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Clint is on his knees, has been at least for an hour, but he’s not sure of the exact length of time. His hands are bound behind his back and he has a ball gag in his mouth. It’s getting slightly uncomfortable; finding a good position is not easy, but he’s not to move from this position, Sir said so. Clint shifts just a bit, to ease the pressure that’s gathering on his knees and his bound hands, but Sir doesn’t mind it. Sir knows that sometimes Clint has a tendency to keep on thinking even when he’s not supposed to and if he’s thinking too much he fidgets.
Being bound and on his knees usually helps him; it makes his thoughts evaporate from of him, because all he can focus on is the absolutely delightful pressure of ropes and his position, but that is not happening today. Today all he can think is his last mission, which went FUBAR so fast it’s not even funny.
SHIELD had lost two junior agents during the mission, one of whom Clint had almost considered a protégé. Hawkins had been a talented sniper and Clint had taken her under his wing when he saw her raw talent. Now Hawkins was dead and Clint was pretty sure that if only he had been in his position quicker the situation would have been considerably different and most importantly Hawkins would be alive. The mission hadn’t even started properly when already it had escalated far out of SHIELD’s reach. Hawkins had been one of the first victims; one unlucky – or lucky depending on who you asked, SHIELD or the bad guys – shot and Hawkins lay on the puddle of blood on a dirty rooftop. She had been first on their assigned positions, Hawkeye close behind and now she was no more. It hadn’t taken Hawkeye long to locate and finish the enemy sniper, but it had all been too late. Hawkins was dead. A clean shot through the head. If only Clint hadn’t stopped to check up few things from Sitwell, if only he had moved a little bit quicker to is position he might have had a chance to save Hawkins, if only… Clint sighs. If only.
The wretched mission now over, Clint steps into their apartment right behind Phil. Phil had come to retrieve him from the medical and ever since then Clint has felt restless. He still continues to be that and is almost trembling and fidgeting when they get to their living room. Phil orders him to his knees and Clint complies. Just like that, just that one command and Clint already feels marginally better. Not all the way better, he doesn’t think he’s going to get there quite so easily, if ever, but just enough to let his body relax ever so slightly. He knows that Phil, no, Sir will make him feel like he’s whole again, makes all these incessant thoughts go away, if not completely then at least for awhile.
“I don’t think there’s anything I could say to you that would make you understand that it wasn’t your fault.” Sir sighs. Clint keeps his gaze to the floor, because he and Sir both know how many times Sir has been trying to bring that fact home. Sometimes Sir succeeds, sometimes he does not. There are things that Clint is not going to forgive himself, no matter how hard Sir – or indeed Phil – tries to make him see that they were not his fault, that other people were responsible for those fuck-ups.
“Stay. And no talking. I’ll be back shortly,” Sir says and walks in to the bedroom. Clint stays still and waits patiently for Sir to come back. He has no idea what Sir will do, sometimes he comes back with his suit taken off, sometimes he comes with various toys, all depending on what Clint has done and how he’s feeling. He trusts Sir, Sir can sometimes read him better than Clint can himself. So he waits, but not for long. He doesn’t have to. It takes some time for Sir to come back to the living room and by Clint’s side, but when he does he comes armed with something that Clint can hear being set to the coffee table.
“Hands back, slightly separated,” Sir barks his order. Clint hurries to obey the order, but doesn’t raise his head. This is nothing new for them; they have done this plenty of times before and most likely will continue doing it for as long as they’re together. Sir brings rope from the table and starts looping it around Clint’s wrists. He forms a bight, then a lark’s head with it and wraps the rope around his wrists a few times. Clint can feel the cuff starting to form when Sir starts to wrap the rope tail between his wrists forming the rope bar. Finally he feels like the cuff is finished and Sir checks that everything is as it should and that there’s not too much pressure on his wrists.
“Palm up,” Sir orders and drops a bicycle bell easy enough to use with just one hand on top of Clint’s palm. That’s their usual safety signal when words cannot be used and more often than not indicates that there’s more to come.
“Ring.” Standard check up and Clint obeys. The bell makes a thankfully soft, but clear sound, loud enough not to be missed. “Good. Good boy.”
Sir stands up from behind Clint’s back and sets off to the direction of the kitchen where Clint can hear him opening cupboards and then the sound of running water. Sir comes back and urges Clint to drink most of the water set to him, then goes to place the glass on the coffee table and to retrieve a ball gag. The water felt soothing going down his throat, but Clint knows from experience he shouldn’t drink too much. Before fastening the gag in place Sir places a demanding kiss on Clint’s lips and softly bites his lower lip. After that Sir situates the gag in place while making sure everything is as it should be. Clint is slowly starting to feel a bit better.
“Now. You are to be kneeling there for as long as I like. You are not to move from your spot. You are on the other hand permitted to shift you position, but if I see too much squirming for no reason you’ll be punished. Do you understand me? Nod for yes.” Clint nods his head once. This, too, in all its variations is something they’ve done for so many times, but he feels comforted nonetheless.
“Well then. I have one more question for you before I leave you there.” Clint looks at Sir who is holding a black collar on his hands. “Do you need this?” Sir asks and Clint thinks hard. He doesn’t have the best memories of all the times he’s worn a collar for someone in his past before Sir – before Phil –, but a collar usually heightens his submission and helps him deal with all the things that should not concern him and that, Clint thinks, really seals the deal. He hangs his head and nods it minutely. In the corner of his eye he can see Sir crouch down in front him and he feels his hand gently cup Clint’s jaw.
“Hey. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting this. Nothing. I think it’s a beautiful thing that you’ve blessed me with, seeing you in my collar. And you shouldn’t feel bad for it. Okay?”
Clint nods again. He feels Sir gently move his head to a better position and even more gently place the collar around his neck and fasten it. Then he feels a soft kiss placed on top of his head and with that Sir stands once again.
“Now. I’m going to enjoy myself and read these masterpieces of paperwork that other agents have graced me with while you sit there and look pretty. You know the rules, you have your signal.”
Clint moves again. He can’t find a proper headspace and his thoughts are still all over the place, even after more than an hour on his knees. It’s a bit unusual, but not when you take in what had happened before Phil and he had come back to their apartment. Sir folds down the paper he was reading, stands up from his chair and crouches down beside Clint.
“Hmm. I see that this is not enough for you. I think you need more. Don’t you think you need more, Clint?” Sir asks him while gently taking hold of his jaw and turning Clint’s face towards him.
Clint looks up at Sir and nods. Usually just being bound and still for a longer period of time helps most of the bad thoughts to disappear, but not now. Sir stands up and goes to the bedroom. Clint knows he doesn’t have to wait long to see Sir again, but every time he’s like this, under Sir’s care, trusting him unequivocally, he can’t help but feel just a little bit more helpless when he can’t see Sir.
Fortunately, Sir comes back quickly and Clint can relax again. He didn’t even realize he had tensed up, but the sudden release and relief he feels when the ropes don’t press so much on his wrists and hands is obvious.
Sir asks Clint to close his eyes and positions himself behind Clint. He knows what’s coming. The pressure of a blindfold is comforting. It diminishes yet another sense from Clint, makes him concentrate on him alone, his breathing and Sir beside him, not on his cumbersome thoughts. Sir stand away and Clint feels the lack of another person’s body heat dearly.
“Stand up,” Sir says and Clint complies. His progress is slow, not mainly because of his bound hands, which hinders his movements ever so slightly, but also because the time he has spent on his knees and they feel a bit tingly because of that.
Slowly but surely he finally stands and begins to relax his stiff muscles one by one. It’s at this point a silent command, they both know that work can call at any time and while they won’t have to move at light speed – and also, they got the weekend off – it’s good to be prepared. He hears Sir approach him, but it doesn’t stop him from completing his ritual. Sir knows that and waits for it to be finished, then attaches a leash to Clint’s collar.
With a command to follow, Clint and Sir start their way wherever Sir thinks is the best. Clint takes a few hesitant steps at first until he gets to a good rhythm. After all, it’s not the first time they’ve done this. He knows the apartment and knows that Sir makes sure that he will not stumble and hurt himself. After arriving Sir once again commands Clint to kneel. He feels Sir sit, probably on the sofa, tighten the leash and guide Clint until his head is on Sir’s lap. Yep, it’s the sofa. He can feel the strong thigh muscles twitch minutely. Sir’s scent is wafting from him and Clint takes a deep breath and nuzzles Sir. He can hear and feel quiet amusement and the vibration that travels through Sir’s body.
“I’m glad you enjoy your position,” Sir chuckles. Then he suddenly becomes more serious. “Check up time. How’s the bell?”
Clint rings the little bicycle bell that he still has in his hands.
“Good. Now ring again, if that was a genuine signal.”
Clint has no intentions of ringing the bell again. He’s quite comfortable where he is. After a short moment he feels Sir move his head and feels the gag being unbuckled. There’s quite a bit of dried saliva on Clint’s chin and he feels Sir press the glass of water to his lips. He sips just a bit, and then the glass is put away.
“No words are still necessary. I just thought you might like something else in your pretty little mouth other than the gag.”
With that Clint hears the top button of Sir’s trousers being unbuttoned and the zipper being lowered. His mouth is watering at the thought of having Sir’s cock in him, in his mouth, anywhere he can get it. Clint feels Sir take a hold of his hair with one hand and the other goes to his neck. He almost stiffens at the thought of the collar taken away from him and just barely holds back his reaction to that, because he knows, he knows Sir won’t take the collar away. Not right now. Not in the middle of this all. The only time Sir had had to take it away prematurely was when work called and Clint had to be surfaced from his subspace more quickly than both of them wanted. So, it’s a relief to find that all Sir does now is take the leash away, but leave the collar as it is.
Still holding his hair tightly Sir orders Clint to open up. He feels Sir’s half hard cock being pushed into his mouth, feels Sir harden and start to use his strong thigh muscles to slowly push in and out. All he can feel is Sir. All he can think about is Sir. All he can smell is Sir. All other thoughts are frivolous. Nothing else matters but Sir and pleasing him.
After Sir’s finished Clint rests his head back on Sir’s thigh. His own cock is still hard, but it doesn’t matter. His mind is blissfully empty. Sir takes off his blindfold and pushes his hand through Clint’s hair. Maybe he can get through today. But not alone, never alone. Phil and Sir, they’re always there with him. He never has to be alone again, if he doesn’t want to.