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Everyone always expected Clint to be the least engaged at any of the Avengers’ press events. Captain America was perfect; Iron Man was eccentric; Hulk and Black Widow were cool and quiet, if for different reasons; Thor was usually off-world. Hawkeye was disinterested at best, spacey at worst.
He found it usually worked in his favor.
“I’m sorry,” Clint pulled his attention from the back of the room and brought out his most charming smile, “what was the question?”
The journalists chuckled amiably. Whoever had asked repeated the question; he gave a passable bullshit answer; everyone was happy.
It helped that the last three battles they’d assembled for hadn’t completely destroyed the city.
As soon as he was in the clear again, Clint let his eyes slide back to where Phil was standing at the back of the room. He was eating a piece of cake from the small reception that’d been held in honor of something or other.
Clint never claimed ‘disinterested’ was inaccurate.
Normally, Phil was pressed and perfect and pristine at these events, but he was inexplicably, dangerously eating his cake without a fork.
He’d gotten himself a corner piece, with thick layers of white frosting on three sides. He clearly wasn’t in a rush to eat it, making sure each bite was painfully slow. Between his bites, he’d pause, putting the piece of cake gingerly back on his plate and coming away with his fingers coated in white buttercream. Then he’d start licking his fingers clean.
And he was staring Clint down while he did it; making sure Clint was watching while he did it; making sure to drive Clint absolutely insane while he did it.
Clint couldn’t know if any of the other Avengers had noticed what Phil was doing. If they were watching how Phil’s lips wrapped around the pad of his thumb to suck a little bit of white frosting off, so be it. If anyone noticed how his tongue swiped out of his mouth to catch a little bit of frosting left behind on his bottom lip, they deserved their jealousy. Phil was his. They could watch all they wanted, but only he got to touch.
As if he knew exactly what Clint was thinking, Phil winked at him. He slowly slid his thumb all the way into his mouth, sucked for just a moment, and then slid his thumb out again, running his thumbnail over his bottom lip. Then he picked up his cake and took the tiniest of nibbles. It just meant more frosting smeared over his fingertips—and he licked them clean, one by excruciatingly slow one.
It was bold, even by Phil’s standards. If Phil had clocked anyone else in the room cluing into what was happening between them, he was certainly putting on quite the show.
Clint shifted in his seat and glanced sideways at Pepper, who was helping moderate the panel. He really needed her to hurry the fuck up before Phil drove him to extreme measures to end the panel himself.
Clint’s hands were itching for Phil’s skin. The thirty-minute panel had lasted twenty minutes too long by his count, but at least it’d been held in a conference room off of the Tower lobby, so he already knew the building well.
Phil’s face was blank as Clint approached him. His hands were carefully folded in front of him, his suit perfectly neat and tidy with no cake crumbs in sight. Clint shook his head at Phil silently, and the mischievous gleam in Phil’s eye sparked even brighter as Clint grabbed his elbow. With a quick, firm squeeze, Clint let go before he turned to make his way toward the conference room door. Phil moved as silent as any spy, and Clint had to resist the urge to check that Phil was right at his heels.
One conference room down the hall seemed too obvious. He wasn’t sure if he trusted the walls to be completely soundproof, either. So, two conference rooms over he opened the door and held it open for Phil to follow in after him.
Clint didn’t bother locking it as he shut it.
Phil was standing still, his back still towards the door, and Clint licked his lips as he looked him over. His feet were shoulder-width apart, hands loose at his sides, and his head slightly bowed. The suit he'd worn was one of Clint's favorites; a little more modern, cut a little closer to his body. The smooth wool was such a dark blue it looked black unless the light fell across Phil’s back just right. It made his shoulders look broad and strong, and made his ass look deliciously tight—perfect for fucking.
Clint shook himself a little before stepping up right behind Phil. He circled his arms around Phil’s chest and bent his lips to Phil’s neck. Pressing closer, Clint could feel Phil's reaction almost immediately: breath held in anticipation, body poised ready to jump at the smallest request. Clint started a trail of light, barely-there kisses just above Phil’s collar, under his jawline, and Clint grinned against Phil’s skin as he shivered in his arms. He slid his hands down Phil’s sides, over his hips, cupping his hard cock through his pants.
“Someone,” Clint said with a quick nip at Phil’s earlobe, “had a little too much fun in there, I think.”
“Not too much, Sir,” Phil answered. “I’d rather have more fun in here.”
“Why should I let you?” Clint curled his tongue around the shell of Phil’s ear.
“Because you want it, too.” To prove his point, Phil circled his hips, pressing his ass back into Clint’s own hard cock.
There was a burst of noise from the hallway outside as a few people passed by. Clint moaned and grabbed Phil by his hips to spin him around. He gripped Phil by his ass and pulled him close, crashing their lips together. Phil responded instantly, running his hands up Clint’s chest and around his neck, holding on tightly as Clint held Phil’s ass firm in his hands, pressing and pulling and massaging as best he could through Phil’s dress pants.
“On your knees,” Clint instructed as soon as he had to pull back for air. Phil obeyed with a pleased hum, and sank to the floor without any hesitation, completely disregarding how uncomfortable the hard, office carpet would be—especially in his dress pants, especially sitting back on his heels in his dress shoes.
Clint crossed his arms as Phil undid his belt and unzipped his pants. Relief was immediate as Phil wrapped one hand around his cock, and wrapped the other around his hip to steady them both. Phil started moving his hand lightly over him, looking up at him with a small smile. Clint rolled his shoulders, flexing just a little more than necessary, enjoying the spark of hunger in Phil’s eyes as he tracked the movement.
“Just a little bit of a warm-up, sweetheart,” Clint said. Phil smiled up at him with a bright grin and even brighter eyes. He gave a quick lick at the bead of precum forming at the tip of Clint’s dick, and then slipped the head into his mouth. Phil kept eye contact the whole time, just as Clint always told him to; Clint couldn’t help smiling down at him and petting Phil’s hair. Phil hummed a little, taking Clint’s silent praise for what it was as he kept sucking. Keeping his tongue moving with perfectly crafted precision, Phil kept his hand wrapped around the base of Clint’s cock, his thumb stroking against him, playing across the underside of his cock just enough to keep the desire between them building.
Phil bobbed his head up and down just a little—not taking Clint all the way in, but enough that Clint had to consciously stop himself from rocking forward into Phil’s mouth.
There was another burst of sound as a few more people walked by, laughing uproariously. Clint thought he could hear Tony in the mix, saying something loud and obnoxious he couldn’t quite care to discern.
“Hands behind your back.” Phil moaned and closed his eyes, a happy little crease forming at the corners. He hollowed out his cheeks, eagerly sucking Clint down as far as he could. He shifted a little closer on his knees and did as he was told. Clint waited for Phil to open his eyes again before he took hold of the back of Phil’s neck.
The trust in Phil’s eyes was as much of a punch to his gut as the best sparring session. Clint loved it. He loved the power Phil gave and the obedience Phil showed, but the trust was what really did him in every time. The thrill of Phil giving it to him right then and there—while all their best friends and coworkers mingled just on the other side of walls half his teammates could bust through without a thought—made it that much sweeter.
Clint waited for a beat. Phil swallowed around him, and Clint eased a scant inch deeper into Phil’s throat. Phil wiggled, huffed out his nose, and made a sound that was halfway between a moan and a whine. Phil’s eyes slipped closed as he swallowed again, and again. Clint held himself still, waiting to press forward until Phil met his gaze again, signaling he was ready for more.
He kept at it, willing Phil to take more of his cock until he was all the way inside Phil, surrounded by the sweet, tight grip of Phil’s throat. He waited for Phil’s chest to start heaving, for his eyes to start watering, for the sounds he kept making to become even more insistent. When Phil finally started to fight back, when his gag reflex failed and he started to choke, that was when Clint moved.
He pulled out far enough for Phil to gasp for air around his cock, sliding out slowly, letting a little bit of precum coat Phil’s waiting lips.
He settled his fingertips around the base of Phil’s skull and around his jawbone. Phil immediately stilled, settling into his hands, trusting him.
He thrust forward with all the power in his hips he could control.
And Phil took it.
Hot and wet and glorious, Clint loved Phil's mouth anywhere on his body, but especially like this, with Phil giving all control over to him, letting him use Phil however he wanted. Phil kept still for him; kept his eyes shut tight in concentration. He was always such a good sub; always so willing and obedient; always so trusting. It made Clint’s head spin like a carousel to have anyone give him something as precious this, but the fact that it was Phil—who loved him, and cherished him, and who was always so perfectly in control, yet still somehow wanted to give it all over to him—he had no intention of ever getting off the ride.
When Phil started whining, Clint gripped his head harder, helping him stay still, helping Phil make sure he was nothing but a hot mouth for him. That’s what Phil always said he wanted: to just be what Clint needed. And he was, every time, whether they were in the field, or in bed, or in an empty conference room with whoever the fuck passing them by in the hallway, completely unaware.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Clint moaned, snapping his hips forward, letting his balls slap noisily against Phil’s spit-slick chin. “You want my come, don’t you?”
Phil wailed and forced his eyes open. With tears at the corners of his eyes, his mouth tight and sloppy-wet around him, it took Clint’s breath away.
“Goddamn, you’re beautiful,” Clint whispered before thrusting up, pulling Phil down, and spilling himself into Phil’s throat with a heavy grunt.
Clint gave Phil a few moments to wrap his arms around his thighs and nuzzle at his spent cock before gently coaxing Phil to tuck him back into his pants.
“Thank you, baby. There you go. Now, stand up.” Clint helped Phil to his feet, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulling him to his chest. “You want to come now, too?”
Phil shuddered and nodded, and Clint hummed appreciatively as he palmed Phil’s cock through the front of his pants.
“I could let you. I could tell you to come in your pants right now and you would. Or I could tell you to wait. I could tell you to go upstairs and wait for me to finish with the press outside. Take a few pictures, now that you’ve taken care of me and I won’t have to worry about giving too much away.” Phil squirmed impossibly closer to him, and Clint stroked a calming hand down his spine. “I could tell you to go upstairs and get naked for me. Use a dildo on yourself to make sure you stay hard until I can come upstairs and make you come all over yourself.”
Phil was panting hot and heavy against Clint’s ear, but he knew better than to think Clint would entertain feedback on what would happen next. Clint kissed him on the temple for being patient. “Think you can do that? Think you can wait for me upstairs? I won’t hurry, but I won’t make you wait longer than I have to.”
Phil pressed his forehead to Clint’s shoulder, as if disappointed, but nodded. “I’ll wait for you, Sir.”
“You can edge yourself however you need. Touch yourself if you need; fuck yourself on your own fingers if you want; but don’t you dare come without me there. If you do, I’ll just have to start over; make you come dry if I have to.”
He could. They’d done it before, but Phil hadn’t liked it enough for them to do it regularly. The threat of it, though, made Phil shy away and bite his lower lip like he didn’t know whether to smile or pout. “I’ll wait for you.”
“Good.” Clint kissed him on the cheek and turned to saunter out before Phil pinned him down with his beautiful, trusting eyes and found a way to keep him there.