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sabinetzinTitle: Tell Me About Phil, Ch. 4/4: Epilogue
Summary: Phil hasn't gone missing. Phil is gone. Clint is going after him.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 12559 (story)
Rating/Contents: NC-17, fusion, mindfuck, references to mental health issues and drug-induced self harm
Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Tony/Pepper
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: So here's the story. It is large, but it is done, and I love it to little pieces.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Phil is sitting up against the headboard when Clint wakes up. He's reading a book, and he's wearing his reading glasses, the ones that he hates and Clint loves; he takes them off very quickly once he realizes Clint is up. Clint moves in close, cuddling up against him. Clint is too warm, hot from too much sleep under too many blankets, but that doesn't stop him. He puts his head on Phil's thigh, and Phil obligingly scratches his scalp for a moment.
Clint turns, looking up at him. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," Phil says.
He stretches. "What time is it?"
"Ten o'clock," Phil tells him.
"You didn't get me up for breakfast?" Clint says, a little offended.
"I got up at nine-thirty," Phil says. "There was no breakfast."
"Fair enough," Clint says. "What's on tap for today, boss?"
"The Matrix is playing at the dollar theater this week," Phil offers.
"I've never actually seen it," Clint says.
Phil shrugs. "You might like it."
"I usually like sci-fi." He sits up, leering at Phil. "I like other stuff better."
Phil makes the grumpy 'doctor's orders' face he's been wearing a lot lately. "Clint, I don't know if-"
"If you can lay still and let me give you a blowjob?" Clint says, and Phil stops, raising an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Come on, lay down."
Phil carefully gets onto his back, wincing a little- he's allowed to be a little slow, considering he's got a huge spear wound in his chest that's nowhere near healed. Clint's gotten good at getting on top of him without damaging him; it's a very handy skill when Clint's got a serious urge to torment that one little spot on Phil's shoulder, the one that makes Phil bite his lip.
"If you want me to lay still," Phil says, his hands moving down from Clint's waist and onto his ass, "you have to quit doing that."
"What, this?" Clint says, deliberately biting again.
"Clint," Phil groans, the frustrated kind of groan, the kind Clint doesn't want to hear.
"Okay, okay," Clint says, moving down Phil's body, stopping to kiss his stomach as he works his way down, pulling Phil's boxers off as he goes. Phil's cock isn't all the way hard yet, but that changes quickly when Clint takes it into his mouth, sucking gently just to tease him. He pulls off and takes it in his hand, stroking it the rest of the way before running his tongue along the underside, lapping at the head.
Clint starts sucking him in earnest then, wrapping his lips around his cock and bobbing his head. He could sit here and do this for a very long while, but all sexy fantasy aside, Phil really will get tired out pretty quickly, so it's better not to draw it out too terribly long. That's not a problem today; Phil's already got his hand in Clint's hair, and he's rocking his hips a little, trying to get more of Clint's mouth. Clint doesn't hold back, rolling with it, letting Phil take what he wants.
Clint only knows Phil's going to come by the way Phil grabs at him; he's got a bad habit of holding Clint's head and not letting him up, but Clint doesn't really care. It's a momentary inconvenience, and if he said anything, Phil would probably be embarrassed and pretend like he didn't want Clint to suck him off, which is patently untrue.
When he's done, Phil smooths down Clint's hair apologetically. "Come up here," he says, and Clint happily goes, straddling Phil's hips; ever since Phil's injury, Clint's been reacquainting himself with how very good Phil's hands are, and it's a beautiful thing.
It's no time at all before Clint is pushing into Phil's hand, moaning as Phil strokes him, just exactly the way he wants it; his head drops back as he comes, and he makes breathless noises at the ceiling, lost in it entirely, lost in him and Phil and how good this is, how good they are together.
Clint lays back down beside him, tucked up against his side; he rests his face against Phil's shoulder, maybe making happy noises, maybe not. When he looks up, though, Phil is looking back at him, the oddest expression on his face.
Clint frowns. "You're staring at me."
"I was thinking about how lucky I am to be here with you," Phil says sincerely.
"Don't get sappy on me now, Coulson," Clint says, grinning.
Phil shakes his head. "I mean it."
"You're not so bad yourself," Clint says, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, but Phil intercepts him, kissing him on the mouth instead, deep and slow, like it means something that Clint's just not getting. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against Clint's for a moment, and Clint doesn't know what to do with any of it, but his heart feels swollen.
"Now breakfast," Phil says, after he lets Clint go, making no move to get out of the bed.
Clint narrows his eyes. "I'm on to you," he says. "This has all been a big scam to get me to make you bacon and eggs."
"And toast," Phil says. "With jelly."
"Only because you're injured," Clint says, rolling out of bed. "When you're not all jacked up, you're making me breakfast."
"We'll see," Phil says, smirking. "Clint," he says, when Clint's almost out of the room.
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you too, but it's not getting you fresh-squeezed orange juice."
Phil's laugh follows him down the hall.
Summary: Phil hasn't gone missing. Phil is gone. Clint is going after him.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 12559 (story)
Rating/Contents: NC-17, fusion, mindfuck, references to mental health issues and drug-induced self harm
Pairing: Clint/Coulson, Tony/Pepper
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: So here's the story. It is large, but it is done, and I love it to little pieces.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
Phil is sitting up against the headboard when Clint wakes up. He's reading a book, and he's wearing his reading glasses, the ones that he hates and Clint loves; he takes them off very quickly once he realizes Clint is up. Clint moves in close, cuddling up against him. Clint is too warm, hot from too much sleep under too many blankets, but that doesn't stop him. He puts his head on Phil's thigh, and Phil obligingly scratches his scalp for a moment.
Clint turns, looking up at him. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," Phil says.
He stretches. "What time is it?"
"Ten o'clock," Phil tells him.
"You didn't get me up for breakfast?" Clint says, a little offended.
"I got up at nine-thirty," Phil says. "There was no breakfast."
"Fair enough," Clint says. "What's on tap for today, boss?"
"The Matrix is playing at the dollar theater this week," Phil offers.
"I've never actually seen it," Clint says.
Phil shrugs. "You might like it."
"I usually like sci-fi." He sits up, leering at Phil. "I like other stuff better."
Phil makes the grumpy 'doctor's orders' face he's been wearing a lot lately. "Clint, I don't know if-"
"If you can lay still and let me give you a blowjob?" Clint says, and Phil stops, raising an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Come on, lay down."
Phil carefully gets onto his back, wincing a little- he's allowed to be a little slow, considering he's got a huge spear wound in his chest that's nowhere near healed. Clint's gotten good at getting on top of him without damaging him; it's a very handy skill when Clint's got a serious urge to torment that one little spot on Phil's shoulder, the one that makes Phil bite his lip.
"If you want me to lay still," Phil says, his hands moving down from Clint's waist and onto his ass, "you have to quit doing that."
"What, this?" Clint says, deliberately biting again.
"Clint," Phil groans, the frustrated kind of groan, the kind Clint doesn't want to hear.
"Okay, okay," Clint says, moving down Phil's body, stopping to kiss his stomach as he works his way down, pulling Phil's boxers off as he goes. Phil's cock isn't all the way hard yet, but that changes quickly when Clint takes it into his mouth, sucking gently just to tease him. He pulls off and takes it in his hand, stroking it the rest of the way before running his tongue along the underside, lapping at the head.
Clint starts sucking him in earnest then, wrapping his lips around his cock and bobbing his head. He could sit here and do this for a very long while, but all sexy fantasy aside, Phil really will get tired out pretty quickly, so it's better not to draw it out too terribly long. That's not a problem today; Phil's already got his hand in Clint's hair, and he's rocking his hips a little, trying to get more of Clint's mouth. Clint doesn't hold back, rolling with it, letting Phil take what he wants.
Clint only knows Phil's going to come by the way Phil grabs at him; he's got a bad habit of holding Clint's head and not letting him up, but Clint doesn't really care. It's a momentary inconvenience, and if he said anything, Phil would probably be embarrassed and pretend like he didn't want Clint to suck him off, which is patently untrue.
When he's done, Phil smooths down Clint's hair apologetically. "Come up here," he says, and Clint happily goes, straddling Phil's hips; ever since Phil's injury, Clint's been reacquainting himself with how very good Phil's hands are, and it's a beautiful thing.
It's no time at all before Clint is pushing into Phil's hand, moaning as Phil strokes him, just exactly the way he wants it; his head drops back as he comes, and he makes breathless noises at the ceiling, lost in it entirely, lost in him and Phil and how good this is, how good they are together.
Clint lays back down beside him, tucked up against his side; he rests his face against Phil's shoulder, maybe making happy noises, maybe not. When he looks up, though, Phil is looking back at him, the oddest expression on his face.
Clint frowns. "You're staring at me."
"I was thinking about how lucky I am to be here with you," Phil says sincerely.
"Don't get sappy on me now, Coulson," Clint says, grinning.
Phil shakes his head. "I mean it."
"You're not so bad yourself," Clint says, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, but Phil intercepts him, kissing him on the mouth instead, deep and slow, like it means something that Clint's just not getting. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against Clint's for a moment, and Clint doesn't know what to do with any of it, but his heart feels swollen.
"Now breakfast," Phil says, after he lets Clint go, making no move to get out of the bed.
Clint narrows his eyes. "I'm on to you," he says. "This has all been a big scam to get me to make you bacon and eggs."
"And toast," Phil says. "With jelly."
"Only because you're injured," Clint says, rolling out of bed. "When you're not all jacked up, you're making me breakfast."
"We'll see," Phil says, smirking. "Clint," he says, when Clint's almost out of the room.
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
"I love you too, but it's not getting you fresh-squeezed orange juice."
Phil's laugh follows him down the hall.
