Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2015-05-27 09:54 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2015-05-27 09:54 pm
(MCU) Verbalised
Title: Verbalised
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Clint/Pietro
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1108
Timeline: Post-Avengers: Age Of Ultron
Notes: Spoilers for Avengers: Age Of Ultron. Daddy kink. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
avengers_tables, prompt "protection", and a prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: A single word is all it takes, and Clint's brain shuts down, his hips taking over.
Missions go wrong, it’s just part of life. Clint’s used to it, used to adapting on the fly, always having contingency plan after contingency plan.
But this is different, and Clint’s fucking shaken.
Because today’s the first time a mission has gone wrong since Pietro came back to them.
It wasn’t even that big of a fuck-up; advanced weaponry where there shouldn’t have been advanced weaponry. Rhodey was there in the blink of an eye, giving them enough cover for Clint to grab Pietro by the scruff of the neck and haul him away, and Sam was ready and waiting for their extraction.
No harm, just a few bruises and a nice scare.
So there’s no reason why Clint’s heart feels like it still hasn’t stopped hammering, hours later.
His whole system is messed up, nerves tripping over themselves, wired on adrenaline and too little sleep. Wired on Pietro, who’s spread out underneath him, pillows shoved to the floor and head thrown back, and Clint’s weirdly fascinated by the tendons at his neck, by how exposed the kid looks.
Presses feverish kisses there, sucks marks into the skin that Pietro’ll be pissed over later, but right now Clint doesn’t care.
He kept seeing it in his head, as he was dragging Pietro after him, mission circling the drain around them. Kept seeing Pietro’s glassy eyes, hearing the dull thud of his body as he hit the floor. Should have seen it coming, to paraphrase the brat, that every time Pietro’s in the slightest hint of danger, Clint’s mind is going to take him right back to Sokovia.
He saw Pietro die, and days like today make him realise that a part of him’s just waiting for it to happen again.
And maybe the thought makes his hips snap a little harder, makes him bow his head and really give it to the kid. But Clint knows he’s not the only one freaked out.
Pietro’s trembling. Clint can feel it all the way through him, from the fingers digging into Clint’s shoulders hard enough to hurt, all the way to the echoes of it wrapped around Clint’s cock as he fucks into the heat of Pietro’s ass. Slurred words tipping past Pietro’s lips, confusing mixture of his native tongue and the word, “Please.”
Clint’s Sokovian isn’t exactly fluent, but he remembers the curse words, so he knows whatever Pietro’s saying, it’s filthy.
Part of him wants to tell the kid to shut up, cruel as that is. Because Pietro’s voice sounds so broken, too quiet and husky and cracked, and it’s just making Clint’s head spin more, winding him up tighter and tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs instead, mouth sliding over Pietro’s temple, and it’s the right thing to say, because Pietro closes his eyes and clings to Clint like letting go is the most terrifying thing in the world. Knees squeezing Clint’s hips, heels braced against the bed, trying to rock up into every thrust, but they’re too close for him to get leverage. “You’re safe, got you, I’ve got you.”
Another harsh whisper of Sokovian, and then Clint hears it. All mixed up in foreign words, but still clear as anything.
“Please, daddy.”
Clint’s hips buck forward so hard Pietro actually yelps.
Oh, oh fuck, Clint knows the kid looks up to him, but this is one hundred percent something else, and they need to talk about this, and Clint needs to think about this, and every one of his brain cells that’s still actually functioning is telling him that this is a mistake, because you don’t let a word like that enter the bedroom without an actual conversation.
But his stupid, untrustworthy mouth is already moving. “Say it again,” Clint hears himself fucking growl, and Pietro’s ass clenches down on his cock so fiercely that Clint sees stars.
Pietro’s eyelashes are fluttering and he looks dazed, a little embarrassed but too far past it to stop. “Please,” he begs, and Clint’ll never get tired of hearing the kid whine for it. “Look after me, need you, please, daddy.”
Clint groans, rearing back on his knees. Hearing Pietro make vulnerable little noises, trying to hold Clint close. But he needs the distance right now, so that he can grab Pietro’s hips properly, so he can fuck him properly, so damn brutal he’s aching with it.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he promises roughly, and Pietro’s eyes widen, mouth falling slack, needy sounds being fucked out of his throat as Clint drives him higher up the bed. “Never let you go again.”
Watching the angry red flush of Pietro’s cock when he wraps his fingers around it, feeling the way Pietro’s so damn tight around him, but Clint’s orgasm still takes him by surprise. It’s like it’s forced out of him, violent and rough and leaving him unsteady and gasping, and Pietro surges up against him, kisses him desperately, swallows down every noise.
Clint pins the kid down again, soon as his arms want to start obeying him. Feeling wild-eyed and restless and still on edge, shuddering hard when his dick slides free of Pietro’s ass.
Pietro’s staring up at him, hand still wrapped around himself, but not moving. None of him’s moving, like he’s holding his breath. Waiting for Clint to get mad, or disgusted, or upset, or something.
Like Pietro’s the only one who’s fucked up, who’s a complete wreck after just a little gunfire, after a word he probably didn’t mean to let slip.
Maybe they will talk about it, but not tonight. Because Clint isn’t up to being a responsible adult right now, not when there’s still heat crawling up and down his spine, sticky and thick, and he’s content to not think, to let the echo of Pietro’s voice goad him on.
He smacks Pietro’s hand away from his cock, digs his fingers in at Pietro’s waist. “Say it again,” he hisses, and maybe he’s losing his mind, because it’s one stupid word, but it feels like it’s hardwired to his cock, twitching just for the thought of it.
Pietro’s breathing again, panting for him, pupils so dilated there’s barely any blue at all. Licking his lips, arms reaching up over his head to grip the headboard like the good little boy he only ever is when Clint’s got him like this, held down on the bed and fucking dripping for it.
“Yes, daddy,” Pietro whispers, looking a little awed.
Clint moans, ducks his head, swallows the kid down to the root, and he doesn’t miss that Pietro’s groan sounds relieved and so beautifully earnest it makes Clint's heart beat faster than ever.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Clint/Pietro
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1108
Timeline: Post-Avengers: Age Of Ultron
Notes: Spoilers for Avengers: Age Of Ultron. Daddy kink. For
avengers_tables, prompt "protection", and a prompt at avengerkink.Summary: A single word is all it takes, and Clint's brain shuts down, his hips taking over.
Missions go wrong, it’s just part of life. Clint’s used to it, used to adapting on the fly, always having contingency plan after contingency plan.
But this is different, and Clint’s fucking shaken.
Because today’s the first time a mission has gone wrong since Pietro came back to them.
It wasn’t even that big of a fuck-up; advanced weaponry where there shouldn’t have been advanced weaponry. Rhodey was there in the blink of an eye, giving them enough cover for Clint to grab Pietro by the scruff of the neck and haul him away, and Sam was ready and waiting for their extraction.
No harm, just a few bruises and a nice scare.
So there’s no reason why Clint’s heart feels like it still hasn’t stopped hammering, hours later.
His whole system is messed up, nerves tripping over themselves, wired on adrenaline and too little sleep. Wired on Pietro, who’s spread out underneath him, pillows shoved to the floor and head thrown back, and Clint’s weirdly fascinated by the tendons at his neck, by how exposed the kid looks.
Presses feverish kisses there, sucks marks into the skin that Pietro’ll be pissed over later, but right now Clint doesn’t care.
He kept seeing it in his head, as he was dragging Pietro after him, mission circling the drain around them. Kept seeing Pietro’s glassy eyes, hearing the dull thud of his body as he hit the floor. Should have seen it coming, to paraphrase the brat, that every time Pietro’s in the slightest hint of danger, Clint’s mind is going to take him right back to Sokovia.
He saw Pietro die, and days like today make him realise that a part of him’s just waiting for it to happen again.
And maybe the thought makes his hips snap a little harder, makes him bow his head and really give it to the kid. But Clint knows he’s not the only one freaked out.
Pietro’s trembling. Clint can feel it all the way through him, from the fingers digging into Clint’s shoulders hard enough to hurt, all the way to the echoes of it wrapped around Clint’s cock as he fucks into the heat of Pietro’s ass. Slurred words tipping past Pietro’s lips, confusing mixture of his native tongue and the word, “Please.”
Clint’s Sokovian isn’t exactly fluent, but he remembers the curse words, so he knows whatever Pietro’s saying, it’s filthy.
Part of him wants to tell the kid to shut up, cruel as that is. Because Pietro’s voice sounds so broken, too quiet and husky and cracked, and it’s just making Clint’s head spin more, winding him up tighter and tighter.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs instead, mouth sliding over Pietro’s temple, and it’s the right thing to say, because Pietro closes his eyes and clings to Clint like letting go is the most terrifying thing in the world. Knees squeezing Clint’s hips, heels braced against the bed, trying to rock up into every thrust, but they’re too close for him to get leverage. “You’re safe, got you, I’ve got you.”
Another harsh whisper of Sokovian, and then Clint hears it. All mixed up in foreign words, but still clear as anything.
“Please, daddy.”
Clint’s hips buck forward so hard Pietro actually yelps.
Oh, oh fuck, Clint knows the kid looks up to him, but this is one hundred percent something else, and they need to talk about this, and Clint needs to think about this, and every one of his brain cells that’s still actually functioning is telling him that this is a mistake, because you don’t let a word like that enter the bedroom without an actual conversation.
But his stupid, untrustworthy mouth is already moving. “Say it again,” Clint hears himself fucking growl, and Pietro’s ass clenches down on his cock so fiercely that Clint sees stars.
Pietro’s eyelashes are fluttering and he looks dazed, a little embarrassed but too far past it to stop. “Please,” he begs, and Clint’ll never get tired of hearing the kid whine for it. “Look after me, need you, please, daddy.”
Clint groans, rearing back on his knees. Hearing Pietro make vulnerable little noises, trying to hold Clint close. But he needs the distance right now, so that he can grab Pietro’s hips properly, so he can fuck him properly, so damn brutal he’s aching with it.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he promises roughly, and Pietro’s eyes widen, mouth falling slack, needy sounds being fucked out of his throat as Clint drives him higher up the bed. “Never let you go again.”
Watching the angry red flush of Pietro’s cock when he wraps his fingers around it, feeling the way Pietro’s so damn tight around him, but Clint’s orgasm still takes him by surprise. It’s like it’s forced out of him, violent and rough and leaving him unsteady and gasping, and Pietro surges up against him, kisses him desperately, swallows down every noise.
Clint pins the kid down again, soon as his arms want to start obeying him. Feeling wild-eyed and restless and still on edge, shuddering hard when his dick slides free of Pietro’s ass.
Pietro’s staring up at him, hand still wrapped around himself, but not moving. None of him’s moving, like he’s holding his breath. Waiting for Clint to get mad, or disgusted, or upset, or something.
Like Pietro’s the only one who’s fucked up, who’s a complete wreck after just a little gunfire, after a word he probably didn’t mean to let slip.
Maybe they will talk about it, but not tonight. Because Clint isn’t up to being a responsible adult right now, not when there’s still heat crawling up and down his spine, sticky and thick, and he’s content to not think, to let the echo of Pietro’s voice goad him on.
He smacks Pietro’s hand away from his cock, digs his fingers in at Pietro’s waist. “Say it again,” he hisses, and maybe he’s losing his mind, because it’s one stupid word, but it feels like it’s hardwired to his cock, twitching just for the thought of it.
Pietro’s breathing again, panting for him, pupils so dilated there’s barely any blue at all. Licking his lips, arms reaching up over his head to grip the headboard like the good little boy he only ever is when Clint’s got him like this, held down on the bed and fucking dripping for it.
“Yes, daddy,” Pietro whispers, looking a little awed.
Clint moans, ducks his head, swallows the kid down to the root, and he doesn’t miss that Pietro’s groan sounds relieved and so beautifully earnest it makes Clint's heart beat faster than ever.