Guys my age
Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader
Warnings: Lots of smut, protected though, but smut. Wrap it before ye tap it.
A/N: My baby @imaginedaily asked me if I could write a little something for her and of course I said yes because she’s my baby and I love her and I’m guessing I’m a bit gay – okay, A LOT hehe <3 Inspired in Hey Violet’s “Guys my Age”
You got out of the shower with a white towel wrapped around your body. Andy Black blasting in the background, as loud as your neighbors allowed. Dancing around at the rhythm of the music, you took out clothing from the drawers and started sliding it on your frame.
Your music faded away and in its place, your ringtone rang. You looked at it and ignored the caller. It had been about four weeks since you’d been ignoring your lame ex; he wanted to get back together with you because he missed you very much but you felt completely disgusted by the idea. Someone told you guys your age were idiots and even though he seemed normal at first, he proved to be everything you were told he would.
Zipping up your leather jacket and turning the keys, you hit downtown to see what could the night life offer a single lady such as yourself. You came across a nice-looking place with some live music and seats near the stage to enjoy the music while being seated and drinking. As you made your first order, you couldn’t help but to look at the guy a few tables away from you. He was kinda hot in a rough way.
After exchanging glances at one another, he made the first move of changing seats next to you. His name was Clint, or so he said. Much older than you but not enough to be an old guy.
“And what is a nice girl like you, doing in a place like this?” He asked before sipping from his drink.
“What can I say?” you shrugged, “my ex-man done me wrong and here I am spending my nights talking to hot but old strangers.” A flirty smile drew on your lips.
“Ouch,” Clint took his hand to his heart in an offended manner, “don’t hurt your old man like that, kid.”
After some enriching music, conversation and drinks, you found that that Clint used to work in a circus and that he was more or less skilled at shooting arrows. You were rather impressed with that and you asked him to please show you how to shoot one, and after paying for the drinks, he walked with you back to his place which was not far from the bar.
The night was a bit chilly, but not enough to make you shiver. His conversation was just as fun and as relaxed as he was inside the bar with all the noise and the people around you. At first you thought he was one of those guys who liked pick up young girls because he couldn’t afford to be with one his age, but he seemed more like the guy who actually didn’t care if he was with one or not. Like he didn’t care at all of anything around him, really.
His apartment was entirely neat, and even cleaner than yours. You wandered around his living room while he took out some beers from the fridge for you to drink. You saw some pictures with him and two children, and lots and lots of other people.
“If it’s not too personal, who are the kids in these pictures?” You pointed at one of the pictures.
“My sister’s kids.” He replied, getting closer and handing you your freezing can. “Good kids.”
“And I’m sure they love their uncle Clint, right?” You mocked. “That’s sweet.”
“What can I say?” He shrugged, rising his hands along with him, “all people tend to love me the minute they meet me so… we all win here, right?” He opened his can and took a long sip from it. You saw how his Adam’s apple bobbed and suddenly he became even hotter than how you pictured him. You decided to take a good sip too and let yourself enjoy his company.
Two beers later you were on the rooftop trying to shoot arrows, but it was useless, you were not only bad at it, you were terrible; not a single one hit the bull’s-eye, nonce. He, on the other hand, was incredibly good. He was so damn good that he didn’t need to look at his target. He looked at you and kept talking while shooting.
It was like watching that Brave scene when Merida rejects the sons of the lords, only 10 times cooler.
“You have to relax. You have to be the bow.” He tried to explain. “Try screaming, at the top of your lungs,” you did as he told you but you only ended up with a sore throat, “did that work?” you shook your head. “I didn’t think so,” he rolled his eyes, “ok, now try shaking?” you did, but you only felt even more ridiculous and he tried hard not to laugh at you.
“Oh god, I’m done with this.” You huffed and handed Clint his bow and the arrow he gave you to try.
“No, come on.” He said. “Take my hand–” Clint reached out his free hand and you reluctantly accepted it— “now close your eyes and try to breathe with me.” His voice was soft, and it took you a moment before you started imitating what he was doing. You felt your chest expanding with the air income and with your hands in his, you actually felt much more relaxed.
He slowly got closer and closer, until you had his breath brushing your lips. Your mouth hung a bit open when you felt the proximity of his. It was pure gut instinct that took over your senses, and in a split second you were crashing your lips on his and pulling from his jacket to make the distance disappear.
His strong hands held your waist tightly, and his thumbs circled the uncovered spots of your skin. The bow and quiver fell onto the concrete floor and the night suddenly became hotter. His mouth molded perfectly with yours and his tongue gently slid to intertwine with yours. Somehow, you were not very interested in shooting arrows anymore.
He carried you back to his apartment and closed the door by pushing you onto it. You got rid of your jacket and top and Clint followed in suit, revealing a scarred but ridiculously well-defined torso. You went for his lips again as he walked with you somewhere in his apartment, soon you realized it was his bedroom.
He gently placed you over the mattress and started placing soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck. He clearly knew what he was doing and you understood why people kept telling that messing around with boys your age was a waste of time. Older men definitely knew what to do, where to do it, when to do it and how to do it. His pace was soft, unlike your ex’s who wanted to get shit done ASAP; oh no, Clint took his time with you, making you enjoy the pleasures of being with a man with experience.
Your breath got caught in your windpipe when you felt a pair of calloused hands near the valley of your breasts, he slowly pulled down the fabric of your bra, giving you enough time to react and tell him to stop, but you said nothing, and your silence only indicated the permission he had. You helped Clint by freeing yourself from the straps and unclasping it from behind. Just a little help.
“I could that on my own, (Y/N).” He teased, keeping his lips glued to the skin of your chest. “I am not like the guys your age.”
“Since you’re a bit older—” you gasped— “I thought you might need a little help, right?”
“Well, I appreciate that.” He looked up at you and nodded.
He kissed and sucked on the hot skin of your breasts; Clint also spread your legs wider to lay comfortable in between them and use them as support once his lips carried on their way down to the hem of your jeans. He quickly unmade the button and pulled the fabric down your legs.
You supported yourself with your elbows on the mattress as he pulled away your wet underwear with his teeth. His hot breathing was a terrible teaser and it was amazing, because in your life someone had taken such care of you. His tongue did wonders and you were sure that you were tearing up his quilt with your tight grip. Hope he didn’t mind.
In a matter of seconds, you were blissfully screaming the Lord’s name and pushing Clint’s head closer to you. It took you a while you fathom how good he was just by eating you out. You stared at the ceiling, trying hard to catch your breath.
“Better than younger guys?” he savored his own lips, smirking wickedly at you.
“Oh, most certainly. Guys my age don’t know how to treat me right.”
“It’s only about to get better.” He unmade his jeans, revealing a glorious shaft under the tight underwear, and before throwing them away, he picked up a condom from his side table. At least he didn’t need to be told to fucking use one. You made a mental note on the various reasons why older guys were better than guys your age.
He positioned himself in between your legs, teasing your entrance with his length and slowly pushed in. He placed his hands on both sides of your head and lowered his upper body to distract you from the terrible stretching feeling by placing soft kisses on your lips. You were rather confused by his love demonstrations, was this a plain fuck or was he… being tender?
You arched your back from the mattress and held on to his broad shoulders as he pounded harder each second. You wrapped your legs around his waist and dug your heels on his butt. You loved to hear when he grunted trying to reach a deeper point in you; he was not loud, and compared to you he was a bit silent, but the little moans that spilled on his lips sounded like heaven.
If your previous orgasm was amazing, this one was indescribable. You couldn’t recall coming so loud and so joyfully. You surrendered on the mattress while he helped you ride out the orgasm while reaching his own. You had never been the one to come first, let alone a guy waiting for you. Well, he was not a random guy, he was a man.
After pulling out, he placed a sweet kiss on your forehead, and headed to the bathroom. You started picking up your clothes to get quickly dressed and leave, but before you could walk away from the bedroom, he appeared in his pajamas (that only included a pair of shorts) and leaned on the door frame.
“You’re not staying for breakfast?” He asked. “I mean, it’s a bit late for you to go out there.”
“I can call an Uber.” You shrugged.
“I’m a bit of a sucker for cuddling,” he admitted, shrugging and walking to the bed, “why don’t you accept my invitation for breakfast and stay the night?” He patted the bed with a huge grin on his face. “You can take a shirt from the drawer; the first one.”
You sighed and did as he told. He was a bit right, it was too late to call an Uber and breakfast sounded like a great idea. You searched for a shirt you liked and that you could keep. A purple one with a red, white and blue bull’s-eye in the middle. It was big enough to cover your butt and you loved the way it looked on you. You even got whistles and cheering from Clint as you did a bit of modeling. When you were about to close the drawer, you found some dark, leather-looking clothing.
“What’s this?” You asked, holding the sort of sleeveless vest.
“Oh, it’s my uniform.”
“Circus uniform?” You asked again, folding the garment and closing for good the drawer. You slid under the covers and cuddled next to Clint.
“No, more like avenging uniform. I’m Clint Barton, by the way.” He smiled, kissed the top of your head and then called it quits by turning off the lights.