Purple, Red, White, Blue, Purple

Purple, Red, White, Blue, Purple

A/N: Takes place after the A:EMH episode "Emperor Stark" and also heavily references events in the episodes "Hail Hydra" and "Widow's Sting." Please view these episodes before reading! Also, Steve has elements of MCU!Steve added into his characterization. Finally, a reference is made to my earlier Clint/Steve bromance fic "Helping A Buddy" and reading that would be prudent.

Steve turned around and surveyed the familiar landscape; the streets of Brooklyn stretched in every direction. He looked down at his limbs; they were short and thin and fragile.



Then he heard the sound of a few other people running towards him.



"Get back here, Rogers! Pathetic squirt!"



"Yeah, we're gonna put you in your place, shrimp!"



Steve instantly turned and bolted down the street. His breaths came faster than his footfalls as he heard the bullies' taunting get louder. He began to cough and splutter as the tightness in his chest got greater, like his lungs were being squashed beneath the treads of a tank. His run began to slow as he put as much effort as he could into simply sucking in air. He turned off the sidewalk into an alleyway between two old brick buildings; his heart sank as his eyes met the dead end in front of him.



He turned around, fists clenched defiantly and gaze harsh yet lip quivering in fear. The bullies leered at him as they advanced.



"Time to learn your lesson, Rogers," the largest bully snarled, "learn to respect your betters."



Their blows rained down on him like a carpet-bombing. "You're not my betters," "I'll never respect you," "I hate you" all tried to make their way out of his mouth but the burning crushing constriction in his chest and the crashes of pain against every part of his body stopped any coherent words from being formed. Yet he held onto those words and repeated them over and over in his mind, like a prayer or mantra, not letting the impacts against his flesh go any deeper; you can break my bones but you can't break my will...



The next time he looked up, there was only one bully standing there; the familiar purple face stared down at him. He wanted to stand up, smash the purple face as hard as his stringy arm could, and run away.

He stayed still... pinned by the stare.



"Good boy, Steven," the Purple Man said. "Now, crawl over to that trashcan" he intoned as his finger pointed towards the receptacle a few yards down the alley.



He grit his teeth in rage at the humiliation, part of his mind screamed against it, but his body moved towards the trashcan anyway. A wave of disgust washed over him as he dragged his scrawny form across the filthy concrete ground.



"No, Steven," the Purple Man said in the same tone of harsh disapproval heard so frequently in Brooklyn Catholic schools, "that isn't enough."



Steve swallowed as he felt the unseen force pull his neck up; he felt a tingle in the back of his head when his gaze met the Purple Man's.



"I've only taken your body..." the Purple Man rasped. "I want more, Rogers. Not your actions, not your motions... I want your mind, your thoughts, your spirit, brought to heel and obeying my command!"



Intense horror plunged deep into his gut, yet the tingle in his head increased. No, no, I won't be broken, never; the tingle became a dull and throbbing ache in his brain. No, bully, monster, you can't... a searing migraine sliced through his psyche like red-hot blade. His fingers dug into the ground of the alley, his jaw clenched, a droplet of sweat fell from his face as he tried to close his eyes...



His eyes stayed open and transfixed on the Purple Man's gaze. New voices echoed in his mind, indistinguishable from his own; yes, give in, don't question, don't disagree, don't fight.. just submit... just obey.. He saw the Purple Man flash a serrated grin at him.



He smiled back.



Captain America awoke in a tangle of cold-sweat-damp sheets. His broad chest rose and fell quickly as he gasped for air and quickly looked around the inky blackness of his room in Avengers Mansion. Just a nightmare, soldier... nothing you haven't dealt with before... you can deal with this.. you know you can..



-----



There's nothing like a several-hundred-foot vertical plunge riding a sky-cycle to clear the head. The asphalt rushing towards you is a pretty powerful reason to remember your priorities, Clint thought ruefully as he lay back on the bed. He imagined the sounds that would come from Purple Man as his hands were wrapped around the villain's neck. Probably some gurgling, some wretching, maybe a little snapping if I squeeze hard enough.



The archer remembered something 'Tasha said. "The Red Room... it stays with you. It manages to get into your mind without you knowing it. When I was a child, I saw forbidden images of America; children smiling with their families. But the government always told us that in America, everyone is truly unhappy... that the workers had a False Consciousness implanted in them to keep them from revolting. That was a lie... the true False Consciousness was implanted into me in the Red Room."



So that's how she felt, Clint thought. She got Red Roomed, I got Purple Manned. Way to ruin our favorite colors. That's it, I'm off to the shooting range.



Several minutes later, Clint looked down the shaft of his drawn arrow and pointed it right towards the target. He imagined the Purple Man's face being impaled over and over again. No one undermines my will. No one tells me what to do. And by the time I'm finished with you, they'll think you're cosplaying Pinhead.



There was something comforting about how the arrow's trajectory lay entirely on him; its MY aim he thought angrily as he released another shot. My arms. My eyes. My body... I'm not the arrow...



-----



The impacts of his fists into the surface of the punching bag echoed throughout the gymnasium with the sound of an endless hailstorm. Droplets of sweat were flung from his body as he kept pummeling the heavy yet yielding surface. Usually, Steve imagined his fists crashing into the faces of the kids that bullied him, or the soldiers that beat him up before he was officially selected by Project Rebirth, Red Skull, or Hitler. This time, it was a purple face being crushed with every impact.



The perfect slavery; a slavery where you think you're free, Steve grunted as his fist pounded the bag again, the power to revoke the very core of self-dominion... a power no being should ever possess... the sick fantasy of all dictators everywhere. His brain registered no pain in his knuckles; the rage consumed every single neuron.



-----



Steve's right palm rested on the white tile of the shower wall as the piping hot water poured over his skin. He inhaled the steam steadily as the downpour drowned out the sound of Clint walking into the room.



The archer slid into the shower beside Steve and immediately turned on the water. "Hey Cap," he casually remarked. "How many punching bags broke today?"



Steve chuckled slightly. "Clint," he nodded before continuing, "would've been more if Tony hadn't installed that unbreakable punching bag yesterday." Even through the thick steam, the archer's body was still visible; shorter and slightly leaner than his own but still heavily muscled, albeit with an emphasis on flexible sinews rather than bulk. But those arms were truly something else, all toughened musculature and popping veins. Steve kept his glances discreet but appreciative; everyone here takes peeks at everyone else, it isn't an issue.



Clint threw the Captain a playful smirk, "I'm sure Hulk could prove it breakable." I've seen it before, but that doesn't make him less hot he thought as he took his own glance at the Star Spangled Man's body. And that ass? A-grade.



They both turned to the wall and resumed showering, without any banter. At all. And if Clint doesn't talk, that's usually a problem Rogers thought as he remembered the haunted eyes and silent meals with shell-shocked soldiers... eyes he often had and silence he often partook in. And I can't blame him he mused as he remembered a leering purple face.



"Are you alright, Clint?" Steve asked in a softer than usual voice as he heard the younger man's shower go silent and watched him hurriedly go back to the lockers. He wasn't surprised when the archer didn't reply; he's not the only stubborn kid that hates asking for help he thought as he remembered how he felt when bruises covered all of his skinny body but did his best to avoid giving the bullies the satisfaction of knowing they hurt him. He made a mental note to check on Hawkeye later.



-----



The archer heard the knock on his door. "Come in," he said quickly as he took a bite from his corndog (and begrudgingly felt grateful that Tony's kitchen contained everything he needed to freshly deep-fry all of his favorite foods from the circus).



"Hello Clint," Steve said politely.



"Steve," Clint responded. "What brings you?"



"Just wanted to see how you are," the soldier replied.



Clint rolled his eyes, "you know Steve, the thought's all nice but just because I was orphaned young doesn't mean I wanna be doted on like I can't tie my shoelaces or anything."



Steve immediately raised his hands as surprise crossed his face. "I didn't mean that, Clint. Not at all," he said sincerely as he remembered how he wished that someone could've protected him during those harsh Brooklyn days. "I'm just trying to make sure you're alright. I know I'm not."



The frank admission of vulnerability initially made Clint's eyebrow rise until he remembered that this was Steve... not exactly the first name in stoicism.



Steve smiled softly again and lowered his hands as he remembered Clint's earlier comment, that he wasn't what was expected from someone ex-Army. They expect some fascist jerk that fights because he's told to, not someone like me. Then again, can't really blame them for expecting what too many military people are like... "What Purple Man did..." he continued as his smile grew weaker, "he took away something of mine, too. Something we both have. Something that kept me alive on the Brooklyn streets and kept you alive during those years in the circus."



"You mean the fact we're both stubborn as all hell?" Clint asked with a wry smirk, even if a slight hint of bitterness crept into his tone. That's what Barney, Trickshot and Dad always said..



"Headstrong, actually," Steve replied with a soft chuckle. "An unbreakable spirit. Anyone who calls you stubborn is just trying to tell you what to do." His smile became fonder, "and no one tells Hawkeye what to do."



Clint's smirk grew back to its normal arrogant size at that moment, but suddenly faltered as his mind made the next logical jump. His eyes fell as he began quietly, "that's why it sucks so much. Purple Man did something to us no one else ever managed to..."



Steve strode toward the archer with a sympathetic face and lay his hand on the younger man's shoulder. He nodded slowly, "yes.. circumvent our wills." Suddenly he remembered a few days ago; his shield smashing into Vision's body... "I follow orders," he said as he attacked the android, "and you're getting shut down, mister!!"



Vision flew upwards before settling down again on the steel floor of the mainframe room; "no, this is not right, this is not what you believe," he responded.



"And there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna let that happen again," Clint suddenly replied with a harsh edge of anger as a scowl cut across his face.



The sharpshooter's words brought the soldier back to the present. Steve smiled again, like a mirror he thought as he observed the determined expression on the archer's gaze. A comfort began to settle in his own stomach as he witnessed the conviction in the younger man's eyes... he's right, it will never happen again.

"We're a lot alike, soldier," the Captain said fondly. "I've got to go help Tony with the cleanup effort. See you around, Clint."



"Later, Steve," he replied as Rogers' hand left his shoulder and the soldier left his room. He smiled and for a few brief seconds he did not think of the Purple Man.



-----



Hawkeye's long-legged stride through the training room ended when he came across the shooting range; he cast his mind back to the night AIM and HYDRA were tearing the city to pieces. Before 'Tasha showed up I was down here. Right about to make an impossible shot. His hands moved over the computer console as he remembered the parameters. The familiar target, an apple which was automatically replaced every day, sat on the pedestal at the end of the room.



The familiar trio of spinning force-field-discs materialized along the length of the firing range. Clint immediately took firing stance as he withdrew an arrow from his quiver.

"There's no way you're gonna make that shot," Tony began dismissively as Jan flew towards the archer's face.



The Wasp fluttered around Clint's field of vision; "yeah, Iron Man's right, that's just not gonna happen."



"I don't like to use the word 'impossible' but it may fit here," Hank Pym mused before looking towards Hulk and asking for the green giant's thoughts.



"Don't care," Hulk replied with a smirk, "only came in case Hawkeye started a fight."



"Thanks for the support, 'team,'" Clint replied sarcastically as Jan buzzed next to his ear. Clint then smirked cockily as he glanced over his shoulder towards Steve; "what do you think, old man?"



Steve smiled and nodded as he replied in a warm, confident tone; "I haven't seen you miss yet. I don't expect you to start now."



Clint nocked the arrow and drew it back. The room was filled with the hum of the force-field generators. His grip on his bow remained white-knuckled, but he carefully monitored his breathing; steady, steady... you know you can do this... you're the World's Greatest Marksman.



He released the arrow. The shaft flashed through the air with a quiet swish. It flew through the narrow gaps in the spinning fields and buried itself right into the scarlet-skinned fruit's flesh.



Clint punched the air as a triumphant grin burst across his face. Yes. I'm awesome. Totally, absolutely, indisputably, the World's. Greatest. Marksman! He didn't even care that no one else was in the room to watch.



The archer turned around and froze; Steve was standing right there. Generators must've drowned out his entrance he thought.



Steve simply smiled and nodded again, just like that evening long ago. "You've always outdone yourself, every time," the soldier said quietly. "I never doubted you would've made that shot before."



"Thanks, Rogers," Clint replied with a grin. "You know you can always count on me to watch everyone's back." He slung his bow over his shoulder before walking towards the exit; when he passed Cap, he felt the elder man's hand clasp his bare upper arm.



"Have you ever felt you can have anyone else watch your back, Clint?" Steve asked in his painfully sincere tone. He looked at Clint with slightly wide eyes as he remembered how it felt on the Brooklyn streets; no backup, no one to cover me.



The marksman averted his gaze for a second. Dad? No, he was too busy beating me. Barney? Backstabber. Swordsman? Trick Shot? Nope. And 'Tasha might have been under orders but that doesn't make it easier.



But now? I've got Hulk. I've got T'Challa. And Steve... I went against Stark and Fury, and Steve had my back. He brought his eyes back towards the larger blond and returned the Captain's clasp; "I do now," he replied confidently.



Steve immediately pulled the younger man into an embrace; his thick arms encircled Hawkeye's broad shoulders and he held the archer against his chest. He felt his heart begin to pound, but nothing was going to stop him from asking.



The sharpshooter's eyebrows rose in surprise but he leaned into the embrace and returned it. The other man's body was almost feverishly-warm and rock-solid. And that ain't a shield in his pocket he thought at the hardness pressing against his thigh. He smirked.

"I want you, son," he heard Steve whisper in his ear, "I want to spend the night with you. Don't feel obligated, but the offer's there."



He looked up with a mischievous grin on his face. "The offer's accepted, Cap."



-----

It was several minutes later when Clint walked into Steve's room wearing only a pair of jeans and a wicked smile. "Hey Rogers. So, guess we'll do the dinner and movie afterwards, huh?"



Steve stood next to the bed in jeans, a tight white t-shirt, and a blush that spread across his face as his admiring gaze took in Clint's magnificent upper torso. "Jesus, Clint, you look amazing..." he said softly. He witnessed the younger man's shark-like smile as Clint stalked towards him. His heartbeat increased and his breathing picked up.



Clint placed his arms around the Captain's waist and felt the elder blond's surround his shoulders. He looked into Steve's eyes. "Awww, shucks," he responded sarcastically. "Feeling's mutual, Steve... come to think of it, I wonder just how hot you'll look after I've sucked your cock dry... wanna let me see?"



Steve audibly gulped as he felt his manhood harden in anticipation. His blush intensified as he imagined Clint's endlessly arrogant face looking up at him smugly as the archer swallowed him to the hilt... "please yes" he immediately responded before he felt the sharpshooter's dextrous hands unfastening the denim.



The younger man licked his lips as he saw Steve's erection straining against the pouch of the white jockstrap. So that's why his ass looks so good in the suit; he's only wearing a jock underneath he thought as his long fingers immediately pulled the super soldier's cock free of its confines. Big without being the Intimidating Asscrusher Of Doom. Just the right size, he mused before he instantly dropped to his knees and took the smooth, sensitive head between his lips.



Steve held back a curse as he felt the sharpshooter's hot, wet tongue coil around the head of his cock. "Oh god, Barton," he groaned through gritted teeth as he held onto the younger man's shoulder to steady himself. As he gazed downwards he met Clint's equally-blue gaze; "Christ, you're talented at this son," he continued breathlessly.



He hasn't seen half of what I can do Hawkeye thought to himself as he grinned around his mouthful of cockhead. His own rigid shaft ground against his jeans. His fingers dug into the Captain's hips as he pulled the Star-Spangled man forward and opened the back of his throat. All that sword-swallowing paid off, didn't it?



Steve's eyes went wide in amazement as he felt inch after inch of his manhood disappear down Clint's constricting throat in one single smooth swallow. "Oh my god" he nearly gasped as he felt his knees begin to buckle; he immediately held his free hand out behind him and sat it on the bed but Clint's grip on his waist steadied his descent.



The younger Avenger moved quickly and kept Steve's cock ensnared in his maw as the soldier sat down. He looked up with a naughty spark in his eyes to see the Star-Spangled Man's shocked and amazed facial expression; now that's a satisfied audience. His tongue wrapped around the base of Steve's shaft and he began to move his head back and forth.



"Jesus Christ," Steve groaned as he carded his fingers carefully through Clint's spiky blond hair. The swirling heat around his achingly-rigid length raced up his spine and stoked a familiar tightness in his balls. "You're incredible at this, soldier..."  he continued as Clint's ministrations flooded his system with endorphines. Every nerve beneath his skin felt like it was about to combust; he shrugged off his already sweat-dampened t-shirt as the tension in his groin only grew.



Yeah, that's right Rogers Clint thought smugly as he looked up at the elder man. He held the Captain's hips still as he moved back and forth, feeling the pulsing, smooth flesh slide in and out of his throat over and over. He could taste the war hero's preseed on the withdrawal. His own shaft ached against his jeans as he kept coiling his tongue around the slightly larger blond's cock. Getting close, right?



"Goddammit Clint, not gonna hold up too much longer" the Captain gasped as he looked into the younger man's predatory, arrogant eyes. His chest heaved as the ache in his groin grew more intense. He clenched his teeth and let out another groan as he felt Clint's throat tighten aggressively. "You're so skilled at this... oh Christ... nearly there... that's it Barton... oh please son don't stop!!!"



The sharpshooter immediately took the Captain's cock right down to the hilt as he heard his fellow Avenger's groans and grunts intensify; his grip on the man's hips remained white-knuckled as he felt his comrade's body begin to quake in climax. Pulses of hot liquid shot down his throat as he watched the larger man fall back on the bed and growl in contentment.

Aftershocks rippled through his flesh as the post-orgasmic haze washed over him. The Captain opened his eyes; his mountainous chest heaved with each frantic intake of breath. He looked up towards the ceiling and saw Clint's hungry, filthy grin looming above him. He felt the archer's fingertips trail across his pecs.



"Let's see, skin shining with just a bit of sweat, half of your blood supply in your cheeks, and you're gasping for air... yeah, I blew your mind didn't I?" Clint knew the answer as he surveyed the rippling bulges of muscle that made up the elder man's body. And fuck you're so hot looking like this... c'mon, let's put that super soldier stamina to work before my cock bursts.



"You did," Steve replied in a shaky voice as he felt his serum-enhanced manhood harden again. He reached up and stroked Clint's left arm; his fingers traced up the veins of the younger man's biceps. "Jesus Clint... I've been wanting to do this for a long time... have the arrogant, insubordinate sniper in my bed. You've never blindly followed orders in your life..." the Captain began to smirk slightly as he continued. His tone grew steadier as his hand stroked the younger man's shoulder affectionately. "So I'll just ask you. Take me, Barton. I want you inside me."



The face beneath him, once flushed and wide-eyed, began to return to the collected, determined focus he'd seen on the field. He grinned in response before his hand darted into the pockets of his jeans and retrieved the tube of lube. "Just when I thought you couldn't get any hotter, huh Steve?" He opened the tube and squeezed a dollop of the contents onto his fingers, "most people would think you wouldn't take it."



"I'm no bully, Clint. I take what I give..." the super soldier responded firmly as he quickly pulled his jockstrap off and discarded it. He spread his legs wider and nodded at the younger man. His eyes rolled back and he clenched his jaw as he felt a long, slick, callused finger breach him.

Clint watched the elder man's brow twist in pleasure as a second finger carefully pushed into the Captain's body and rested beside the first. The constriction around his knuckles felt as tight as a vice; he watched Steve's cock strain mightily into the air as he began to spread his two fingers. He watched the elder man's hand wrench at the sheets.



Groans and grunts spilled from Steve's mouth as he felt the sharpshooter's immeasurably dextrous fingers writhe and curl and spread within his ass. He gasped as he felt one brush lightly over his prostate; the muscles in his groin grew tighter as a few stray drops of sweat slid across the smooth skin of his torso.



Clint smirked as his third finger slid home in one smooth, precise motion; he watched as Steve went wide eyed and moaned in pleasure. The tightness around his fingers seemed to clamp down momentarily before receding again. "Fuck, Rogers, you got any idea how hot you look now? So hard, gasping, wanting..."



"Hell yes," Steve responded in a breathless demand. He felt his heart continue to pound against the wall of his ribcage. "I'm ready, soldier. I want this right now... please Clint," his right hand clamped down around the archer's shoulder as he looked into the younger man's eyes, "give it to me."



"Eager, huh?" Clint replied with a chuckle as he slowly began to remove his three fingers; he licked his lips hungrily as he watched the larger blond's body twitch with each knuckle's departure. He quickly undid and stepped out of his jeans; his aching manhood stood rigidly with a drop of preseed beading at the tip. The spare lube on his hand was quickly applied to his cock as he looked again at the soldier.. oh man he's so hot.. He scrambled onto the bed and hoisted Steve's legs apart. "I wanna watch your face... because I'm gonna hammer your sweet spot like you've never felt before... you'll love it Steve.." Clint's arrogant grin only grew as he positioned the head of his shaft between the Captain's steel-hard glutes.



For a second the two men just stood there, eyes locked on each other. Steve lay back on the bed, his legs splayed wide, his face a mask of hunger and determination. His built torso gleamed with a thin glaze of sweat as his hands rested on the younger man's broad shoulders.



Clint looked upon the taller blond with a mischievous but affectionate grin. The tough, veiny sinews of his biceps flexed as he placed his palms on either side of Steve's body. The aching pressure in the roots of his manhood only intensified. Finally, in a motion as careful and slow as drawing a nocked arrow, he moved forward and felt his cock glide further and further into the unbelievable heat and tightness of the elder man's ass.



Steve arched off the bed and growled; his wide jaw clenched as his brow furrowed. The muscles of his body all seemed to tense up as inch after inch of the archer's manhood moved into him in one single, slow, precise stroke. Waves of heat and pleasure seemed to reverberate through his flesh as the steady advancing pressure continued to push deeper and deeper. "Christ, Barton!!!" the super soldier almost bellowed as his fingers dug into Clint's shoulders with white-knuckle force. "Oh my god, you feel so good there... so amazing..."

"You know me old man," the sharpshooter replied smugly, "I'm always on target." The constriction and warmth around his cock sent sparks of pleasure racing across his skin; his pulse accelerated as his breathing became deeper. His eyes wandered over the sculpted musculature that built the star spangled man's body, the thick thighs spread wide, the rock-hard curves of Steve's butt cheeks, his shaft buried all the way to the hilt inside that perfect ass... the images only stoked the fire in his gut further. "So, you ready for more?"



"You bet," Steve said firmly as his own gaze returned to the archer's. "Come on, you talented, proud, headstrong renegade... take me Clint." Steve then remembered all those times when he heard Clint's boasts; and he lived up to every single one. He remembered every pang of lust he felt when the younger man snarked, bragged or backtalked.. "and don't even think of shutting up while you do it."



Clint looked back into Steve's assertive, yet warm expression... he knows what he wants... wonder if he's ready for it though? "Me? Shut up? Like that's ever gonna happen," Clint replied with a filthy, arrogant leer. His muscles tensed in anticipation as he felt the tension in his loins grow even greater. It's showtime. Immediately the sharpshooter began moving forward and backward with long, steady, regular strokes; each stroke pulled out until only the head remained inside before pushing back in balls-deep. The pace was slow yet relentlessly constant; each inward thrust had Clint angle his hips and slide his manhood across the elder man's prostate. He grit his teeth as he held back the escalating tension; the clamping heat around his cock wouldn't permit him to last too long.

"How is it, Rogers?" he asked through his smirking lips, "you like it huh, Cap?"



"God dammit yes!" the soldier growled as he felt surge after surge of synapse-melting pleasure crash against his consciousness as if it were a rocky shore. He gasped through gritted teeth at the delicious friction against his sweet spot as his legs hooked around Clint's waist. He balanced on his hands as he lifted his hips, pushing himself into the Hawk's thrusts. "Plow me son," the Captain groaned, "don't stop, it feels far too good..." The world beyond the edges of the mattress seemed to dissolve into a mirage as endorphines flooded his system; his heart raced as the familiar tightening arose in his balls.



Oh fuck this is hotter than I thought it would be he thought as he felt the elder man's body move into his own motions; he licked his smirking lips as he watched the Captain's body tense and relax over and over. "That's right Steve, you're real eager about this... taking what I'm giving, wanting it..." Sweat beaded on his forehead; the air against his skin felt almost electrically-charged as his cock leaked preseed into Captain America's perfect body. The sheer pressure surrounding his length relentlessly dragged him further towards his climax; his fingers dug into the sheets with white-knuckle force.



"Hell yes I want it," Steve immediately responded as he looked into the identically-colored eyes of the sharpshooter. He grunted again as he felt Barton's length slide back inwards; he bent his knees to pull the younger man in deeper as his hands appreciatively mapped the archer's biceps. A bead of moisture slid down his erection as another moan spilled from his lips. "You said you were going to hammer my prostate, right?" he asked with a smile. "Get to it, soldier," he continued in a voice too warm to be an order.



In reply, Clint let out a chuckle that started out playful but quickly developed a more sinister edge. "Alright, old man," he said through a wicked grin, "I'm gonna make you see stars. More than fifty of 'em, too." Carefully he withdrew his maleness until only the head remained inside the super soldier; the archer precisely positioned himself before thrusting back inside. His cock sank in a few inches, aimed directly at the elder man's prostate. Immediately he pulled back, only to push back in and strike the same target. He curled his toes and bit his lip, no way am I cumming before he does...



"Christ!!!" He yelled as the first stab of pleasure tore through his body; he thrashed around on the bed as the pressure in his groin suddenly escalated. Each of the granite-hard muscles of his body seemed to spasm with each successive impact inside him. The archer's thrusts quickly chipped away at his composure; grunts and groans came from his lungs and each breath he took was a seized, frantic gasp. His eyes were clamped shut and his face bore an expression of pure exertion as every single nerve ending in his body seemed to be on the verge of ignition...

The ache within his groin finally exploded; heat and energy blasted through his body and out through his rigid cock. "Jesus...holy....FUCK!!!" he bellowed as pulses of seed erupted skyward.



The Captain writhed on the bed, gripped onto his biceps for dear life and clenched around his cock with near-painful force; as he saw the larger blond cum, the tension that had been building since he first went down on the elder man snapped. Electricity seemed to race from his cock and up his spine as he quickly buried his shaft back to the hilt. His load shot out of him in burst after burst; each shockwave ripped through his body and wrenched a loud, clenched-teeth grunt of catharsis from him.



Both men finally went still; their muscled chests heaved with each intake of breath.



"I can't believe it," Clint began in a quiet voice, without looking into Steve's eyes. "I made Captain America swear." He then raised his gaze to the elder man. "Told you I'm amazing," he continued as the insolent smirk returned to his lips.



Rogers returned a lazy, hazy, warm smile. "You always live up to your bragging, Hawkeye," he said in a calm, sated voice. The rise and fall of his pecs steadied itself as he felt the younger man's reluctant withdrawal.



"I'll get some tissues to clean up," Clint responded before quickly dashing to the bathroom.

Steve lay there as the room's cool air slid across his sweat-damp skin. His heart still pounded and he could feel his blood only half-heartedly leaving his shaft. When Clint came back, his length had already returned to semi-erect.



"Impressive appetite," Clint said with a wink as he handed tissues to the elder man.



Steve blushed slightly as he wiped any traces of his spent load off his body. "Th.. thanks, Clint," he replied as he wadded up the tissues and placed them on the nightstand for future disposal. He felt the mattress dip as younger man sat down on the bed beside him. "When you've recovered... would you be interested in letting me return the favor?"



Clint's head turned; his smirk became more sly and hungry. He chuckled slightly, "well duh," he said. "I love to get it as well as give it."



"We're a lot alike, soldier," Steve replied with the same fond smile he had when he said those words before. He lifted his right hand and rested the fingers atop Clint's shoulder; his fingertips descended the archer's biceps and traced the raised veins another time. "You have no idea how long I've watched you practice at the range..." He felt his manhood get even harder as he kept talking, "when you've drawn a shot fully back, your arms are just so handsome... like marble sculpture..."



Clint smiled in response; "sneaking peeks, Rogers? Looks like Captain America isn't as wholesome as everyone believes."



"I never liked Norman Rockwell, Barton," Steve responded with a sly grin. "And not just because the painting he did of me was terrible."



"Did you just use a pop-culture reference we both got?" Clint said with an eyebrow cocked and a slight chuckle. His mind began to race as he remembered all those painfully wholesome and sentimental works and blurted out his next thought without pause; "all that stuff just brainwashing people into..."



Clint immediately went silent and looked away from Steve's eyes. Brainwashing.... he remembered how the Purple Man's influence felt, like tendrils slithering through his mind. The familiar muscle movements of removing an arrow from the quiver... the draw... the release... completely disconnected from anything critical or contrarian or analytical. Even his internal commentary remained silent as the automated Iron Man armors kept rolling off the production lines... as Stark Industries replaced the UN... as he kept doing whatever the Purple Man demanded no matter what it was...



Steve's hand moved upwards and rested delicately on the younger man's shoulder. He looked at Hawkeye with only understanding in his gaze and spoke in a warm, stable, quiet voice; "its alright, Clint," he intoned, "its over now." He paid no attention to his hardon as he tried to pull the sharpshooter out of the flashback.



He raised his eyes again towards Steve's; his face bore an expression somewhere between a pout and a scowl, almost that of a grumpy teenager. "Just... well, goddammit.. even Fury couldn't make me into his perfect soldier. Purple Man did..."



The perfect soldier. Unquestioning. Obedient. On orders, is willing to be a bully... even commit atrocities. The kind of man that just waits for a Fuhrer... Steve thought as he kept his eyes on Clint's. He nodded, understanding the shorter man's emotions all too well and empathizing far too much, yet still he managed to smile. "And yet you managed to break out of it. Don't give me the credit... I just reminded you of who you are. No, you're not the perfect soldier... you're a good man." His eyes moved again down the sharpshooter's ripped, lithe body and his heart picked up the pace as he remembered his erection. "If you were the perfect soldier, I guarantee you wouldn't make me like this..." he gestured downward, hoping he wouldn't blush.



Clint quickly glanced at Steve's now-fully-hard manhood before a slightly sheepish expression spread across his face. "Don't worry, Cap. I'm not letting my flashbacks cock-block you." He began to smirk again as he wrapped one of his free hands around his own still-soft length. He made a quiet hum of approval as his eyes hungrily surveyed the terrain of Steve's torso, without any of the subtlety he used in the shower. He felt stirrings in his own groin as he spoke, "I want this too, y'know."

Steve reached over to the tube of lube that Clint had left lying on the corner of the bed. He picked it up as he watched Barton get into position... head on the pillow, facing up so I can watch him, legs spread... oh Christ he's so handsome... The soldier quickly knelt between the archer's legs, took the cap off the lube and squeezed the slippery gel onto his fingers.

"I've wanted to do this for such a long time, Clint," he began in a soft, warm voice, "ever since we went after Widow and found HYDRA Island. You're a talented tactician, and you're so strong-willed... not even Fury or Stark could stop you." He made sure the gel covered his fingers evenly before he looked into Barton's eyes again, "are you ready, son?"



Shit he's a sweet-talker Barton thought as he felt his manhood harden in his grip, from both Steve's encouragement and the sight of the Captain's incredible body. His chest rose and fell as he gave thumb-up to the elder man.

"You betcha, Steve," he replied with a grin. He felt his heart begin to beat faster as adrenaline began to seep into his bloodstream. When he saw the war hero's smile he felt warmth pool in his gut. Barney, Dad, Swordsman, Trickshot? Never smiled like that. The crowds? They were shocked that some circus kid could be so amazing, but Steve is never.. he isn't surprised when I impress him.. He felt the fingertip press firmly but carefully into his body and groaned; each knuckle that slid between his cheeks drew a noise from him as his eyes rolled back.



The larger man licked his lips at the way every muscle and ligament in Clint's body looked as the the sharpshooter arched upwards, like fine steel cables being pulled taut.

"That's it, soldier," he continued soothingly, "I promise I won't hurt you at all. You're so warm and tight, I can tell its going to feel amazing when I'm inside you." His own shaft pulsated with need as his eyes roamed Clint's body and feasted on the younger man's skill and determination and the results of those on the archer's form. He watched as Clint's legs spread even further, wanting and demanding more. His second finger drifted towards the smaller man's entrance as he continued talking.



"I promise I'll repay that incredible blowjob of yours, Clint," he heard the soldier say as he felt the delicious stretch race up his spine. He growled as the second finger moved further and further into his body; his breath hitched as he felt it brush over his prostate. His spare hand pulled at the sheets as his brow furrowed. "Shit, Rogers," he panted, "you make this feel so good.. make me feel so good..." He forced his eyes towards Steve again as he continued with the familiar cocky grin reasserted, "c'mon old man, I can take another." As he spoke his shaft returned to fully erect; he kept moving his hand along his cock at a steady, careful pace.



The Captain pushed his third finger inside with glacial slowness; he watched the younger man's eyes roll back as the pressure engulfing his knuckles only grew. A gravelly moan came from the sharpshooter as the soldier finally reached full depth. "Easy, Barton," he replied in his soft but stable tone as his left palm petted the smaller Avenger's muscular thigh, "I promised not to hurt you, so I'm taking this slow." The constriction that wrapped his fingers began to recede as he spread his digits very slightly apart. He kept his breathing steady as he saw Clint's grip on the sheets relax. "Nearly there, Hawkeye... I know this will be worth the wait for both of us..." I'm so hard it practically hurts, he's so proud, so handsome...



The sheen of sweat on his skin only made him more sensitive to the cool touch of air moving over his body. The fingers in his ass felt as if they were writhing in slow-motion; he could practically feel every callus and knuckle as his tight hole began to yield. "H..holy fuck Steve," Clint groaned before letting go of his cock; I don't wanna cum too soon. His newly free hand reached behind his head and wrenched at the pillow as he felt his heart slam against his ribcage over and over again; "I'm ready for it, Cap. C'mon Spangles, fuck me."



Steve's left hand moved away from Clint's thigh to grab the tube of lube again. He quickly squeezed a dollop of the substance into his palm and rubbed it on his cock; "you are," the elder man replied calmly as he withdrew his fingers, one by one, from the archer's ass. He softly moaned with approval as he looked at the arm hooked behind Clint's head... those arms could drive anyone crazy... He felt the marksman's right leg settle on his left shoulder; his recently-freed right hand lifted the other leg into position  as he met Clint's gaze again. The Captain then moved forward on his knees and positioned the sensitive head of his steel-hard length between the perfectly-toned globes of Barton's ass.

As Steve carefully drifted forward into him, a slow and building surge of pleasure moved up Clint's spine and smashed through his brain. The heat and pressure and delicious stretch raced through every synapse of his body. The elder man's hardness moved deeper into his ass, pushing against every nerve on the way, with a slow but constant pace. The intensity of the sensations blocked everything else out yet the borders of pain were never crossed. "Fucking dammit, Rogers!" the sharpshooter exclaimed in something between a gasp, cry and bark, "right there, fuck yeah right there..." Fuckpleasemorefuckyesmoremoremore his mind incoherently demanded as the initial swell of pleasure began to recede; the sensation of Steve's body pressing down on his own started to register. The weight of hard muscle and warm skin atop him formed a soothing counterpoint to the firestorm that raged between his glutes and further within.



The soldier looked into Clint's rolled-back eyes and furrowed brow as his hands stroked up the granite-hard planes that constructed the younger man's body. His palms moved over the archer's muscular thighs, washboard abs and well-developed pecs as his manhood sank deeper and deeper into the furnace-like heat and amazing constriction between Clint's butt-cheeks. He looked down at Barton's standing shaft and watched as a droplet of preseed slid toward the base.

"My god, Barton," he began in a reverent near-whisper, "do you have idea how handsome you look like this? How incredible you feel, wrapped around my dick so tightly?"



Clint groaned as he heard Steve's soothing voice and felt the elder man's cock begin to withdraw slowly. "Shit, more," he tried to say but the sensations ravaging his body distracted him from his own sounds. The muscles of his thighs tensed as they lay sandwiched between Steve's abdomen and his own. "Fuck yeah... fuck me Cap..."



The elder man carefully moved back inside as he continued speaking. "I'm always so proud to fight alongside you, to have your back, to know you've got mine..." The hilt of his shaft rested again against Barton's ass as his right hand's fingers stroked the younger man's slightly scratchy jawline. "You're so determined, so independent, so talented..." he continued as he started to move out another time.



Clint arched off the bed as if Steve's words were the rays of the sun and he was basking in their warmth. Keep talking like that and my ego's gonna pop he thought as he released the pillow from his grip and placed his hands on Steve's broad shoulders and held on tightly. The pressure deep inside his ass, the ache in his groin and the throbbing of his cock had long since merged into one intensity that monopolized his senses. The outward stroke felt almost a yard in length rather than the couple of inches it truly was. "Rogers.... Steve... god-fucking-dammit keep going..." he growled through gritted teeth.



A few droplets of sweat trailed down the elder man's smooth, hard chest as he gasped; his cheeks were flushed but his eyes remained fixed on Clint. The sound of strain leaked into Steve's tone as he slid back into the devouring constriction of the archer's body; "they'll never break you... they never did... they never will... you'll never let anyone tame your soul Hawkeye..."



"Fuck, Cap," Clint groaned as he pulled Steve in with his arms, taking the larger man's cock as much as Steve gave it to him, "fuck yeah!" The words the Captain spoke seemed to race through his veins alongside the adrenaline, only increasing his demand for more. "No one's gonna tame me, not Stark, not Fury, not that ugly purple asshole... c'mon old man, fuck me, fuck the World's Greatest Marksman!"

The sharpshooter's defiant, unrepentant reply only brought a smile to Steve's face; he's so encouraged, so motivated by every single thrust he thought as he pulled out again before pressing back inside. He watched Clint's muscles tense and felt the younger man's fingers dig into his shoulders and ass clench around his shaft. He drank in the facial expression that oscillated between exhilaration and exertion and ecstasy; like a mirror he mused as he imagined what he must have looked like as the serum flooded his body. The sore, building heat in his loins only kept increasing as he contemplated the archer feeling and becoming even more indomitable with each inward stroke of his cock. "Not gonna last much longer, Barton..." he rasped as his fingers wrenched at the mattress.



The marksman's body was nearly folded in half as the soldier's smooth thrusts continued. Each successive back-and-forth motion drew new sounds from Clint; phrases became words which eroded into fragmented syllables and groans. HolyfuckI'mgonnacumsoonfuckfuckfuck.... His impressive arms seemed to alternate between pulling the Captain back into his ass and holding onto the larger man for dear life.



The elder man's motions proceeded with clockwork regularity, but his precision began to falter as his angle began to waver. A drop of sweat fell from his face and he gritted his teeth as his fists clenched around the sheets and he dragged himself back inside the archer's body. The sounds of grunting, panting and groaning filled the air, but the soldier's hearing picked up Clint's near-incomprehensible murmur...



"Gonna... cum...."



The Captain immediately pressed his lips against the younger man's and wrapped his arms around Barton's torso just as he felt nearly every muscle in his body tighten to the point of snapping.



For a brief moment it looked like a freeze-frame shot; both men seemed to pause at that instant where the combined tension and pleasure reached the upper limits. Then tremors started coursing through their limbs, spasms raced through their flesh and their shared growl reached a crescendo dampened only by their kiss.



With each shot of seed his cock launched the marksman felt a rupture of electricity race from his balls to his brain; the violent jolts of ecstasy were underscored by the warmth of Steve unloading into his ass. The sensation of Steve's mouth against his own vanished in the face of the overload that tore through his nerves.



The clenching of the younger man's ass around his cock seemed to ruthlessly pull his load out of his manhood. His brow furrowed at the intensity as he felt the pressure in his loins spike and recede with each burst of cum he released. He broke the kiss and frantically sucked in air as the rush began to dissipate.



-----

A few moments later they were both lying on Steve's bed and looking up at the ceiling of the room. The Captain turned his head towards the younger man and made a satisfied smile. "Thank you, Clint."



The floating sensations of the afterglow still lapped at Clint's skin like a calm ocean against the sand of a beach. He turned his own face towards Rogers and smirked; "told you I was good at this, old man."



Steve chuckled fondly. "You are. And it helped a lot."



"It did," Clint responded in a contemplative voice as the smirk wilted slightly, only for it to return with gusto as he continued; "So, wanna do this again sometime, Steve?"



The larger man nodded as his smile remained in place. "I do. But right now," he said as a slight blush returned to his cheeks, "I'd really like to hug." He paused before hurriedly adding "if that's okay with you, of course."



Clint laughed before rolling onto his side and embracing the elder man; "how could anyone think hugs aren't okay? C'mere, Captain Cuddleslut."



Steve smiled again as he returned Clint's embrace; his right hand stroked the back of the younger man's head as he felt Barton's palm rub his broad back. I don't think I mind that nickname.



The End