hips together.
Bruce just falls into step beside him, without Clint even having to invite him in. Clint's roommate freaked out and left in the second week and so far he's managed to keep that under the radar enough that the other bed hasn't been taken. Clint likes the extra space, sure, but before Bruce he was never really that bothered. Now it's fucking paradise, and they stumble through the door together, Bruce's hands already tight on Clint's waist, stepping up close behind him. Clint turns in his grip and nudges Bruce back against the door, forearms on either side of his head. Bruce's eyelashes dip and his breath shudders in, one hand coming up to squeeze Clint's bicep.
Clint grins, because muscle memory is frigging awesome. Clint might not have a bow in his hands right now, but it's the easiest thing in the world to flex his muscles like he does, like he's drawing on a heavy bow, still and steady like he's making the most important shot of his life.
Bruce moans and presses his face to Clint's shoulder, bites a little harder than Clint was expecting through his t-shirt.
"Goddamn, Banner," Clint breathes, but he's not laughing, far from it. He's way too caught up in the knowledge of what this does to Bruce to find any of it amusing. Smug though, yeah, he's feeling that a little. "Take off your nerd glasses. I need to make out with you, like, a lot."
Bruce laughs against his throat and pushes off the door. Clothes go flying, Bruce's glasses landing only marginally more gently on Clint's desk before they're both tumbling onto the bed. Bruce gets the jump on him, spooning up along the length of Clint's back, kissing his shoulders, pressing them close together.
"Ah, Jesus fucking Christ, Clint. You make me – make me so fucking crazy. I want - "
"Fuck, Banner. Don't be such a prick tease," Clint demands, turning his head to snatch a kiss. "Just fucking say it."
"Christ, your arms," Bruce moans, licking along the swell of Clint's bicep. It turns into a bite and Clint moans and arches, his other palm slamming hard into the mattress.
"I wanna know how tight you can hold me," Bruce confesses, but Clint is the one who flushes, white hot want flaring right through his body. "Like this," he says, wrapping one arm diagonally over Clint's chest and one around his waist, briefly squeezing tight. "Wanna know if you could leave a bruise just from holding me."
"Jesus, Banner!"
Bruce squeezes him tighter, his face pressed in tight to the angle where Clint's shoulder meets his neck. "I think about your arm around my throat," he says, his voice gone to sharp fragments. "I see you in those tight shirts and I just – you turn me on all the goddamn time. Think about you like this..."
"Yeah?" Clint would seriously love to contribute more, but he's drawing a blank
"Love the way you hold me down, but I want – I wanna – tie you down, or cuff you or something, something so I can watch your arms straining, I love that, it's so hot. I always watch your arms while we fuck, can never take my eyes off them."
Clint is going out of his fucking mind right now, turns his head to smear a sloppy kiss over Bruce's mouth.
"Bruce," he pants out. "Pick one."
Bruce just moans and carries on rubbing his dick against Clint's ass and muttering a low stream of pure filth about the things he wants to do to Clint, the things he wants Clint to do to him.
Clint jabs a gentle elbow into Bruce's ribs. "Banner. Pick. One," he says through gritted teeth.
Bruce's arms tighten around Clint for a second, and Clint guesses that's Bruce's decision made. Bruce surprises him by saying, "Hold me down, then," like he's honestly a little annoyed at having to choose between two mutually exclusive things.
There's a moment of scrambling that makes them both laugh and then Bruce is looking up at Clint, all trust and patience and Clint feels like he could come just from that expression on Bruce's face. He kisses Bruce instead, sucks sharply on his lower lip. Bruce moans and arches underneath him, fingers curling against Clint's shoulders, fitting them closer together.
"God, babe," Clint mutters into Bruce's mouth.
He pushes Bruce's legs apart and gets in between them, rubbing the flat of his hand over Bruce's dick at the same time as he braces his other arm over Bruce's stomach, pressing him down into the bed. The noise that comes out of Bruce then is like nothing Clint's ever heard from him before. It starts out a moan but ends on a high whimpering sound that goes right to Clint's gut. He kisses the soft skin of Bruce's thighs and itches to bite down. He's learned that it's best not to surprise Bruce with stuff like that though, so he keeps it soft.
"Did you get hard watching me today?" he asks and Bruce throws an arm over his face, hiding. "No, no, no," Clint says, and catches Bruce's wrists to press them into the mattress. "C'mon, tell me."
"Shit – yes, – "
Clint bites back a helpless moan and kisses his way back up Bruce's chest to claim his mouth again. "Fuck, that's so hot. Shit, c'mon, I gotta – talk to me, baby. You want me to ride you? You want my dick? You've just gotta say, gotta tell me."
Bruce just nods, like words are totally beyond him right now. Clint can sympathise. His mouth feels dry, but he can't shut himself up either, tells Bruce, "I'll make it good for you, I always do, right? Just say it."
"I want you to fuck me," Bruce says in a rush. "From behind and I want you to hold me – hold me down."
The world blurs in front of Clint's eyes for a moment and he breathes in hard against Bruce's throat. "Yes. Yes, Jesus, okay."
Another moment of scrambling, getting tangled up in each other and the unmade sheets, and Clint can't help laughing as he rolls back to Bruce with condoms and lube in his fist. Bruce, already on his hands and knees, relieves Clint of the tube, impatient, and slicks his fingers. The temptation to just sit back and watch is strong, but the angle is awkward for Bruce, and Clint is impatient too.
Minutes blur together with Bruce clenching and squeezing around Clint's fingers and Clint just trying to breathe as Bruce goes easy for him, looking back over his shoulder at Clint. His eyes are dark and so laced with heat that it feels like someone just punched Clint in the chest, it's so hard to get a full breath. It gets even harder when Bruce shoves a finger in alongside Clint's. Clint just...can't fucking deal with how eager Bruce gets, when normally he's so controlled. This is what Clint likes best, when they're both honest to show a little desperation. Bruce is like him, doesn't want to admit he wants anything because of a nagging fear that somebody will snatch it away just for the hell of it. But together they let themselves want, let themselves need. It's terrifying and brilliant all at once, and one day Clint will find the words to tell Bruce exactly that. For now, he's determined to show him, determined to give him what he wants with no caveats or expectations.
"Now?" Clint asks, but it sounds more like begging. Which isn't so bad, because Bruce sounds exactly the same when he says, "Yeah, yes, now, now."
Getting the condom on is another blur, and he has to set his teeth into his lip just to be able to focus on anything but Bruce. Then he's working his way into Bruce's body slowly, little in and out thrusts that have Bruce's breath hitching in his chest. He scatters kisses over Bruce's back, up to his shoulders once he's fully inside. Bruce braces himself, pushes back against Clint, all choppy eager movements.
Clint winds the fingers of one hand around Bruce's and loves the way Bruce squeezes them, so present even when he's half gone. He gets his other arm under Bruce, across his chest like Bruce showed him earlier, yanking him back unceremoniously onto Clint's dick. With his other arm still braced along Bruce's, Clint can't get much in the way of leverage for a proper thrust. He settles for grinding against Bruce's ass and squeezing him in a choppy, eager rhythm.
Bruce is just...gone. He's squirming against Clint's grip but making protesting noises every time Clint so much as thinks about easing up on him. Bruce's hair is damp and dark at the nape of his neck and Clint curls over him, presses his mouth to that hot, salty skin.
Bruce's nails dig into Clint's hand, sudden and tight, and he sounds breathless as he says, "Do it do it do it."
Clint's lost for a moment – do what, for fuck's sake? – but then the idea takes shape, bright and gorgeous. He presses the flat of his teeth to Bruce's neck for a second and says, "You want me to bite you?"
Bruce is already nodding, but Clint can't stop.
"You want me to leave you a mark? So you can – fuck, baby – so you can touch it and think about this," he says, squeezing Bruce up tight against him so they feel locked together and Bruce is all warm bliss against him and around him. Clint's never felt more tangled up with anybody.
Bruce is still nodding sluggishly and Clint takes a deep breath to clear his vision, which is sparking erratically. Then he pinpoints a spot on Bruce's nape that sits just – just – below the line of the t-shirts he wears most days. Clint means to take it slow, ease into it – okay, he means to tease – but Bruce is so tense and ready, his chest heaving under Clint's arm with how hard he's breathing.
Clint sucks on the patch of skin he's selected, catches it between his teeth, sucks again. He breaks off to worry at it with his mouth and it feels hot against his tongue. Bruce is shifting under him, shoving back against Clint and burying his face deeper in the pillows, making his neck arch for Clint, practically an engraved invitation. Clint bites harder this time, until he can feel it in his jaw, and he holds on until Bruce lets out a shuddering moan and slurs stop, stop. Clint lets go immediately, kisses Bruce's shoulders, his hair.
"I can't – fuck, Clint."
He sounds frustrated, like there's something missing, still.
"Move with me, Banner," he says, and they slide, totally graceless, until they're flat on the bed, Clint tucked into the splay of Bruce's legs, still deep enough in him that the heat's making him sting and prickle all over.
Bruce is practically sobbing into the pillow, grinding weakly between Clint's hips and the mattress. The constant stream of yes, yes, yes is the only thing convincing Clint that Bruce is even still in the game. Clint gets his arms up alongside Bruce's, presses right along the length of them with his own. He briefly pushes Bruce's wrists down into the bed but mostly just holds him, hems him in.
"This what you wanted? This what you need, Bruce? Need me all over you."
"Yes," Bruce says, a ragged groan. His fingers scrabble against Clint's hands so Clint wraps his fingers through Bruce's to press his hands into the bed again. Bruce shudders all over and then he's sluggishly spreading his legs even wider.
It's sure as hell not the easiest way they've fucked, but Clint understands the need to held down, contained, and this is the easiest way to give it to Bruce. So he works on shallow, hard thrusts, twists of his hips that never fail to make Bruce bite down on a yell, always way too aware of other people in other rooms. Clint can hardly wait for the opportunity to get Bruce someplace they can both be as loud as they want.
Bruce's little noises start taking on those that distressed edge they get when he's so close to coming that it hurts. Clint drags one hand out of Bruce's grip to press it between his shoulder blades instead, pinning him tighter and giving himself a little more leverage at the same time.
When Bruce comes it's with a sharp, almost shocked little cry. Clint squeezes his eyes shut, presses his fingers harder into Bruce's back and lets his last few thrusts go ragged and forceful while Bruce moans and stretches under him.
"Holy crap," Clint manages as he lowers himself onto Bruce's back, breathing hard.
"Mmm. Seconded," Bruce agrees, turning his head to press his mouth against Clint's forearm.
Clint grins against Bruce's skin, tastes a tang of sweat and thinks this little weakness of Bruce's is gonna be really fun to explore.
Also posted @a03
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Clint/Bruce
Summary: After watching Clint in an archery competition, Bruce apparently gets a pretty one-track mind.
Notes: College AU, established relationship, talk of (but no actual) bondage, and a really brief reference to breathplay (blink and you'll miss it). OKAY LOOK BASICALLY RENNER'S ARMS ARE VERY ATTRACTIVE. Arm porn. (Look, in my defence, I managed not to call it welcome to the gun show, so I think I deserve a little bit of credit.) Yup. For
isisanubis, who is a beautiful friend ♥Disclaimer: Marvel's, not mine.
Word Count: ~2600
Clint has never really had anyone along to watch him compete before. Natasha comes sometimes, but mainly it's always been a private thing. It's not like he thinks about the crowd, or even really about the other competitors, so it's not like it means anything that he knows Bruce is somewhere in the stands behind him.
Still, he can't resist showing off a little at first, shooting faster than he needs to. Soon though, the old familiar rhythms kick in and everything else fades. In all honesty, Clint gets almost as much of a kick from an hour in an empty range as he does from a long stop-start day of competition. Winning helps though, and he does, by his widest margin yet in the solo, and a slightly smaller one in the team event.
Even as they celebrate he finds himself scanning the crowd for Bruce and okay, maybe it means something. Clint's not a competitive guy, not really. He's a show off, sure, but there's a difference. It's not about the prestige of winning, it's about being noticed, being singled out because of something good. Maybe it does mean something that he's so glad Bruce is here to see, to notice.
By the time they get back to the dorm Bruce is the kind of very insularly twitchy that means he's one suitable horizontal surface away from jumping Clint's bones. They manage to get an elevator alone and Bruce kisses Clint straight away.
"You're amazing out there," he says and there's something low and warm in his voice that makes Clint wonder, not for the first time today, exactly what kind of kick Bruce got out of watching him compete.
"Yeah?" Clint says, crowding a little closer to Bruce. "Tell me."
"I know you – you notice things all the time, things I'd never see, but it's like a – like a busy focus. The only time I see you completely focused on one thing is on the range or in bed. Forgive me a little overlap."
It oughta scare Clint more, probably, how easy it is for Bruce to get under his skin, to voice essential truths about him that Clint's never been able to put into words. But then Bruce is someone who watches and data-gathers and parses, all in the name of understanding motivations, so maybe it shouldn't be that big a shock.
"You're so hot when you understand me," Clint blurts as the doors open in front of them at his floor, and Bruce laughs, fiddles with his glasses.
"You're so strange."
"Yeah, yeah," Clint says, bumping their hips together.
Bruce just falls into step beside him, without Clint even having to invite him in. Clint's roommate freaked out and left in the second week and so far he's managed to keep that under the radar enough that the other bed hasn't been taken. Clint likes the extra space, sure, but before Bruce he was never really that bothered. Now it's fucking paradise, and they stumble through the door together, Bruce's hands already tight on Clint's waist, stepping up close behind him. Clint turns in his grip and nudges Bruce back against the door, forearms on either side of his head. Bruce's eyelashes dip and his breath shudders in, one hand coming up to squeeze Clint's bicep.
Clint grins, because muscle memory is frigging awesome. Clint might not have a bow in his hands right now, but it's the easiest thing in the world to flex his muscles like he does, like he's drawing on a heavy bow, still and steady like he's making the most important shot of his life.
Bruce moans and presses his face to Clint's shoulder, bites a little harder than Clint was expecting through his t-shirt.
"Goddamn, Banner," Clint breathes, but he's not laughing, far from it. He's way too caught up in the knowledge of what this does to Bruce to find any of it amusing. Smug though, yeah, he's feeling that a little. "Take off your nerd glasses. I need to make out with you, like, a lot."
Bruce laughs against his throat and pushes off the door. Clothes go flying, Bruce's glasses landing only marginally more gently on Clint's desk before they're both tumbling onto the bed. Bruce gets the jump on him, spooning up along the length of Clint's back, kissing his shoulders, pressing them close together.
"Ah, Jesus fucking Christ, Clint. You make me – make me so fucking crazy. I want - "
"Fuck, Banner. Don't be such a prick tease," Clint demands, turning his head to snatch a kiss. "Just fucking say it."
"Christ, your arms," Bruce moans, licking along the swell of Clint's bicep. It turns into a bite and Clint moans and arches, his other palm slamming hard into the mattress.
"I wanna know how tight you can hold me," Bruce confesses, but Clint is the one who flushes, white hot want flaring right through his body. "Like this," he says, wrapping one arm diagonally over Clint's chest and one around his waist, briefly squeezing tight. "Wanna know if you could leave a bruise just from holding me."
"Jesus, Banner!"
Bruce squeezes him tighter, his face pressed in tight to the angle where Clint's shoulder meets his neck. "I think about your arm around my throat," he says, his voice gone to sharp fragments. "I see you in those tight shirts and I just – you turn me on all the goddamn time. Think about you like this..."
"Yeah?" Clint would seriously love to contribute more, but he's drawing a blank
"Love the way you hold me down, but I want – I wanna – tie you down, or cuff you or something, something so I can watch your arms straining, I love that, it's so hot. I always watch your arms while we fuck, can never take my eyes off them."
Clint is going out of his fucking mind right now, turns his head to smear a sloppy kiss over Bruce's mouth.
"Bruce," he pants out. "Pick one."
Bruce just moans and carries on rubbing his dick against Clint's ass and muttering a low stream of pure filth about the things he wants to do to Clint, the things he wants Clint to do to him.
Clint jabs a gentle elbow into Bruce's ribs. "Banner. Pick. One," he says through gritted teeth.
Bruce's arms tighten around Clint for a second, and Clint guesses that's Bruce's decision made. Bruce surprises him by saying, "Hold me down, then," like he's honestly a little annoyed at having to choose between two mutually exclusive things.
There's a moment of scrambling that makes them both laugh and then Bruce is looking up at Clint, all trust and patience and Clint feels like he could come just from that expression on Bruce's face. He kisses Bruce instead, sucks sharply on his lower lip. Bruce moans and arches underneath him, fingers curling against Clint's shoulders, fitting them closer together.
"God, babe," Clint mutters into Bruce's mouth.
He pushes Bruce's legs apart and gets in between them, rubbing the flat of his hand over Bruce's dick at the same time as he braces his other arm over Bruce's stomach, pressing him down into the bed. The noise that comes out of Bruce then is like nothing Clint's ever heard from him before. It starts out a moan but ends on a high whimpering sound that goes right to Clint's gut. He kisses the soft skin of Bruce's thighs and itches to bite down. He's learned that it's best not to surprise Bruce with stuff like that though, so he keeps it soft.
"Did you get hard watching me today?" he asks and Bruce throws an arm over his face, hiding. "No, no, no," Clint says, and catches Bruce's wrists to press them into the mattress. "C'mon, tell me."
"Shit – yes, – "
Clint bites back a helpless moan and kisses his way back up Bruce's chest to claim his mouth again. "Fuck, that's so hot. Shit, c'mon, I gotta – talk to me, baby. You want me to ride you? You want my dick? You've just gotta say, gotta tell me."
Bruce just nods, like words are totally beyond him right now. Clint can sympathise. His mouth feels dry, but he can't shut himself up either, tells Bruce, "I'll make it good for you, I always do, right? Just say it."
"I want you to fuck me," Bruce says in a rush. "From behind and I want you to hold me – hold me down."
The world blurs in front of Clint's eyes for a moment and he breathes in hard against Bruce's throat. "Yes. Yes, Jesus, okay."
Another moment of scrambling, getting tangled up in each other and the unmade sheets, and Clint can't help laughing as he rolls back to Bruce with condoms and lube in his fist. Bruce, already on his hands and knees, relieves Clint of the tube, impatient, and slicks his fingers. The temptation to just sit back and watch is strong, but the angle is awkward for Bruce, and Clint is impatient too.
Minutes blur together with Bruce clenching and squeezing around Clint's fingers and Clint just trying to breathe as Bruce goes easy for him, looking back over his shoulder at Clint. His eyes are dark and so laced with heat that it feels like someone just punched Clint in the chest, it's so hard to get a full breath. It gets even harder when Bruce shoves a finger in alongside Clint's. Clint just...can't fucking deal with how eager Bruce gets, when normally he's so controlled. This is what Clint likes best, when they're both honest to show a little desperation. Bruce is like him, doesn't want to admit he wants anything because of a nagging fear that somebody will snatch it away just for the hell of it. But together they let themselves want, let themselves need. It's terrifying and brilliant all at once, and one day Clint will find the words to tell Bruce exactly that. For now, he's determined to show him, determined to give him what he wants with no caveats or expectations.
"Now?" Clint asks, but it sounds more like begging. Which isn't so bad, because Bruce sounds exactly the same when he says, "Yeah, yes, now, now."
Getting the condom on is another blur, and he has to set his teeth into his lip just to be able to focus on anything but Bruce. Then he's working his way into Bruce's body slowly, little in and out thrusts that have Bruce's breath hitching in his chest. He scatters kisses over Bruce's back, up to his shoulders once he's fully inside. Bruce braces himself, pushes back against Clint, all choppy eager movements.
Clint winds the fingers of one hand around Bruce's and loves the way Bruce squeezes them, so present even when he's half gone. He gets his other arm under Bruce, across his chest like Bruce showed him earlier, yanking him back unceremoniously onto Clint's dick. With his other arm still braced along Bruce's, Clint can't get much in the way of leverage for a proper thrust. He settles for grinding against Bruce's ass and squeezing him in a choppy, eager rhythm.
Bruce is just...gone. He's squirming against Clint's grip but making protesting noises every time Clint so much as thinks about easing up on him. Bruce's hair is damp and dark at the nape of his neck and Clint curls over him, presses his mouth to that hot, salty skin.
Bruce's nails dig into Clint's hand, sudden and tight, and he sounds breathless as he says, "Do it do it do it."
Clint's lost for a moment – do what, for fuck's sake? – but then the idea takes shape, bright and gorgeous. He presses the flat of his teeth to Bruce's neck for a second and says, "You want me to bite you?"
Bruce is already nodding, but Clint can't stop.
"You want me to leave you a mark? So you can – fuck, baby – so you can touch it and think about this," he says, squeezing Bruce up tight against him so they feel locked together and Bruce is all warm bliss against him and around him. Clint's never felt more tangled up with anybody.
Bruce is still nodding sluggishly and Clint takes a deep breath to clear his vision, which is sparking erratically. Then he pinpoints a spot on Bruce's nape that sits just – just – below the line of the t-shirts he wears most days. Clint means to take it slow, ease into it – okay, he means to tease – but Bruce is so tense and ready, his chest heaving under Clint's arm with how hard he's breathing.
Clint sucks on the patch of skin he's selected, catches it between his teeth, sucks again. He breaks off to worry at it with his mouth and it feels hot against his tongue. Bruce is shifting under him, shoving back against Clint and burying his face deeper in the pillows, making his neck arch for Clint, practically an engraved invitation. Clint bites harder this time, until he can feel it in his jaw, and he holds on until Bruce lets out a shuddering moan and slurs stop, stop. Clint lets go immediately, kisses Bruce's shoulders, his hair.
"I can't – fuck, Clint."
He sounds frustrated, like there's something missing, still.
"Move with me, Banner," he says, and they slide, totally graceless, until they're flat on the bed, Clint tucked into the splay of Bruce's legs, still deep enough in him that the heat's making him sting and prickle all over.
Bruce is practically sobbing into the pillow, grinding weakly between Clint's hips and the mattress. The constant stream of yes, yes, yes is the only thing convincing Clint that Bruce is even still in the game. Clint gets his arms up alongside Bruce's, presses right along the length of them with his own. He briefly pushes Bruce's wrists down into the bed but mostly just holds him, hems him in.
"This what you wanted? This what you need, Bruce? Need me all over you."
"Yes," Bruce says, a ragged groan. His fingers scrabble against Clint's hands so Clint wraps his fingers through Bruce's to press his hands into the bed again. Bruce shudders all over and then he's sluggishly spreading his legs even wider.
It's sure as hell not the easiest way they've fucked, but Clint understands the need to held down, contained, and this is the easiest way to give it to Bruce. So he works on shallow, hard thrusts, twists of his hips that never fail to make Bruce bite down on a yell, always way too aware of other people in other rooms. Clint can hardly wait for the opportunity to get Bruce someplace they can both be as loud as they want.
Bruce's little noises start taking on those that distressed edge they get when he's so close to coming that it hurts. Clint drags one hand out of Bruce's grip to press it between his shoulder blades instead, pinning him tighter and giving himself a little more leverage at the same time.
When Bruce comes it's with a sharp, almost shocked little cry. Clint squeezes his eyes shut, presses his fingers harder into Bruce's back and lets his last few thrusts go ragged and forceful while Bruce moans and stretches under him.
"Holy crap," Clint manages as he lowers himself onto Bruce's back, breathing hard.
"Mmm. Seconded," Bruce agrees, turning his head to press his mouth against Clint's forearm.
Clint grins against Bruce's skin, tastes a tang of sweat and thinks this little weakness of Bruce's is gonna be really fun to explore.
Also posted @a03
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 02:16 am (UTC)...yes. way to push all the buttons, all of them :P
no subject
Date: 2013-01-29 12:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 04:47 am (UTC)I would have dived head first into 'Welcome to the Gun Show'.
Clint grins, because muscle memory is frigging awesome. Clint might not have a bow in his hands right now, but it's the easiest thing in the world to flex his muscles like he does, like he's drawing on a heavy bow, still and steady like he's making the most important shot of his life.
Bruce moans and presses his face to Clint's shoulder, bites a little harder than Clint was expecting through his t-shirt - god damn, Clint handling Bruce like his bow is gorgeous.
Oh, my god, he licked Clint's bicep. bebes, it was fate you posted this today.
"I want you to fuck me," Bruce says in a rush. "From behind and I want you to hold me – hold me down." - BRUCE BANNER IS MY FANFICTION SURROGATE
Bruce is like him, doesn't want to admit he wants anything because of a nagging fear that somebody will snatch it away just for the hell of it. - part of why I love shipping them together
I'm sorry, my brain has melted, otherwise I'd leave you a really great comment on how awesome this is. Poke me in a couple days, to see if I've recovered.
Seriously, this is for me? I get to keep it? bebes, thank you. I don't have the words to tell you how amazing you are, and how special this makes me feel.
when i rec this at my journal, the cut is going to be 'welcome to the gun show', jsyk
no subject
Date: 2013-01-29 12:20 am (UTC)So so so glad you liked it, darling.
Nnng, those thoughts of Bruce's are basically mine. Fanfic twins, lol.
*twirls you* Thank you for everything, my love.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-28 06:15 am (UTC)I love you. Just. This. All of this! *_*
no subject
Date: 2013-01-29 12:21 am (UTC)ps - love your icon!