Friday, January 1, 2016

A Clint Barton Lemon -- Ad Infinitum

Character: Clint Barton

Fandom: The Avengers

OC: Rosalie, short brown curly hair, very creative

Inspiration: Enjoy :)

The porch lights glisten over newly fallen snow, gentle big band music spills over the marble counter tops, and Rosalie is pulling a sheet of cookies out of the oven as she hums along with the familiar tune.  Her husband glances up (no doubt curious to see if they’re the kind he likes) before returning his gaze to the bow he’s got propped between his knees. 
He’s fiddling around with the drawstring, putting a new one on because he’s ‘worried that the tension is off – it just feels wrong’.  Rosalie doesn’t comment, but she can’t help but think that the tension of his bow isn’t the only thing that’s wrong tonight.  On Christmas Eve.  With romantic music, her best lingerie, and a libido that’s obviously waiting to be stoked.  Maybe not obvious enough, if even her sharpshooter of a husband can’t figure it out.
It must be the clothes.  A smidgen too conservative, perhaps?  She hadn’t felt the need to get all dressed up.  They aren't going anywhere tonight – can't anyway.  There’s a foot of snow outside and it’s increasing every minute.  And besides, this little rustic cottage is literally in the middle of nowhere.  A safe house, as it were.  Except this time, instead of hiding from their enemies, Clint and Rosalie are hiding from the rest of the Avengers…namely Tony. 
Well it isn’t their fault if they’d rather not spend the holidays going to endless parties and getting drunk off their asses.  Frankly, Rosalie thinks they’re a bit too old for that – her days of partying ended years ago.  And as for Clint…well, it had been his idea to drag her away to this little cottage in the first place, so he obviously agrees with her.  Though…perhaps not enough.
“Almost done with that?” she ventures, sending a sweeping look over her husband’s form as he relaxes in the armchair near the kitchen.  The house is all open, every room layering into the next like a continuous puzzle.  From her vantage point, she can see all of the living room as well as the front door and a little bit of the office that plunges off to the left of it.  She can also see the tight muscle shirt that skims over his chest, the broad shoulders, the lean and muscled forearms, the strong and focused face of the man she loves.  It’s a very nice sight.
He almost doesn’t answer her, he’s so caught up in whatever it is he’s doing.  After a beat of silence, Clint glances up and locks eyes with hers, “Uh…no, not really.  Why, need me to do something?” 
Rosalie shrugs.  Come over here and kiss me, she wants to say, but doesn’t.  Instead she just leans back and tells him, “Nothing in particular, Agent.”  The name usually gives him a shiver or something, but this time Clint only shoots her a tilted side-smile and returns to his bow.  Huh.
She’s getting laid tonight.  She isn’t taking no for an answer.  It’s been too long since she’s had him.  Too many missions and days spent at the Avengers tower has made her impatient.  There’s only one thing to do: step up her game.
She turns away from him, casually raises a hand to her button up blouse and undoes the first few buttons.  The fabric is pushed aside as she reaches for the spatula and starts sliding the cookies onto a plate.  By the time she’s finished, she’s got more than a little cleavage spilling out of her shirt and she’s fixed her bra, pushing the cups down a little and propping them beneath her breasts to push them up.  Yeah, she looks good.
Clint hasn’t glanced up again.  He doesn’t glance up even when she turns back around and pretends to look for…something.  (She doesn’t really care.)  All he does is test the new drawstring of his bow, pulling it back as he narrows his eyes on whatever object he’s using as a false target.  The TV, this time.  Rosalie purses her lips and wracks her brain.
Okay.  What man doesn’t love a girl who goes commando in a skirt?  She’s wearing her long maxi skirt tonight.  It’s comfortable and effortless…and easy to hike up as she stands behind the counter.  She hooks her fingers around the panties she’s wearing and drags them down, feigning an itch on her thigh.  Not that it matters, because Clint is utterly enamored in his bow.  She normally would’ve laughed aloud at the sight he makes (seriously, he treats the weapon like it’s his child), but tonight she’s too impatient for that.
She stuffs the panties into a drawer and tells herself she’ll retrieve them tomorrow morning, when she’ll hopefully have spent the night being utterly ravished and fucked by her handsome husband.  Though at this point, she thinks she’d have a better chance romancing the cat, who has long since disappeared into the spare bedroom with a not-so-subtle look of disdain.
So clearly she’s got to do more than just alter her clothes.  Rosalie heaves a small sigh as she puts the cookie sheets in the sink, pondering the situation.  Clint is obsessed with his bow.  Not new.  Her libido is getting the better of her.  Not new.  Clint hasn’t noticed her obvious come-ons because he’s so obsessed.  Not new.  So what is new?
The fact that it’s Christmas Eve.  The fact that there’s already lots of romance in the air with the snow falling outside and the soft lights and the blinking Christmas tree in the corner.  The fact that “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” by Sinatra has just come on the radio.
Rosalie has had plenty of practice romancing her stone of a husband.  It’s clear that she needs to take it up a notch.  She smirks and pulls herself up onto the counter, facing Clint.  She watches him a moment.  His face is cast down as he tries to tie the drawstring tighter.  He’s half turned away from her and very focused on his work, so he doesn’t notice when she hitches her skirt up and spreads her legs, unbuttoning the rest of her blouse and letting it fall around her exposed skin. 
She’s glad she’s decided to get rid of her panties when she had, because it makes everything a lot easier.  And by everything, she means the way she drags her fingers to her core and rubs herself, watching Clint with half lidded eyes and wondering when he’s going to look up and actually notice what she’s up to.
It takes a lot longer than she expects.  Clint can be so oblivious sometimes.  Hard to believe, really, considering how sharp he is.  But his guard is down, he’s not expecting any problems tonight, not in this far-away cottage that only a select few know about.  And he’s completely enchanted with his work – until of course he clicks his tongue happily and raises the bow to test the new tension of the string.  He points it at the TV again…and sees a very particular reflection in the black screen.
With a jolt, Clint is turning around in his chair fast as lightening, eyes immediately darting to his wife’s figure with a surprised, conflicted expression.  She’s gotten very wet over the last few minutes – there’s something oddly delicious about pleasuring herself in front of someone else, especially someone who is unaware.  But now that he is aware, the pleasure heightens along with the anticipation, the excitement, the amused glory of it all.
“Finally noticed, hmmm?” she wonders lowly, and a dark, arousing chuckle accompanies the words.  Clint’s eyes darken, smoldering the distance between the living room and the countertop where she sits.  His gaze drifts.  Over her chest, her stomach, the hiked up skirt, to where her fingers are working at her core, twisting and rubbing and thrusting.  His body is stiff as a board, all the surprise quickly turning to interest and darker things, more arousing things.  Things that Rosalie has been waiting to see for a very long time.  Finally.
“How long have you been doing that?” he asks, slowly putting the bow down.  But he doesn’t get up, he just leans back and watches.  Something in his expression lightens, almost as if he’s feeling a little bit amused.  She smirks and chuckles again, tilting her head back to rest against the cabinet behind her.  Her eyes turn to cat-like slits.  She doesn’t take them off of him.  He doesn’t look away either.  They are locked together in a storm of her creation, battered back and forth in this tiny house.
She hums, almost a moan but not quite, and murmurs, “Longer than you realize.”  Sinatra’s voice croons in the background.  But why should I try to resist when baby, I know so well – I’ve got you under my skin.
His fingers twitch on the arm rest.  Another part of him twitches too, but she’s not aware of it.  He knows though – he can feel the desire build, can feel all the blood rush down and pump his veins into dust.  Christ.  He feels like he might actually catch on fire at any moment.
He stands up, eyes never leaving her.  He forgets what he’s been doing a minute ago, a second ago, a moment ago.  There’s only one thing on his mind, and it has absolutely nothing to do with mooning over his bow. 
He reaches the opposite counter and then pauses, almost not wanting to go to her because if he does, she’ll stop.  He doesn’t want her to stop.  He wants to keep watching this forever.  She looks utterly mesmerizing.  His breath is coming out in shallow, overly eager exhalations.  He can’t remember being this turn on with such a simple thing.  He hasn’t even been touched and his body is on fire.  The effect she has on him is very shattering.  It’s always been, but sometimes it surprises him that their love is still so potent even after several years of marriage.
“You just gonna watch me?” Rosalie asks, half enjoying the thought and partially wishing he’d come join her.  Her other hand, which has been quietly resting on her thigh, pushes in to assist.  She spreads her legs wider, and inches her hips down a little bit, working at her core with both hands now.  One thrusts, the other rubs, and Clint swallows the harsh desire to grab her, throw her over his shoulder, and whisk her to the bedroom.  This is too delicious to stop just yet.
He smiles and crosses his arms.  The muscles of his chest tighten at the movement.  His shirt does very little to hide the impressive chest he’s got (for some reason every Avenger has a problem with too-tight clothes), and she enjoys the sight but wishes he’d take it off already.  His bare chest always makes her drool.
“Wellll,” he drawls, tilting his head as his eyes zero in on her hands.  Her arousal glistens on her fingers and he’d very much like to lick each one.  “You seem to be having fun putting on a show for me.”  The corner of his mouth swings up.
Rosalie chuckles, though is sounds more like a grating humming sound that’s filled with a passion she can’t quite contain.  He doesn’t want her to though.  He wants her to let that passion control her, and she’s doing a fairly good job at it already.
“I’m having a lot of fun,” she tells him, honesty crackling through her words.  “But I’d have a lot more fun if you’d get your ass over here and touch me.”  The look he sends her is one of a starving man.
“Christ,” he mutters, clenching his hands.  Shivers coil through him.  It takes him about two seconds to launch himself off the island and towards her, grasping the back of her head with one firm hand and all but attacking her mouth with his.  It’s an almost brutal kiss.  Firm and determined and filled with a need like no other.  It’s got her toes curling as she kisses him back and moans.  The whispery sound makes him feel like he’s going insane.
He slides his hand around her wrist and jerks it up, breaking the kiss in favor of doing what he’s wanted to do since he saw her initially.  His tongue glides over her fingers, lapping at the juices of her core and bringing one digit into his mouth.  He sucks and Rosalie’s eyes roll back into her head, because for some reason it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done to her (and there’s a lot of things on that particular list).  He sucks each fingers, tongue hot against her skin, and when he’s done he lifts her other hand to join in, clasping his fingers around both her wrists like he’s cuffing them together.
“Mmm, this is much…better than watching you play with your bow,” she says, voice tinted with laughter.  Clint narrows his eyes at her and mutters, “I wasn’t playing with my bow, I was fixing it.”  Honestly, he’s a little tired of people treating him like a child with a new toy.  Rosalie smirks.
“You were so focused that you didn’t even see me touching myself – mmph!”  He cuts her off with a hard kiss and slides his hands up her thighs, bunching the fabric of her skirt even farther up as he pulls her hips down to the very edge of the counter.  “I was a little distracted, that’s all,” he said, nipping at her lips and then dragging his mouth down – to the hot mess that is her core.  He lowers his entire body, bending down to suck at her furiously.  She’s already so wet and so sensitive that Rosalie immediately moans and clenches her hands into his hair and his shirt, hips jolting in pleasure.
“But,” he says against her folds, taking a moment to run a bit of her flesh through his teeth gently.  Her entire body twitches and she sighs.  “You’ve got all of my attention now.”
Rosalie bites her lip and clenches his shirt tighter, dragging it partially up his body with the contact.  He doesn’t complain, only licks harder, tongue dipping into her entrance before his fingers follow suit.  He moves his lips to the top of her clit as his fingers start thrusting.  He adds another.  With every thrust, he curls his fingertips and rubs at a particular spot inside her that he knows makes her crazy.  He’s not disappointed – the noises she rewards him with is worth the effort. 
“Mmm…good to hear,” Rosalie murmurs, nails digging into him.  He’s always been good with those fingers of his, and that mouth – well, it makes her a little insane.  A good insane.  A delicious shattering that shakes her body into little shivers and makes her yearn for more of him.  The full, complete sensation of having him inside her.  No – not just inside her: a part of her.
Every lick, every shiver that rolls through her, every movement that tells him how turned on she is makes him harder.  He’s more than hard now.  He’s aching with arousal, his cock straining up against his pants, begging to be released from the constraints of the fabric, yearning to be touched by her.  But not yet – he’s too mesmerized by this, by her, to pull away.  He can’t believe he hadn’t noticed her before.  Maybe he is sometimes a little too obsessed with his bow, but at least she can pull him out of it and make him obsessed with other things.  More pleasurable things.  And he’ll make it up to her. 
“Clint, please,” she whispers, begs almost.  Her voice is a shift of sound that tears through him and makes him shudder.  Christ, she sounds hot when she begs.  Does she even know how much it affects him?  He looks up at her from his perch between her legs and drags his tongue up her clit in one long lick.  When he reaches the top, his touch dances back and forth over the sensitive bundle of nerves and she completely looses it, breaking off into murmured hitches of sound and words that blend together like a thousand little shivers of emotion.  And, well…he’s never been a very patient man.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he swears, and pulls away with a sudden force that leaves Rosalie miles behind.  She blinks blearily at him, wondering why he’d stopped when she is so close and all she wants to do is come.  But his only explanation is to reach behind her and heave her off the counter, dragging her against him and pulling her core tight against his.  The burning heat of her arousal makes him want to just fuck her right there against the edge of marble, but he somehow manages to pull himself together long enough to stumble across the kitchen towards the living room.
On his way he angrily unzips his pants, fumbling around the button and pulling his member out.  She’s tightly wrapped around his waist, but Rosalie feels the hardness of him the moment he frees himself.  She feels him curl up against her rear and moans, bending down to kiss him furiously and rubbing herself against him as much as she’s able in their current position.  It’s not much, but it’s enough.  Enough to make Clint groan and hurry his pace.
He all but shoves her against the back of the couch, grinding his cock against her folds and moaning at the feel of her wet heat sliding against him.  He wants to be inside her.  He doesn’t want to wait a moment longer than he absolutely needs to.  So he growls, “Hope you’re ready for me,” in Rosalie’s ear and doesn’t stop to wait for her answer before ploughing forward.
“Ohhmmmph!” Rosalie gasps, feeling the sudden bursting fulfillment of the whole of him.  He truly doesn’t wait but she doesn’t care.  She’s more than ready, and even though it’s a little bit uncomfortable at first as he spreads her out for him, the pain spirals her down into a pleasure that cannot be matched.  “Fuck!” she moans, still pressed between the couch and him.  He pulls back and then tips forward again, bucking into her.  And the world seems to tip away too, replaced by the burning smoky sensation of love.
It’s about as haphazard as one could get.  Clint gives a few more hard thrusts and then he’s dragging her up again, bundling her into his chest.  His cock is still buried inside her as he moves, fumbling his way around the couch.  Every stop makes her shatter all over again, feeling him shift around inside her.  She moves a little against him, circling herself as Clint makes a beeline for the armchair he’d only recently vacated. 
He all but drops her down into it, cock sliding out as Rosalie collapses into worn black leather.  She looks good surrounded by it, and he takes a moment to study the harried gasps that move her chest, the taut nipples, the disarray of clothes that drape from her figure like they’re melting off of her.  He’d like to get those off, but to be perfectly honest, all he can think about right now and diving back inside her and giving her a run for her money.
So he clamors onto the chair, knees sliding beneath her, hands pulling her hips up into his lap.  It takes him two seconds to line himself up and then he’s ramming back inside her and she’s gasping and moaning his name like it’s a fucking prayer.
“Oh shit, shit,” she whines, eyes half lidded as she looks up at him.  It’s slightly awkward, this position.  Her body is bent at a strange angle.  Her neck is a little cramped.  Clint’s got both hands fisted into the back of the leather chair, hovering over her.  He’s still wearing all his clothes, though his jeans are sort of rumpled halfway down his thighs, and Rosalie reaches forward to tug at his shirt.
He takes the hint.  A moment later Clint is jerking it off and throwing it behind him on the coffee table.  He comes back to her with a jostled bang that makes her eyesight burst.  One of his hands grapples with his hips and he slides a muscled around her.  She lifts herself up a little, trying to make it easier for him to thrust.  Her thighs tremble but it’s so worth it. 
He’s like a fucking wild bull.  His eyes gleam and he shoves her into the leather with every crazy bucking thrust.  They’ll go slower later, when he’s not insane with desire.  But right now all he can so is go faster, faster, faster, like time is running out.  And he knows he’s close, really close, but he can’t slow down for the life of him.  It’s really a good thing that he knows Rosalie is close too. 
He can read it in her eyes, in the shifting gasps of her chest, in the way she’s muttering his name and clenching her fingers around his forearms and clenching her core around his cock.
“Rose – fuck,” he mutters, bruising her with the force of his thrusts.  His passion makes her feel raw.  It scrapes over her and grates her into tiny shivers of flawed beautiful desires.  The rasp of every movement, the way he practically throws himself into her like it’s the only place he ever wants to be, makes her shatter with such force that Rosalie can’t breathe.
She just drowns.  Against leather and him, and in the love of his eyes and in the thrust of his hips.  The warmth of his skin, the drag of his passion, the way his face is tight because he’s waiting for her and it’s kind of killing him but he needs to see her come on his cock or he’ll die a much worse death.
His lips drag over her cheek and he hoarsely tells her, “Come on, Rose, waiting on you, darlin’.  Feels so good but it’ll feel better.  Just cum on me, need to feel you tight and hot – “  She moans loudly and cries out his name because holy hell, his dirty talk does have a way of making her mad with desire.  She fucking wants him.  She fucking wants to come.  And his words make the sky tip over, and she thinks he goes on to say more but she can’t hear him because she’s too busy have the fucking best orgasm in her entire life.
“Fuck Rose,” Clint exclaims as she clenches down around his cock.  Every thrust from then on out is a mesmerizing drag of pleasure that’s infinitely better than before, because she’s tighter, wetter, hotter – and she’s gasping his name and he watches her come with pride because he’s the reason she’s in her current state.  He’s made her like this.  And he rocks faster, practically rutting against her like a wild animal, hips set like a piston as he tears through his own orgasm and lets it break him apart.
“Oh fuuuckkkk,” he groans, voice muffled as he buries his face in leather and the side of Rosalie’s neck.  She grips him tight.  Her eyelids flutter.  Fingers dance in his hair as the beautiful feeling of his cum fills her up and makes her warm and heady.  He pants against her, breath pooling on her skin as his hips slow down and eventually stops.  Fucking Christ.  He thinks he wants her again.
Rosalie opens her eyes, chest heaving with short, shallow breaths.  “…Clint?  Are you still…?”  Her eyes are a little wide.
He gives her a grin that’s half embarrassed but mostly just lazy with subdued passion.  “Guess you really did a number of me, love.”  Cause he’s still half hard even as he comes down from the high, still buried inside her and surrounded by the haze of his orgasm.
Rosalie lets out a shaky laugh and whispers, “Well fuck.  That’s really hot.  Maybe we should take this somewhere more comfortable.”  It’s really not a question.  The thought of him still craving more of her has her burning all over again.
Clint presses a smooth kiss to her neck and murmurs lowly, “Your place or mine?”  The joke makes her laugh again, like shredded desire that makes Clint crazy all over.  He swallows and kisses her more firmly on the mouth, melting against her and dragging her lip into his mouth.  “I’m gonna make you scream this time.”
Her eyes flash.  “…That a challenge?” she whispers, feeling more aroused with every low, hot word.  The corner of his mouth tilts up.
“D’you want it to be?” he asks, and she smirks.
“Hell yes.” 
The challenge is met.  Clint smirks right back and scoops her up, and the rest of Christmas Eve is spent in a halo of sheets and skin and love that has no boundaries and no barriers.



  1. This is best one!! I love it, you must keep up ammazing work ^^

  2. OMG! This was beyond hot! This was raw, wild and pure steamy sex with Clint!
    Thank you so much for writing this. He's my favourite and this was... Woah! No words..