Arrow Head

No matter how long he stayed with the Avengers, Clint never got over how quiet the mansion could be. They were in the middle of Manhattan, for crying out loud—but you’d never know it by the absolute lack of noise coming from the street. The soundproofing in the walls and windows blocked the usual background car horns, sirens, alarms, and everything else short of a real emergency or disaster. Pull the curtains closed, and you could actually believe that you were in a country house in Iowa, instead of in the middle of the largest city in the country.

Clint liked the quiet when he was making arrowheads; he didn’t like distractions and didn’t handle them well anyway. This was delicate work with complex electronics; if he got distracted, hours of work could be ruined. Clint usually used people who distracted him for target practice.

With one exception.

“Mind if I come in?”

Clint turned. There was Steve, still in uniform but with his mask down, smiling at him. Steve had been cropping his hair short lately, Marine-style, and Clint thought it made him the sexiest man alive.

“No,” he said, smiling. “I don’t mind.” He tossed the now-forgotten arrowhead into the wastebasket by his workstation as Steve came into the room and closed the door behind him. Steve was so low-key, so easygoing, that people often forgot how incredibly dangerous—even deadly—he could be if he put his mind to it. He moved like the professional-caliber fighter he was as he came into Clint’s bedroom, every perfectly-sculpted muscle visibly rippling even through the blue costume.

Clint’s smile grew even wider as Steve stopped right in front of him. The two men locked eyes, and Clint continued, “I don’t mind at all.” He reached for the front of Steve’s trunks, and pulled them down to reveal the massive member underneath, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, but taking on a look of perfectly feigned innocence.

“Do *you* mind?” he asked.

“I don’t mind at all, old buddy,” Steve smiled.

Clint began to jerk it, slowly, gently, and Steve’s smile turned dreamy. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, clearly enjoying what Clint was doing.

He was going to enjoy this even more.

Clint leaned over and took Steve into his mouth. The taste of him was salty-sweet and completely intoxicating. He sucked hungrily at Steve’s massive dick, playing with the head with his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Steve begin to peel off his chainmail shirt.

*My god, the muscles on this man!* Clint almost choked, and not just because of the size of Steve’s tool. Steve’s torso was perfectly muscled, huge pecs, broad shoulders, thick, vascular arms, tapering down to a narrow waist with the only eight-pack—*an eight-pack* Clint had ever seen. Steve still had the trunks and leggings on, but Clint could feel them—the powerful legs, and the perfectly-shaped ass. Clint was in terrific shape himself, but he knew he wasn’t anywhere near Steve’s class. He wasn’t sure anyone could be.

But, of course, since it was Steve, he didn’t *look* musclebound. Every muscle looked like it belonged exactly where it was.

It wasn’t fair, really.

But it was verrry nice to be close to.

Steve had his trunks and leggings off now, and Clint released his tool with a loud pop! “Whoa!” Steve said, momentarily off-balance—which *never* happened ordinarily, but…this wasn’t even remotely ordinary.

Clint stood up and planted his fingertips on that sculpted chest, giving Steve just the slightest of shoves. Steve staggered back, hit the bed, fell back…and Clint was on him in a second, his mouth going straight for Steve’s cock. He could hear Steve’s gasps of surprise and moans of pleasure, and he sucked harder, taking it deeper into his throat.

“Mmm…feels good,” Steve murmured. He stroked Clint’s hair with one hand. “Come up,” he urged.

“You bet,” Clint smiled. He began to kiss his way up Steve’s magnificently muscled torso, his lips and tongue brushing against the muscles, flicking at the nipple, nuzzling at Steve’s thick neck—until his lips touched Steve’s.

Clint’s tongue brushed against Steve’s lips, knocking on the door. Steve enthusiastically let him in. Their tongues danced together, even as Clint reached down and began to stroke Steve’s cock.

They broke the kiss, and Steve said, “I think it’s time you got your clothes off, Clint.” Clint looked down, and he was surprised to see that he was still fully clothed. He climbed off the bed and started unbuckling his belt. His hands were shaking, but he managed to get the clasp undone and had his pants and briefs off in a flash. He pulled off his shirt, and he felt adrenaline race through his body when he saw Steve smile at what he saw.

“Very nice, Clint,” he said. “Have you changed your workouts? Your arms look bigger.”

Clint was surprised; he hadn’t noticed any new growth yet. But this was Steve—nothing got past him. “Yeah, just started a week or so ago.”

“It shows.” Steve sat up, reached over, and ran his hand along Clint’s arms. “Excellent.”

Steve grabbed Clint’s wrist and pulled him close, and they tumbled together back onto the bed, wrestling back and forth. It was a wrestling match that Steve, of course, was going to win, being stronger, and, of course, being Steve. It wasn’t long before he had a squirming Clint pinned down beneath him.

And then Steve was lifting Clint’s legs into the air, and Clint sighed with pleasure—he knew what was coming next. Steve reached under the bed, found Clint’s supply of lube and condoms—and it wasn’t long until Steve was inside him.

Captain Fucking America. And he was fucking Clint.

Clint’s teeth were clenched and he had a white-knuckle grip on his headboard; Steve was *not* small. But even with the pain, it felt so good…Clint bit his lip and grunted in time to Steve’s thrusts.

And then Steve had pulled out and was kissing him, hard, and there was a splash of hot sticky liquid on Clint’s chest and abs. Clint was jerking his own dick; Steve groaned, “On me,” and rolled the two of them over so that Clint was on top.

It didn’t take long. Clint cried out as an eruption of thick, milky cum shot from his dick to land all over Steve, splattering his chest and stomach and a couple of drops getting as far as his chin.

Clint collapsed on top of Steve, brushing his lips with a kiss laced with exhaustion. They lay there together, soaked in sweat and semen.

“You want to stay the night?” Clint murmured. “After all, it’s five whole minutes back to your room.”

“Thanks,” Steve murmured back. “I don’t think I’d be able to make it that far…but I interrupted your work!”

Clint propped himself up on one elbow and leaned in to kiss Steve again, saying, “It’s nothing I can’t get to tomorrow.”