There’s a saying Clint’s heard, where if you lose one sense, the others crank up to try to compensate, and he’s more than willing to believe it. The blindfold Steve had placed gently over his eyes was specially made to Clint’s size, the pieces that fit over his eyes were padded with a short fur for comfort, but also served the purpose of blocking out all light from the edges. With his sight removed from the equation, Clint could start to feel his other senses vie for his attention.
The feel of the warm air over his bare skin is first; Steve always turns the temperature up in the playroom when he asks his subs to strip down. Next, the press of the padded cuffs on his wrists, pinning his hands to either side of his head, and around his ankles, holding them spread out to the bottom of the padded play table. He squirms a bit, just to feel the hold of the restraints, keeping him in place for whatever Steve sees fit. He can hear his breathing, calm one minute, but quickening as he thinks about how he must look, laid out for Steve’s pleasure, unable to move, vulnerable, and can feel the flush that must be starting to paint over his skin. The smell of well-cared for leather and the balm Steve keeps on hand for bruises and welts pervades the room, familiar and wonderful.
Time is weird, when he’s like this-irrelevant, and not his problem; but then, nothing is his problem right now. All he has to do is lay here, and be.
If he wasn’t feeling so mellow, he’d have jumped when he feels the first touch, so light he almost thinks he’s imagining it. The touch firms a bit, starting to the side of his left knee, and working slowly and carefully upward, meandering around, grazing over some of the fuzz on his thigh and making him come up all over in goosepimples. The touch ends at his dip of his left hip, and just as the touch lifts, he feels another, at the inside of his right ankle. For a moment, his brain tries to parse how Steve has gotten from one place to the other, realizes there must be a second person, then slides away again on the waves of light sensation, gentle hands petting and gliding along his skin. The touches never get firm enough to push up into, but aren’t so light that they tickle. A callused finger grazes ever-so-lightly over his left nipple, and Clint tries to arch up off the table, press further into the touch, but the restraints at his wrists keep him from getting too far, and the hand that touches him doesn’t stop, just keeps moving down the center of his chest, down towards his belly button, while another finger lightly skims at the inside of his right elbow. The touch to his nipple makes him suddenly and keenly aware that he’s hard, and likely has been for some time. With the realization comes the knowledge that as much as it feels like the hands are touching him everywhere, there’s one area they are decidedly not touching.
Almost on cue, the two wandering hands started moving closer to his cock, and he is so on board with this, is so ready, but the hands, the hands won’t be hurried, no matter what noises start to pour out of his mouth, whimpers and choked-off moans. Steve didn’t tell him he wasn’t allowed to beg, or to speak, but he’s so far gone, he’s not thinking in words right now.
He feels like his skin is on fire, every light touch now feels like it’s wired straight to his dick, and when his hips are suddenly held down hard by two strong hands, he doesn’t have time to wonder if the hands belong to the same person before his dick is suddenly enveloped in searing-hot wetness and suction. Clint actually screams, trying to jackknife up off the table, but the restraints and the two hands keep him pinned in place while a wicked tongue takes him apart piece by piece. And he’s close, he’s so close, and he knows he’s found his words again, is begging now, babbling, and just as he’s about to come, the mouth pulls off, the hands pull away, and all he can do is thrash around, and try to pump his hips up into nothing, making wordless noises of desperation.
He twitches, breathes through it, and as he’s calming down, there’s a puff of warm air next to his ear, and the barest low whisper, “That’s one. Three more to go.”
Clint whines in the back of his throat and shudders as the hands return, just as gentle as at the beginning, and again, nowhere near his cock. It continues as before, winding him up to a peak until he’s pinned immobile, tormented by tongue and light grazes of teeth, and just before he can come, all contact pulls away, leaving him sobbing in need and cursing, writhing against the restraints. After the third near orgasm, he’s feeling strung out, pulled taut, unable to stay still. When the hands come back again, he’s shaking, trying to push into every touch, the only word that’s able to make it coherently out of his mouth is, ‘please’ and he’s not sure if he’s begging them to stop or keep going, or what, but just…
The mouth finds him again, lips sliding tightly over the head of his cock and down, the tongue tracing the vein along the underside, and for the first time, a finger presses in behind his balls, coaxing, and he really really hopes he gets to come this time, or he may kill someone if this doesn’t kill him first.
To his immense relief, the mouth and hands on him don’t stop, another hand starting to alternate between rubbing and plucking at his nipples, and his orgasm hits him like a freight train, welling up within him and he swears he can feel it through his whole body as his cock pulses, the mouth around him sucking him down, and he can feel and hear a low, pleased hum that sets sparks off behind his eyes and low in his belly.
In a few moments, when Clint’s brain starts to come back online again, he starts to notice the hands again, smoothing firmly along his skin, from his ribs, down over his hips, and pressing firmly over his legs, to help ground him this time, instead of tormenting him. This time there’s four hands, and one of them is soothingly cooler against his heated skin. He can hear the low hum of voices over him, Steve and Bucky talking to each other, but can’t be bothered to figure out what they’re saying just yet. He’s happy enough just floating along in the river of endorphins from the glorious orgasm they’d just given him. A short time later, he can feel hands working at the cuffs at his ankles, then at his wrists, and warm, strong hands on either side pull him upright, carefully tilting him over so he can rest against what is likely the warm, solid expanse of Steve’s chest. His guess is confirmed as he feels Steve’s low laugh rumble through his chest, and one of Steve’s arms comes up to hold him close, the other petting through Clint’s hair. He burrows happily against the warmth that Steve radiates in waves, and sighs in bliss when he feels Bucky settle in against his back, sandwiching him in delicious warmth.
“Next time,” Steve threatens, though Clint can easily hear the smile in his voice, “Next time you watch Dog Cops without us, it’ll be two edges per episode you jump ahead.”