1. Arrow |HawkSilver(smut)

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Arrow is a safe word. Full title

The arrow missed the target by a couple of inches and Pietro groaned in frustration. Clint just sighed and pressed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder, taking note of how Pietro's breath caught at the physical contact.

"No no. That was definitely better than the last shot," Clint paused to glance at the arrow wedged in the wall ten feet to the left of the target he was supposed to be aiming for. "You've gotta look down the shaft of the arrow, focus on the target, and then release."

"I do not see why this is an important skill, Barton. And get your hand off of me. I am not a little kid." Clint closed his eyes softly, listening to Pietro's breathy Sokovian accent. Clint obliged, and adjusted the bow slightly. Then he backed away and watched Pietro knock another arrow. He got a good view. Pietro's biceps, triceps, and ab muscles strained against the S. H. I. E. L. D. training shirts everyone was given. A bead of sweat traced his jawline and then raced down his neck. Clint knew he shouldn't be thinking this way about a twenty-something year old. But he was.

Then suddenly, it looked as if Pietro had been shocked, because he jumped back from the bow, dropping it, the arrow forgotten in the center of the bullseye. The string had snapped on his forearm and Clint watched as Pietro cradled the wound to his chest like a kicked puppy.

Clint couldn't help but laugh, earning a surprised and upset glance from the younger man. He took a deep breath and got closer to Pietro. "It's just a little bruise. It might be worse later, but trust me, being snapped by a bow string hurts like hell, but it teaches you to not be sloppy."

Pietro just glared at him a brought a hand up to brush the hair out of his eyes.

"What? Do you want me to kiss it better?" Clint teased, not expecting the arrogant, confident boy to suddenly take up a shy act surprised him. "Do..do you?" He asked again, unsure of where this was going.

The stormy blue eyes stayed fixated on the ground, but Pietro's glance flickered up to Clint as he got within arms reach. "Y-yes...maybe- I. Yes. Please sir." Each word was forced out and hesitant, but now that Pietro was looking Clint in the eyes, he could see the certainty of his statement.

So he gently put a hand on the younger man's wrist, trying to ignore the catch in his breath., and pressed a gentle kiss to his arm. Pietro let out a gasp at the warmth from Clint's lips. The boy pulled his arm away and turned sharply, facing away from Clint.

"I-Pietro. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" He stumbled over the words, rushing each syllable and letter.

Pietro put on a burst of speed that made Clint's head spin, pressing their lips together in a frustrated, desperate attempt. Clint pressed forward, then seemed to remember where he was and who exactly was kissing him. He jerked away, hands clenched at his sides in an effort to not pull Pietro back into his arms. Then, noticing the hurt look on the boy's face, he gently shook his head, looking up at the ceiling to avoid Pietro's eyes.

"Kid-we, we can't. I don't-I'm not-I-."

"Just let it happen."

"No. I'm supposed to be training you, not having you seduce me," Clint pulled away from Pietro, putting his hands in his pockets. "Even if you were my age, we're still on training hour technically, and-wait. Do you really want this? Me? Kissing you? Maybe more?" Those words sent thoughts to his brain and blood rushing down.

He imagined pressing the boy against a wall, leaving hickeys and bite marks all over his toned skin. He imagined impaling Pietro over his cock, which was now half hard in his training sweats.

He shook his head, that wouldn't be happening. But Pietro, his eyes were closed, and he was breathing heavily. Clint watched him closely, but he never touched himself.

"I-I would like that, y-yes," Pietro's voice was almost gone, gravelly and rough sounding, and he hadn't even been talking that much.

"What would you like me to do?" Clint asked, shocked at how dominant his voice sounded now, compared to a few minutes ago.

At this, Pietro opened his eyes, and the pupil was blown so wide, Clint could hardly see blue around them. "Push me against a wall. Touch me, kiss me, bite me. Fuck, I don't know. Please sir."

Clint was tempted. No one would know. He had made sure that the training room was for his use only, so he could train Pietro. Nobody would know. But he couldn't. He shook his head, turning to retrieve the bow forgotten on the floor.

"That's what HYDRA did," Pietro's voice was soft, hurt. "They brought me up and then left. Their handlers were nothing like you. They used me for their own pleasure. But at least they gave me something. But you, you've given me nothing but a kiss. HYDRA never kissed me."

Clint turned sharply, glaring at the boy, trying to make sense of the sudden shyness he was putting out. He surged forward, backing Pietro against the wall that had seemed much farther away just a few seconds ago. The boy let out a groan, but he didn't try to get away, but instead went limp in Clint's grasp. Pietro tilted his head to the side, almost mocking him. The arrogant confidence was back. Clint could deal with this.

Pietro bit his lip, and leaned forward, pushing against Clint's lips with a harsh kiss. He pressed back, fighting for dominance. Pietro was, after all, the one pressed against a wall.

Clint brought a knee to rest between Pietro's open legs, and the younger man groaned into the kiss. He smirked and brought a hand to the boy's wrists. Holding them above his head against the wall.

Pietro pulled away and took a deep breath, speaking slowly, and carefully. "You are..hesitant? No?"

Clint shook his head, but the look he got from Pietro told him he was. "I'm not. I-I just don't want to hurt you. Give me a safe word."

"S-safe word? Um, arrow."

"Okay. Now, let's take this slow. And I know you don't go slow, but I want to see you come undone slowly, this is about you, for you." Although Clint wouldn't mention his hard-on.

He let go of Pietro's wrists, kneeled down, and brought his hands to his waistband. Hooking his fingers underneath the elastic, he pulled down the boy's training sweats, revealing a tent in Pietro's boxers.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Clint asked, looking up at the younger man, who's eyes were closed, head tilted back.

The boy nodded, lips pressed tightly together. So Clint continued, and pressed his mouth to Pietro's dick through his boxers. The sound that fell from Pietro's mouth was the most obscene noise Clint had heard, and he intended to make it again.

Clint slid down the last piece of clothing separating him from Pietro. His cock stood at full attention, and a smear of precum covered the tip. Clint licked it off, and quickly swallowed him down, listening for any signs of discomfort from the boy.

A hand curled in Clint's hair and he moaned against Pietro's member, sending a rush of arousal to his already painful erection. Pietro bucked his hips, effectively fucking Clint's mouth, but he gently pushed a hand against his hips, keeping him still.

Clint licked a stripe up the vein on the underside of Pietro's cock and watched in awe as the younger man arched his back off the wall, cursing in Sokovian. "I-I need to.. Clint. I'm-shit, I'm close," Pietro breathed, panting heavily.

The hand in Clint's hair tightened and Pietro's member twitched. Then he was cumming, and the sounds out of his mouth were dirty, filthy, and beautiful to Clint all at once.

He pulled his mouth off of Pietro and licked his lips. "Well, for a person who is so salty, you taste really sweet."

Pietro grinned, and winked at him. "What? You did not see that coming?"

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