moonlettuce: (Avengers: Coulson)
[personal profile] moonlettuce
Title: I see you in the mirror (but the reflection isn't yours)
Author: Claire
Fandom: The Avengers / The Bourne Legacy
Pairing(s): Phil Coulson / Aaron Cross, Phil Coulson / Clint Barton
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,674
Summary: It's not Barton...
Additional Notes: Written for Porn Battle XIV for the following prompt: Crossover, The Avengers / The Bourne Legacy, Phil Coulson / Aaron Cross, lies, pretend

I see you in the mirror (but the reflection isn't yours)

Phil doesn't look at the face of the man sharing the bed as he slides his fingers inside the other's body. Not because he's scared of what he'll see, but because he's scared of what he won't.

Phil's not entirely sure if the name he was given is real, although the Aaron dropped from his lips like he didn't have to think about it. There was a warm hand curling around his and Phil found himself giving Phil in return. And even if there's part of him saying it was because it doesn't matter, because no one knew him there, because Phil is the name of a million non-descript guys in middle America, he knows the real reason is that he wants to hear it. He wants to hear his name gasped out as his fingers press down, slicking lube across skin in a way that's almost perfunctory.

He's known it ever since he walked into the hotel bar and bit back on the Barton, what the hell-- that had risen in his throat a second before he realised it wasn't. That the man in front of him wasn't Barton, wasn't Clint, wasn't the one Phil's wanted to bend over his desk since the first day he walked into Phil's office, mouthy and insolent and so much more than every other handler who had rejected him could ever know.

The thing is, Phil knows Clint wants it as well. He sees it every time Clint looks at him, hears it in every yes and sir and Coulson, feels it in every touch that goes a second past propriety. And Phil has to stop himself from reaching back every single time. And there are a thousand reasons why he doesn't. He tells himself that neither of them can afford to be compromised by their feelings for the other (even if he knows it's already too late, that he would rip the world apart if someone took Clint). Tells himself that he's Clint's handler, that he's in a position of trust that he doesn't want to abuse (even though he trusts Clint to know his own mind in everything else, so why not this). He gives himself every excuse in the book because he doesn't want to admit that he's scared. Doesn't want to admit that Clint Barton makes him feel things he's never felt about another person before, and that terrifies him.

So he pulls away when Clint touches, slides his gaze to someone else when Clint looks for just that moment too long. He puts one foot in front of the other, telling himself with each step that it's never going to happen.

And then Fury handed him a file. And Phil's kind of embarrassed that it's taken him this long to realise it. That when he asked Nick exactly why he was being sent on what looked like a simple pick-up any one of the junior agents could have done, he just nodded at the I need you on this one, Cheese-- instead of questioning.

Maybe Nick thinks he'll finally be able to fuck Clint Barton out of his system. He looks at Aaron, thighs spread and tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip as he looks back at Phil. Maybe Nick's right.

The condom packet's ripped open with slippery fingers, Phil pausing as Aaron reaches out to take it from him, rolling it down Phil's hard cock with a touch that feels off, and Phil can't help but close his eyes against the calluses that are in the wrong places and the scar that should be across the thumb currently moving over his flesh, but isn't.

A touch of fingers against Phil's cheek has his eyes opening and for one brief moment the figure in the bed is someone else, the same but different. And the Phil-- that comes from him isn't a question, but a laughed out demand to touch, to take, to have. But the pretence fades quickly under the muted glare of the hotel light and the ghost of an archer a thousand miles away vanishes into the ether as Aaron takes Phil's hand in his and pulls.

The fuck me-- that's murmured into Phil's ear, words he's imagined hearing in that voice for years, makes his cock twitch, hard and heavy between the two of them. And the soft laughter that comes from Aaron, light and amused, as Phil pinches the base of his cock to stop himself from coming nearly has the wrong name spilling from Phil's lips.

Strong hands wrap around Phil's arms, and even if the calluses aren't the ones his mind tells him should be there, it still adds a layer to this encounter Phil wasn't expecting. (Because he's Coulson, he's SHIELD, and he can tell gun calluses by touch alone.) And Phil knew the I work construction-- that he was told in the bar was a lie. He knew it the minute Aaron gave it voice, Phil just had no intention of calling him on it. He's Aaron, who works construction, and Phil's an accountant in town for a conference. Phil knows that neither of them will mention the scars that litter the skin they're both seeing, neither of them will mention the lies that drop too easily from their lips. Because that's not what tonight is about.

Phil presses a hand to Aaron's thigh, feeling the play of hard muscles under his touch as he moves forward, slicking his cock with the lube left on his fingers before lining himself with Aaron's body.

There's a beat, a second, and a nod from Aaron before Phil is sliding inside, Aaron's head tipping back and baring his throat as Phil bottoms out in one steady thrust.

The yes-- that comes from Aaron is little more than a hiss, low and breathy, and Phil wants to hear it again. His hand hits the pillow beside Aaron's face as he balances himself, pulling back out and holding until Aaron glares at him, heavy-lidded pools of black with barely any colour.

Phil's tempted to hold out further, tempted to wait until Aaron begs him to move, but his body's trembling, and he doesn't think he has the self-control not to fuck into the man beneath him, spread open and impaled and fingers wrapped around Phil's arms hard enough to bruise.

Phil pushes back in, and there's a part of him that thinks this is going to be over embarrassingly quickly. Because even though they've only just met, even though they've only known each other for a handful of hours, for Phil this night has been years in the making.

And it doesn't help, the way Aaron's clutching at him, nails digging in and one of his legs wrapping around Phil's waist, his heel drumming at Phil's ass, urging him to faster, harder, more.

There's no sounds in the room but the harshness of their breath and the slap of sweat-slick skin meeting as Phil drives into Aaron, forcing his eyes to stay open with each movement because he doesn't want to miss any of this. Doesn't want to miss the way Aaron's tongue licks at his lower lip each time Phil thrusts in. Doesn't want to miss the drop of sweat that slides down Aaron's throat. Leaning down, Phil swipes his tongue over Aaron's shoulder, tasting salt and muscle and strength in a parody of submission.

"Phil--" Aaron's fingers dig harder into Phil's bicep as he laps his way up Aaron's throat, soft kisses on skin interspersed with gentle bites, his teeth nipping at exposed flesh.

Seconds bleed into minutes bleed into time dissolving around them until all Phil can feel is Aaron wrapped around him, hot and perfect and there. His hand moves, slipping between their bodies to curl around Aaron's cock, hard and pulsing in his grip, as Aaron hisses and arches into the touch. It takes a couple of attempts to get the timing right, but then they're there, and Phil is jacking Aaron as he presses into him, precome slicking his fingers and Aaron pushing back into each thrust into his body, into each movement across his cock.

There's a stuttered groan as Aaron tenses, warmth shooting over Phil's fingers and smearing over their skin as Phil bites down hard on his lip, feeling Aaron clench around him. And the heat that's been coiling low in his belly ever since he saw Aaron laid out on the bed, ever since he saw Aaron in the bar, flashes through him, white hot and sudden, as he's pulled over the edge, the throbbing beat of Aaron's body ripping the orgasm out of him.

Phil's hips give a valiant final twitch before his body finally decides that it's done, his softening cock slipping out of Aaron. Dropping to the other side of the bed, Phil slides the condom off, wrapping it in a tissue and tossing it into the wastebasket near the bed.

"We should--" Get cleaned up, get dressed, go their separate ways and chalk it down to one night of fantastic anonymous sex in a city neither of them are probably ever going to see again. There are a dozen ends to the sentence running through Phil's mind and, for once, he honestly doesn't know which one he should go with. But he doesn't need to.

"Sleep," Aaron replies, turning to look at Phil. "We should sleep," a soft smile plays over his lips, "and then we should do this all again in the morning."

Phil huffs a quiet laugh, finding himself unable to disagree with the idea. Aaron grins at him as he shifts, throwing a leg over Phil as he settles against Phil's side, his breathing easing surprisingly quickly into the steady pattern of sleep.

Careful not to disturb Aaron, Phil reaches out to flick the light off and, with the thought of Clint running through his mind, wonders if there'll still be three people in the bed when daylight finally breaks.
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