It’s a routine call out for the Avengers, nothing too high-key. Some of Doom’s bots ‘accidentally’ get loose in Queens, and they have to round them up before they can cause too much mayhem. Everything’s going well, but as often happens in Clint’s life, one thing leads to another and he ends up taking an ill-advised tumble into a dumpster from a fire escape. He’s made the shot, but Steve had explicitly told him not to, that there was another way. Clint isn't sorry about it, though- there’s a mom and her two kids that are around now that might not have been, otherwise. There may have been another way, but it wouldn’t have been as fast or as accurate, and Clint still feels it was the right choice. The look Steve gives him while S.H.I.E.L.D. medical checks him over conveys just how vehemently Steve disagrees with Clint’s assessment.
The report from medical is pretty good as far as Clint’s concerned; they give him some Tylenol and an ice pack for his bruises, and send him on his way with the normal instructions to let them know if anything feels like it’s getting worse or doesn’t seem like it’s healing in a day or so. He’s been in and out of medical enough, and has enough body awareness to have a decent idea when things aren’t right. Despite popular opinion, Clint actually does try to be careful with his health; he isn’t worth much to anyone if he can’t work.
The whole way back to the Tower, Clint sneaks glances at Steve, who has his head tilted back against the seat, eyes closed, the little furrow he gets between his eyebrows when he isn’t happy is in evidence, jaw in full-on righteous clench.
Steve is silent the whole elevator ride to their floor, and Clint starts to really worry he’s fucked up worse than he thought. They’ve had some spats since they got together, but haven’t really fought much. Steve still hasn’t said anything, and is quietly moving around the apartment, taking his gloves and belt off and removing the armored layers of his uniform. He isn’t throwing anything, and isn’t being outwardly hostile, but the silence bothers Clint. If Steve doesn’t say anything, Clint has no way to know what to do, no way to gauge how bad this is, how to fix it. Maybe he should give Steve some space?
“I’m mad at you, Clint, but I don’t want you to leave.”
Clint pauses in confusion. “How’d you…?”
Steve turns around, a small smile tugging at one side of his mouth.
“You tend to run and hide when you think someone’s mad at you.”
Clint can’t help the flinch he gives at that. In his experience, it’s safer to run and hide; you never know what someone who’s angry might do. Before Clint can respond, Steve is moving closer and soon stands chest-to-chest with Clint so that Clint has to tilt his head up to look Steve in the eye. Steve reaches up and frames Clint’s head in his hands, leaning in to kiss Clint hard, tongue licking in against Clint’s mouth, with nips of teeth at his lips, crowding forward until Clint suddenly finds himself pressed back against the door he’d just come through. If Steve’s kissing him, it can’t be as bad as he thinks, right? Clint happily kisses back, trying to strain forward, but Steve moves his hands to Clint’s shoulders, sliding them down firmly to grasp at his wrists before pulling them up over Clint’s head and holding them easily with one hand against the door, pushing a leg up between Clint’s thighs, effectively pinning him in place.
Steve ducks in, lowering his head to press kisses along Clint’s throat and up his neck to nuzzle at Clint’s ear, and Clint whines, squirming against the hold Steve has on him. Steve rumbles happily and noses at Clint’s jaw.
“I am still upset with you, you know.”
Steve is a cheating cheater who cheats, Clint decides, because he wants to go tense at Steve’s words, but he’s having trouble focusing with the feel of Steve pressed so close.
“I’m going to have to punish you. You disobeyed a direct order during an operation, and even though it turned out ok this time, you could have gotten seriously hurt or killed, and that’s not ok, Clint.” Steve nips at Clint’s jaw, and Clint shudders, eyes sliding shut as he nods agreement. He figured a punishment was coming, and he knows he deserves it. He’s been trying so hard to be good for Steve, but he also knows himself pretty well, and that as hard as he tries, it never lasts forever; inevitably he screws up, and punishment follows. He’d hoped it could wait til some of his current injuries had healed, though.
“How-” Clint gasps out a breath as Steve latches on to where Clint’s neck meets his shoulder, biting down and worrying at the skin, sucking hard enough Clint knows he’ll have a bruise later. Steve hums in question, encouraging Clint to continue.
“How many?”
Steve goes still, and pulls back to be able to see Clint’s face. “How many what?”
“Stripes. I don’t mind taking them, I know I earned them, but I’d like to know how many I’m in for. It makes it easier to handle.”
Steve’s face does something complicated, and Clint can’t figure out what the expression is.
“I’m not going to hit you, Clint.” Steve’s tone is so offended, Clint’s tempted to apologize.
“But...you said punishment.”
Steve nods, and uses his free hand to cup Clint’s face.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to hit you, Clint.” Steve pauses, considering. “You’ve had punishments that didn’t involve getting hit, right?”
“Well, yeah.” Clint tries to nod, then remembers Steve is holding his face and manages a partial shrug instead. “I mean, in the circus they’d want to be sure you could still work, and that no injuries would show in-costume, so they’d take a meal or two away, or you’d have to sleep outside or something. In S.H.I.E.L.D. obviously you have to be field-ready, so you lose commissary privileges or get limited range time or confined to quarters. But yeah, once I was out of the circus, a lot of punishments involved getting hit. Most of the doms I’ve had worked that way, it’s not really a big deal.”
Next thing Clint knows, he’s being smothered in a hug, Steve letting go of Clint’s wrists to wrap him up tight, smooshing Clint’s face to his chest.
“Uh...Steve?”
Steve momentarily squeezes tighter, then loosens his arms to lean back, moving his hands to rest on Clint’s upper arms.
“Clint.” Steve’s voice has dropped down to his Dom register, and Clint’s knees wobble, only Steve’s thigh between his legs keeping him from sliding to the floor. It’s confusing, though, because even though it’s Steve’s Dom voice, it’s also a little sad-sounding, and that’s not okay. Clint doesn’t like it when Steve’s upset with him, but sad Steve is even worse.
“No, no Steve, it’s ok- how else were they supposed to keep me in line? You and I both know I’m a little shit; getting smacked every now and then is probably good for me. ”
The look Steve gives Clint is so quelling, Clint’s mouth snaps shut with an audible ‘click’, and when Steve speaks, his voice has dropped impossibly lower.
“Clint, you’re a brat, but I like you that way. If and when I ever hit you, it will be because it’s something we both enjoy, and I’ll do it because you’ve asked me to, not because I’m punishing you. I will never hit you in anger, or as a punishment; I’m not ‘most doms’. And I certainly wouldn’t do it while you’re still injured.” Steve presses in, shifting his front leg further forward, and Clint goes up on his toes with a squeak. Steve places both hands on the door to either side of Clint’s head and moves in close enough that his breath puffs hot over Clint’s ear and Clint can feel the vibration when Steve talks, his voice almost a purring rumble. “Besides, I don’t need to hit you to punish you. I think you’ll find I can be very creative, and am perfectly capable of making you suffer without bringing pain into it.”
Jesus.
Clint’s limbs are turning into jelly; he swears he’s melting and he’s not sure how he isn’t in a molten puddle on the floor.
Then Steve steps back, and Clint wavers before locking his knees to keep from falling over. Steve pauses to reach down and grab at Clint’s dick through his uniform pants; the armored cup is in the way, but Clint gets the idea.
“Until I say otherwise, you don’t touch this unless you’re washing it or taking a piss. Got it?”
Clint nods numbly, brain still swimming from being on the edge of dropping for Steve.
“Clint. Use your words.”
Clint coughs, clearing his throat. “Y-Yes Sir.”
Steve smiles, wide and proud, then kisses the tip of his finger and boops Clint on the nose with it. “Great. Go get showered and changed, order whatever food you want for us. I need to go find Tony real quick to ask him about something.” Clint startles at the sudden shift of the discussion, and just stares at Steve. Steve’s smile softens, and he steps back into Clint’s space to kiss him gently, barely a brush of lips, framing Clint’s face with his hands before leaning his forehead against Clint’s. “I’m upset with you, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you, Clint. I was scared, watching you fall.”
It suddenly hits Clint how it must have looked to Steve, watching him fall without being able to see the landing zone, not knowing there was a dumpster there, and Clint has to swallow past the lump in his throat, and his voice comes out with a crack. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
Steve kisses his forehead once before turning Clint towards their bathroom and giving him a gentle push. “I know you are sweetheart. I forgive you, and in a few days when I’m set for it, you’ll take your punishment. In the meantime, I have to go find Tony. Get cleaned up and order us dinner, and I’ll be back soon.”
***
Four days later, Clint can’t believe that this isn’t the punishment itself. He’s been good, not touching his dick unless absolutely necessary; there’s something about being told he’s not allowed that just makes it so much more frustrating. It’s not like he normally walks around all day with his hand down his pants, but since he and Steve had started dating, there’d been a decently steady flow of orgasms happening. Just knowing Steve told him ‘no touching’ is enough to start winding him up, and he’s never thought denial like this was super hot, but maybe it’s just Steve that makes him feel this way. Every once in awhile Steve asks whether he’s being good, and Clint can’t help the wild flush that flashes across his face and pinks his ears as he mutters, “Yes, Sir”. Steve grins like the asshole he is, and innocently points out that if Clint is having difficulty, there’s always the cock cage available to help. Clint scowls at Steve, but tells him no, he’s got it under control.
It’s getting to the point though that even the feel of the bedsheets on his dick is enough to get it interested, and he has to keep his hands tucked under his pillow to keep from doing anything about it.
Steve, of course, notices and is entirely unhelpful.
“You ok, Clint? You look a little flushed.”
Clint bites his tongue and willfully suppresses the first few responses that come to mind. Instead he bites out, “I’m fine.”
Steve scoots up behind him, sliding an arm between Clint and the mattress to curl around Clint’s waist and drags him back until Steve is snugly spooned behind him. Steve drapes his other arm over Clint’s side and pets lightly at his stomach. Clint clenches the pillow in his fists as he fights not to squirm. He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice as he says, “You seem kinda tense.”
Clint can’t help the groan that tears loose from him as Steve’s hand dips lower, knuckles just brushing Clint’s cock, and it’s like an electric shock, Clint’s hips arching forward. Steve nuzzles at Clint’s hair, and murmurs, “Hands behind your back, Clint.”
Clint races to comply, wiggling until his arms are folded behind him, trapped against Steve’s stomach as Steve leans closer, hooking his chin over Clint’s shoulder. Clint tilts his head back to rest against Steve, and shudders as Steve’s hand loosely grips his cock, not stroking, but just holding, with an occasional gentle squeeze.
“You know, I’ve been planning something else, but it’s really tempting to just edge you ‘til you cry.”
Clint whimpers, and his dick twitches against Steve’s fingers. Clint doesn’t even know what he hopes will happen. The idea of being edged until he cries makes his stomach do an odd sort of anticipatory swoop, and once again, it's not something he thought he liked, but Steve just...well, he’s Steve; Clint trusts him with a lot. He squirms, pressing his hips forward towards Steve’s hand, hoping Steve will do something, even if it’s frustrating.
Maybe especially if it’s frustrating.
Steve’s response is to hook a leg over Clint’s, trapping them so Clint can barely move, then ever so lightly rubbing his thumb back and forth under the head of Clint’s cock. Clint keens, unable to help struggling against Steve’s hold.
“Fuck, Steve, Sir, please, I need-” Clint cuts off in a dismayed whine as Steve squeezes firmly at the base of Clint’s cock, then lets go of it entirely, bringing his hand up to wrap around Clint’s chest and shoulders, pulling him in closer.
“Nope, not yet. I’ve decided to hold out. You’ll be happy to know arrangements are ready, and I’ll be meting out your punishment tomorrow; you’ll get to come at least once.” Steve makes a thoughtful noise. “Maybe twice. We’ll see. For now, sleep, you’re going to need your energy.”
He kisses the back of Clint’s neck, and just like that, Steve- the bastard- falls asleep still wrapped around Clint. It takes Clint a lot longer to drift off.
***
The next day finds them in their playroom, Clint on his hands and knees on the padded table, which Steve has moved so it’s under the ceiling suspension points. Clint is naked, and Steve has strapped his ankles to his thighs, and the suspension cuffs, separated by a short spreader bar, are on Clint’s wrists, even though they’re not raised yet.
Clint gasps out another moan as Steve slowly and carefully works him open, and nothing Clint says makes him go any faster, much to Clint’s frustration. When Steve is satisfied, he liberally lubes up a toy Clint has never seen before, and works it into Clint, not stopping the slow push until the toy is seated.
“Jesus fuck, Steve…”
Steve grabs the harness he has ready on the table near Clint’s knees and buckles it on around Clint’s hips and thighs with practiced ease. Clint gives his hips a trial wiggle and bites down on a groan; the toy isn’t going anywhere until Steve decides it is, and the toy is curved just enough that fully inserted it presses firmly against Clint’s prostate. It’s going to drive him insane, and Clint’s stomach flips at what might be coming.
Steve gives Clint a moment to adjust, then helps him get back upright, balancing for the moment on his knees and toes.
“This is going to involve a gag, so before I continue, I want to go over with you why you’re being punished. Tell me why I’m doing this, Clint.”
Even without the Dom tone underlying Steve’s words, Clint would have found it difficult to resist answering, and feels the flush of shame flare all over again.
“I disobeyed a direct order in the field, and put myself and others in danger. And...and I scared you.”
Steve nods, and reaches up to take Clint’s face in his hands, leaning into kiss him soundly before stepping back. “I already told you the other day that you were forgiven. I know why you did what you did, and why you thought it was a good idea, but I need to be able to trust that when I’m giving orders in the field, you’re going to follow them. This punishment is more for scaring me, though. I’d prefer not to have our professional lives cross over into our private ones too much. I know you do dangerous things for a living- so do I- but I’m not ok with recklessness. Is that clear?”
Clint nods, and at a look from Steve says, “Yes, Sir.”
Steve pats Clint’s thigh, and reaches for the gag from a nearby rolling cart. “Normally I like to have the punishment as quickly after the offense as I can, but in this instance I had something specific in mind, and needed time for Tony to finish building it for me.”
Clint’s eyes go wide. “Tony knows about this?”
Steve shakes his head. “Not the specifics. All he knows is I had an idea for a toy, and he made it happen. He doesn’t know what it’s being used for. I wouldn’t betray your trust that way, Clint. Any punishments you receive are between us and only us, unless you feel like telling someone else about it. Okay?”
Clint nods, the brief moment of panic receding.
“Just need you to test the emergency switch in the left cuff handle, and then we’ll get started.” Clint runs his thumb along the grip handle, finding the toggle switch that’s built in. He flips it, and immediately the lights in the room flash red, impossible to miss. He flips it back, and the lights stop. Steve grins at him. “Great. Open wide for me, sweetheart.”
The gag in Steve’s hands is a deep purple, and looks like some of the penis gags Clint’s seen, except that it’s shorter and not as fat. There’s a small set of holes in the tip, but he can’t tell if anything is supposed to come out of them. He opens his mouth, letting Steve slip it between his lips and then buckle the straps into place behind his head. The protrusion sits on his tongue, not long enough to choke, and just wide enough to hold his teeth apart. It’s not remotely as big as Steve’s cock, and Clint doesn’t think his jaw will even hurt when they’re done. The fact that it doesn’t seem so bad makes him instantly wary; Steve’s seemed really intent, and has been sending him pleased glances over the last few days. He’s up to something, and Clint has a feeling it’s the type of thing he’ll both love and hate in equal measure.
Steve goes to the control box on the wall and starts the winch that will lift the suspension cuffs. He lets it run until Clint’s arms are above his head, stretching his upper body taut, pulling enough that he’s balanced precariously on his knees. Steve stops the winch there and takes his time sauntering back over to Clint, bumping the rolling the cart that had held the gag out of the way with his hip so he can pull another one over. This cart has a small piece of cloth draped over it, keeping Clint from seeing what’s on it. Steve grins, all teeth, and Clint shivers. He’s been naked the whole time he’s been in here, but it’s only now he feels vulnerable.
“I seem to recall telling you that I don’t need to hit you to punish you. You know me, Clint, I’m a practical guy. I like to back my words up with demonstrations when I can.” Steve reaches up and presses at the base of the gag, and Clint goes cross-eyed trying to follow the movement. Steve’s grin gets wider. “Make a noise, Clint. Whatever you like.”
Clint is tempted to be silent just to be difficult, but this is a punishment after all, so he vocalizes what would be a hum if he could close his mouth- and immediately jolts from the soft buzz of the dildo against his prostate. This startles another sound out of him which turns into a moan, and ohshit.
Sound means vibration.
The louder the sound, the harder the vibration.
Clint manages to keep quiet long enough for the incessant buzzing to stop, and when his eyes regain focus, there's Steve, looking about as smug as Clint’s ever seen him.
“So here’s what’s going to happen.” Steve holds up what Clint is pretty sure is the timer from their kitchen. “I’m setting this for an hour. When it goes off, you’re done. I’m never going to hit you, and I’m not going to hurt you in any way. Feel free to come at any time, as many times as you’d like; this is blanket permission. You don’t need to wait.” Steve turns the dial on the timer to an hour, and shows it to Clint before setting it down on the rolling cart and reaching to uncover the hidden items. “Though I should warn you, I know how sensitive you get after you come, so maybe try to hold out a little while if you can. Might be easier on you.”
Clint is a pretty vocal guy, and Steve knows it. It almost doesn’t matter what’s on the cart; Clint is screwed.
Steve moves to the side so Clint can see the uncovered cart, and Clint barely suppresses a whine. Neatly lined up on a folded tea towel are a number of items which won’t hurt, but will definitely make an impression: a silicone basting brush, a large stiff-looking feather, a few soft-looking paint brushes, and a device Clint thinks is an airbrush. There’s also a bottle of lube next to a small glass dish, and a jar of Tiger Balm. Clint feels himself start to sweat, and Steve hasn’t even touched him yet.
Steve hooks a nearby stool with his foot and pulls it over so he can sit right in front of the padded table, Clint’s dick almost at eye-level. Steve taps a finger at his lips as he looks the items over, and ends up reaching for the airbrush. Steve flicks a switch on the compressor and it hums to life on the cart. He aims the nozzle at his other hand and depresses the trigger a few times, testing the airflow, before looking up at Clint with a pleasant smile, not at all looking like he’s about to unleash hell.
“I think we’ll start easy. It’s been a rough few days for you.”
Clint watches with trepidation as Steve takes hold of his dick, gripping the base to angle it up. Clint had started getting hard as soon as the restraints went on, and the dildo up his ass hasn’t helped any. The warmth from Steve’s hand makes him squirm, and despite how he tries to stop it, a small whine works it way out of him, his hips twitching helplessly against the buzz of the vibrator. Steve flicks his eyes up to look at him and smiles wider. “I’d tell you to hush, but that kind of defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”
Without any warning he aims the nozzle under the head of Clint’s dick, and presses the trigger.
Clint instantly hates the airbrush, and wants to throw it out a window. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the feeling, but it’s impossible. Steve keeps moving the nozzle around, painting Clint’s dick with air in swaths and small bursts, with occasional sweeps by his balls, and it’s fucking maddening. It’s pure sensation, nothing to try to rut against, even if he could move enough to try. Clint does his best to hold out, to stay quiet, but then Steve spends a few minutes just aiming small puffs of air at the head of his dick, and there’s no way he can stay quiet through that. It becomes a terrible sort of feedback loop, the sensation making him moan, which in turn cause more sensation, which makes him moan more, until Clint is a writhing mess, and all Steve’s used on him is air.
It takes a moment for him to realize the air puffs have stopped, and Clint opens his eyes to see Steve setting the nozzle down. Clint’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head back and forth as he sees Steve pick up one of the paint brushes and the jar of Tiger Balm. In a conversation he’d had with Steve when they first started dating, he’d mentioned using it once in a scene, how it had driven him crazy in the best way; it had felt amazing, a warm burn that had gone straight to his dick. He kind of regrets mentioning it, now.
Steve catches the look on his face and laughs as he unscrews the top of the jar. “Oh don’t look so sad. You already know you like how it feels.” Steve dips the thin, pointed end of the brush into the jar and swirls it around, picking up some of the ointment. Steve leans in, resting the side of his hand on the right side of Clint’s chest and begins to carefully paint on and around Clint’s right nipple.
Clint tries to scowl at Steve, but yeah, it does feel good, the light teasing of the brush bringing his nipple up to pebbled attention. Once that nipple is shiny with ointment, Steve switches sides and repeats the treatment. When he’s done, he gets a mischievous look in his eye and purses his lips, gently blowing a breath over Clint’s left nipple. Clint can’t help the shiver it induces.
“What do you think, Clint...how about the feather, while we wait for that to kick in?”
Steve puts the paint brush and Tiger Balm down, and picks up the feather, twirling it between his fingers. It’s about as long as Steve’s forearm, and looks like some of the writing quills Clint has seen in movies.
“I was going to try to get a hawk feather for continuity, but then I learned about the migratory bird act, so turkey it is.”
Clint likes to think he's self-aware, that he knows his body pretty well. It's the kind of knowledge that's served him well over the years, helping to keep him alive under various circumstances; and yet, since being with Steve, Clint keeps learning all sorts of new things about himself.
Such as the fact that under certain circumstances, his dick is ticklish.
Clint snorts a surprised laugh as Steve drags the feather up the underside of his cock, and Clint squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe if he just doesn’t look-
Nope, that actually makes it worse. The warm burn is starting in his nipples from the Tiger Balm, and Clint swears he can feel every wispy strand of the fucking feather and before he knows it he’s laughing, trying to squirm away, but the constant jolts from the vibrator are making any kind of coordinated movement difficult.
Clint hears a delighted noise from Steve, and looks up, scowling as murderously as he can while laughing.
“Oh no!” Steve grins, waving the feather menacingly at Clint. “Not the big fluffy feather!”
Clint tries to say something, momentarily forgetting about the vibrator, and his response gets eaten up by a moan, his hips twitching out towards the feather without his say-so.
Steve hums pleasantly, holding Clint’s dick up again to start feathering gently at the head. “Yes, I know. I’m mean. I did warn you, though.”
Yeah, he had.
Steve just keeps moving the feather back and forth in short strokes, swirling it occasionally around the slit before returning to the back-and-forth brushing movements, and it catches Clint by surprise how close to orgasm he is. Between the constant stimulation to his dick, and the vibrator going almost non-stop against his prostate, he can feel heat starting to pool in his gut, his balls tightening. He has no idea how much time is left, but he knows he’s nowhere near done, and if he comes now, the remaining time is going to be hellish. He sincerely hopes Steve never goes super villain; they’d all be fucked.
Clint tries to hold out, tries to think unsexy thoughts, but it’s not enough, and he yells through the orgasm, twisting in the restraints as the vibrator ratchets up with his volume. Steve steps aside as it starts, so only the front of the table and some of the stool get spattered. Clint is still twitching, partially hard; Steve had brought him to orgasm, but hadn’t exactly helped him through it. Clint whimpers, and immediately regrets it when the vibrator hums.
Steve looks behind him toward the cart. “Not so bad, Clint. You made it thirty-five minutes before you came. Only twenty-five to go, more than half-way through. Think you have another orgasm in you?”
Clint sags slightly in the suspension cuffs and makes a valiant effort not to whimper again, trying to give himself a small break.
Steve, damn him, has no such inclination, and sets the feather down to reach for the lube, flipping the cap open to squirt some into the small glass dish sitting on the cart. He snaps the bottle shut and sets it down, picking up the silicone basting brush and dipping it into the lube, swishing it around until all the little tendrils are coated and shiny.
Steve reaches for Clint’s cock again, and Clint shudders, whining as Steve makes contact. Clint is still hypersensitive, and the first touch of the baster to the underside of his dick makes him thrash. True to Steve’s word, it doesn’t hurt, not exactly, but it just feels like so much, Clint’s brain partially shorts out, and he’s vaguely aware he’s making noise, his hips moving and hitching from the sharp buzzes every time he whines or moans, though whether he’s trying to move towards or away from the brush’s slick slide, he isn’t sure. Steve shifts his dick out of the way so he can pay some attention to Clint’s balls and Clint quickly starts to lose his mind. He eventually gives up and just…feels, lets the sensations wash over him. At some point, Steve swaps out the baster for a soft fan-shaped paint brush, and climbs up on the table behind Clint. Steve slings a strong arm around Clint’s middle and pulls back, keeping Clint from moving far as Steve starts flicking the brush over Clint’s nipples. The combination of the Tiger Balm and his earlier orgasm have made Clint’s nipples practically hotwired to his dick, and he struggles against Steve’s hold, starting to beg, heedless of the feedback from the vibrator as he feels another orgasm starting to build. God, he can’t take another hands-free orgasm, he can’t, he can’t…
And then the timer goes off, startling him. Steve immediately pulls the brush away, and while Clint was convinced just a moment ago that he’d die if Steve kept going, now he thinks he might die if Steve doesn’t. He starts begging again, trying to push himself back into Steve’s chest, but he can’t get enough leverage, and god, he just…he just needs-
“Shhh, sweetheart, shhh, I’ve got you, you’re done, you’re ok, it’s done, I’ve got you, you did so well.” Steve continues to murmur reassurances as he tugs Clint closer with one arm and reaches around with the other to take Clint’s cock in a firm grip. His dick is still lubed from the baster brush, and t’s both too much and so good all at once, and before Clint knows it, he’s coming harder than he thinks he’s ever come in his life. Steve strokes Clint through the aftershocks, gently releasing him and kissing his neck before reaching up to unbuckle the gag, carefully removing it from Clint’s head, hitting the button on the front to deactivate it. He drops the gag over the side of the table and wraps himself around Clint, gently petting his stomach, continuing to praise him.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart, you took your punishment so well. Hold on just a second.” Steve unbuckles the straps holding Clint’s ankles to his thighs, letting each leg lower down gently to the table before he reaches up to unbuckle Clint’s wrists, keeping an arm around him in case he loses his balance. Once Clint is loose, Steve slides off the side of the table and scoops Clint up, carrying him over to the nest of pillows and soft blankets on the other side of the playroom. Clint sighs as Steve sets him down on top of a mound of cushions and quickly unbuckles the harness from around Clint’s hips and thighs, and tosses it away, carefully sliding the dildo back out. Even with as careful and gentle as he’s being, Clint’s just had two orgasms in an hour, and he’s feeling it right now. He whimpers, and Steve consolingly pats his thigh before stepping to the sink at the side to wet a washcloth with warm water. In mere seconds he’s back, wiping down Clint’s stomach and thighs, very gently swiping across Clint’s nipples. Clint wants to arch into it, but he’s so wrung out, he’s not sure when he’ll be able to move under his own steam again. His mind is starting to drift when Steve tosses the washcloth back into the sink, and settles down next to Clint, getting him to drink some of the red sport drink he likes before pulling him close and tugging one of the heavier blankets over them while he holds and cuddles Clint from behind, nuzzling at the hair at the nape of Clint’s neck.
“’m sorry.”
Steve doesn’t say anything, just responds with a questioning noise.
“Didn’t mean to scare you. I try to be careful, but-“ Steve hushes him, holds him closer, and Clint wiggles around until he’s facing Steve, cuddles in against his chest, Steve’s chin resting on top of his head.
“I know, sweetheart, I forgive you. Just try to do better in the future is all I ask.” Steve rubs a warm hand up and down Clint’s spine, and Clint melts into it; he can feel himself starting to drift off.
“Steve?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“I’m real glad you’re on our side.”
Steve snorts, and pets Clint until he dozes off.