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dispatchvampire · 4 months

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Close Encounters of the Preferred Kind - (MCU/Justified Crossover)

Part 2 in my wholly unintentional Two Snipers series.

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: Justified/The Avengers (MCU) Crossover (kinda)

Pairing: Clint Barton/Tim Gutterson

Word Count: 2066

Warnings: Fluff (kinda sorta, if you squint), canon level violence, aliens, cussing, a lot of cussing.

Summary: Set after the events of 'Bad Mistakes (I've Made A Few)', this is the second meeting of our fateful couple, with aliens invading, families meeting, and, of course, Tim's long-suffering boss, Chief Deputy Marshal Art Mullen. Life gets messy when worlds collide.

Author’s Notes: 100% did not intend to write a follow-up to BM, but these two don't really do things on my timeline or my schedule. Anyway, the idea of this made me laugh, this is what happens when you introduce your Boo to your people, and everybody had issues. Oh, and the mood board was all me, with picture credit going to their varying photographers.

Eastern Kentucky is not where one expects Armageddon to start, but there it is and there they are.

“What the fuck am I looking at, Art?” the sniper asked his superior officer as he stared unflinchingly down his rifle scope. When he’d gotten the call that all hell had broken loose in Noble’s Holler, Tim figured it was more methed up psychopaths who were unclear on the local mayor’s penchant for pig sticking. Purple creatures falling out of a hole in the sky with more tentacles than a jellyfish was not on his bingo card.

“I got no idea,” the older man answered, never once looking up from his binoculars, “but my suggestion is nothing but headshots.” He paused as he loaded his own rifle and stretched out on a bluff overlooking the mayhem next to Tim. To look at the Chief Deputy in his tie and button down shirt, he didn’t seem the type to get down on the ground and dirty, but most folks underestimated him to their peril. The man taught at Glynco and was a badass well before Tim got proficient with a slingshot, much less a rifle. “Assuming that those are actually their heads.”

“Copy that.” There was nothing quite as satisfying as brass ejecting from the port and watching his target become iridescent green mist.

Alien invasions were not generally the purview of the United States Marshals Service, but occasionally, needs must.

The giant millipedes had massive tentacles and leathery purple skin which was impervious to conventional small arms fire; the only thing that seemed to fell the murderous, marauding bastards was a shot through he presumed was the eye, a target approximate the size of a navel orange, or through the mouth, an open maw about the size of a peach. Luckily, the produce section had never been an issue for Tim.

He’d been shooting and reloading for the better part of an hour after the damn portal opened up, doing his best to defend Ellstin Limehouse’s normally quiet enclave as best he could. It was the least he could do, even if he didn’t exactly trust the guy. Their interpersonal issues had nothing to do with the welfare of the innocents being set upon by these nightmare fuel monstrosities.

Correction: “By comparison, my nightmares are a breeze.”

When the first creature fell without his intervention, Tim was startled enough to jerk back from the ledge and take his eyes off the scope, just in time to see the honest-to-God Captain America shield go flying past the end of his rifle, taking out a creature coming up on his flank that he’d missed before bouncing back to its owner with disturbing accuracy.

“I am entirely too old for this shit,” Art grumbled as he rolled away from the edge to reload his rifle with all the annoyance and irritation of a deluge of Friday afternoon paperwork.

“I will be goddamned,” Tim murmured reverently as his brain processed what was happening. Creatures began falling left, right, and center as a roaring overhead signaled the arrival of Iron Man while the roaring on the ground was the giant green menace known as the Hulk ripping through these things like they were made of tissue paper. But that wasn’t what held his interest.

There, big as life and dressed in form-fitting purple and black kevlar, was the luscious not-so-little secret he’d been keeping since his detail in DC. What should have been a routine job a couple months ago turned into a three-night-stand for the duration of the operation, and then some flirty texts back and forth and more than the occasional round of phone sex in the time intervening. None of that could have prepared him for seeing Clint in action up close and personal.

The armless black suit emphasized every unreasonably pretty inch of the man, from his ridiculous arms that wielded a bow as ably as he hefted his own rifle, shot after unerring shot bounding and leaping nimbly from cover to cover, down to the perfect cupcake ass that fit in his hands just so. Goddamn the man was so pretty he could be considered a potentially lethal distraction.

“You gonna watch or are you gonna shoot?” Raylan demanded from his right as he stretched out on the ground with a rifle to join the party. The cowboy had been late to the party since he and Rachel had been left to man the office in Lexington, but once gunplay became the order of the day, Tim knew it was only a matter of time before the man in the infamous tan hat showed up. That he was able to convince Rachel, their normally by-the-book and most level-headed colleague, to come out on an alien invasion spoke to the man’s ability to charm the devil himself out of his seat in Hell.

“Fuck you,” Tim snarled, but without any heat behind it as he took up his position again and began firing once more at the few remaining creatures on the ground below them.

From start to finish was just under three hours of sustained fire, and when Tim finally rose to his feet to survey the area, the story was told in the sea of expended brass cartridges and rivers of green blood running through the streets of the valley below. Black trucks were rolling in from both sides of the holler with SHIELD logos on them, signaling the cleanup crew.

“You know what time it is now, right?” Raylan asked with a devilish grin as he doffed his hat to shrug out of his ballistic vest. He’d stripped down to a form-fitting white t-shirt and looked more like he’d been called in from a day off than from a day at the office.

“What’s that?” Art demanded as the guys helped him to his feet, brushing an annoyed hand over the wrinkles and streaks of dirt that his wife Leslie would likely fuss over later. After she yelled at him about going out on an alien invasion not two months out of a stint at the heart hospital.

With a shiteating grin and the pop of a peppermint Altoid in his mouth, Raylan nodded toward the collection of superheroes at the edge of the fray, watching the cleanup proceedings begin and talking amongst themselves. “The interagency debrief, of course!” He was off before anyone had a chance to contradict him, leaving Tim, Rachel, and Art to chase after the cocksure cowboy.

“Can’t get him to even look at paperwork any other time,” Rachel grumbled as they slowly approached the other group.

“This ain’t paperwork,” Tim replied, though his eyes were on one thing and one thing only.

Like they had a mind of their own, his feet carried him right up until he was close enough to tap Clint on the shoulder. “How do, stranger.”

The pure joy on the man’s face when he turned around did funny, fizzy things to his insides that he was loath to examine, and were dangerously close to giddy. The man smelled like sweat and looked like heaven, and fuck if all he wanted to do was run his hands over those arms that had held him up against a wall more than once. As it was, he was standing closer than was strictly necessary and well beyond the bounds of ‘just friends reuniting’. The desire to wrap his arms around the man was damn difficult to quell.

“I wondered if I’d get to see you,” the archer replied with a shy smile and flushed cheeks. “I mean, I’d hoped,” he rambled on, “but then—” he gestured at the carnage behind him.

For a moment, it was like the world had winnowed down to just the two of them. “I get it. I’m glad you’re here now, though.”

“Me too.”

And then the moment was broken by the diminutive redhead standing next to them elbowing Clint in the ribs. “Who’s your friend, Barton?” She was equally clad in black, the kevlar skating over and highlighting every single curve and hollow, highlighting both the beauty and the danger that she embodied.

Rolling his eyes, Clint took half a step back to face her more fully. “Nat, this is Tim Gutterson of the Marshals.”

Her green eyes lit up as her lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “The hottie you told me about from a couple months ago in DC?”

The blond’s eyes widened comically as his face shifted from flushed to pale to tomato red with alarming speed. “Real subtle, Nat.”

If his face felt hot before, now it felt like the skin was melting off of him. The idea of Clint talking about him, to Black Widow of all people, combined with the adrenaline dump of the situation only added to the feeling of surreal dissociation. Feeling a bit cheeky, he grinned slyly as he looked Clint up and down. “Talking about me, Clint? My heart’s a-flutter with curiosity.”

“Deputy Gutterson, you gonna introduce your friends?” Art’s voice was a bucket of cold water down his back as he suddenly remembered both his location and his audience.

From Raylan’s grin, he knew he would never EVER live this down, no matter how many terrible situations the cowboy’s penchant for prohibited pussy landed them in, and Rachel? Well, she was the office master interrogator for a reason and he knew damn sure that he would be spilling everything he knew to her before they made it to the Lexington city limits.

“Chief Deputy Art Mullen, this is Clint Barton of the Avengers and …” he trailed off, uncertain how to introduce the Black Frickin’ Widow.

She stepped up and shook Art’s hand like a practiced politician. “Natasha Romanov. Lovely to meet you.”

The older man smiled and, while Tim couldn’t swear to it, appeared to blush like a schoolboy. “Likewise.”

Not to be outdone, Raylan smoothly inserted himself between them with his hand out and his 1000 megawatt gunslinger charm turned to ‘thermonuclear’. “Raylan Givens, Miss Romanov. Longtime admirer of your work.”

She giggled. The assassin actually fucking giggled and her nose wrinkled. “You can call me Natasha.”

Art watched this scene, the four of them talking amongst themselves, with apocalyptic levels of horror dawning on his face. The sheer amount of paperwork Raylan and Tim, hell Raylan by himself most days, generate was enough to fell a small forest. These folks together were an environmental crime waiting to happen. The potential bodycount of a Raylan and Romanoff team-up was nothing short of an imminent violation of the Geneva Convention. “Oh absolutely fucking not.”

All four heads turned in his direction, Raylan’s mouth already open and ready to rock, but he was having none of the bullshit.

“You,” Art pointed to the cowboy, “get in the car.”

“Bu—”

“Nope,” he held up the finger of doom, the finger of ‘unpaid time off if he kept on,’ it 3was one they were all exceptionally familiar with. “Car. Now.” Turning to Tim, he softened a bit. “Say your goodbyes, we have paperwork.”

Rather than argue, Tim merely nodded, cringing when he turned to face Clint. “Dad says I gotta go.”

Clint’s smirk was nothing short of wicked and it was suddenly a billion degrees around Tim. “I’ll be around tonight if you wanna meet up.”

“I’d like that just fine.” Anything else he wanted to say was cut off at a sound he rarely heard outside of the comforts of her mother’s house. A sound that stripped away the years and the edge to reveal a girl much more carefree. Deputy Marshal Rachel ‘I make suspects cry for funsies’ Brooks was standing off to the side and making googoo eyes at none other than the Brooklyn Boys. Captain Frickin America and the Winter Goddamn Soldier were flirting with his best friend and putting their numbers in her phone.

“See what you did?” Art demanded from behind him as he leaned against the closed passenger door of the sedan that sealed Raylan inside.

“Me?” Tim demanded in affront. “How is this my fault?”

Art’s face was a mask of vaguely amused sarcasm. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Well, now that’s just hurtful. Besides,” he threw his rifle bag in the trunk before slinking into the back seat on the driver’s side and meeting his friend’s eyes in the rearview mirror, “I thought that was Raylan.”

#avengers fan fiction #justified fanfiction #justified #justified fic #tim gutterson #tim gutterson fic #clint barton x tim gutterson #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton #avengers crossover fic #avengers and justified crossover #justified crossover fic #my writing

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letthewhumpbegin · 1 year

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Who / what fandoms I write for

Here's a list of the fandoms and the characters within said fandom I write about.

The characters listed will be the whumpees in the imagines I write. The caretaker does not specifically have to be on this list, but can be anyone from the same fandom (if you have a preference, please specify with your request).

Want to send in your request? I am currently only taking requests from my prompts list, which you can find here and you can also send in your request through there.

A-Team (movie): Face, Murdock

Aladdin (live action movie): Aladdin

American Assassin: Mitch Rapp

Avengers / Marvel: Ant-Man/Scott Lang, Captain America/Steve Rogers, Doctor Strange/Stephen Strange, Hawkeye/Clint Barton, Loki, Thor

The Batman (2022): Bruce Wayne

The Blacklist: Donald Ressler

Bullet Train: Tangerine

Criminal Minds: Spencer Reid

CSI: Greg Sanders, Nick Stokes

CSI NY: Danny Messer, Don Flack, Adam Ross

Dune: Paul Atreides

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: Newt Scamander, Theseus Scamander

Game of Thrones: Jon Snow, Robb Stark

Guardians of the Galaxy: Peter Quill

Hannibal (tv series): Will Graham

The Hobbit: Fili, Kili, Thorin, Thranduil

Inception: Arthur

James Bond (Daniel Craig era): James Bond, Q

Jurassic World: Owen Grady

Justified: Raylan Givens, Tim Gutterson

Kingsman: Eggsy Unwin

The Last of Us: Joel Miller

Lie to Me: Cal Lightman, Eli Loker

Lord of the Rings: Aragorn, Faramir, Legolas

MacGyver: Angus MacGyver

Maze Runner: Newt, Thomas

Now You See Me: Daniel Atlas

Olympus Has Fallen / London Has Fallen: Mike Banning

Our Flag Means Death: Ed Teach/Blackbeard

Pride + Prejudice + Zombies: Mr. Darcy

Prodigal Son: Malcolm Bright

The Purge (movies): Leo Barnes

Shadow & Bone / Six of Crow: Kaz Brekker, Jesper Fahey, Wylan van Eck

Sherlock (BBC): Sherlock Holmes

Star Trek (2009): Jim Kirk, Spock

Spiderman (Tom Holland era): Peter Parker

Star Wars: Poe Dameron

Supernatural: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Top Gun Maverick: Rooster/Bradley Bradshaw, Hangman/Jake Seresin

Uncharted (movie): Nathan Drake

Walking Dead: Daryl Dixon, Rick Grimes

Wonka: Willy Wonka

X-Men: Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy

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dispatchvampire · 5 years

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MASTERLIST

Updated 3/10/24

A bit of a caveat: No one under 18 please. These are not the stories you’re looking for.

Also, since my bio is being a pain in my ass, I wanted to be clear: I'm a grown adult (over 40), multiethnic, and she/her.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled reading.

AO3

Slow Burn: Brighter Than The Sun - Steve x EnhancedFem!OC (complete)

Warnings: Smut, fluff, angst, swearing (a lot)

Summary: Boy hears Girl sing. Boy meets Girl. It could be the great American love story except Girl has a dangerous secret and is now a wanted fugitive. And Guy is an All American hero.

Delilah Ford has had better weeks. Her life goes from ‘three shows a week’ to 'Escape from New York’ in the blink of an eye. And then there’s the guy.

Steve Rogers give up on an infatuation? Not bloody likely. First time he heard Delilah sing, it was like all the cracks in his heart had been filled with gold. It was healing and restorative in ways he couldn’t comprehend, and he knew he had to meet her. She was gorgeous, sweet, and had no idea who he was at first, which was refreshing.

And then the Feds tried to arrest her.

Pursued by the government is not the best time to fall in love.

Slow Burn: Out Go The Lights

Pairing - Steve Rogers x OC,

Warnings: Some swearing, minor violence, nothing terrible

Summary: Clint and Delilah go to a haunted house within a haunted house. Shenanigans ensue. It’s amusing and traumatic for everyone.

A/N: This is part of the Slow Burn series, and in the same universe as Brighter Than the Sun. It’s out of order but I wanted to share it because of Halloween

Part of the Slow Burn Series (drabbles coming soon)

With Benefits - Steve x Fem!OC (complete)

Warnings: Smut, nakedness, swearing, fluff

Summary: Xochitl Tecuani is a good soldier, a good Avenger, and hopelessly lusting after her team leader. Her crush on Cap is unfortunate at best and surely unrequited, or is it?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Bad Mistakes (I’ve Made A Few) - Clint x Tim Gutterson (Justified) (complete)

Warnings: Smut (M/M oral sex, drinking), fluff (kinda sorta, if you squint)

Summary: Two snipers, both alike in dignity, or something like that. A meet cute goes terribly awry when Tim stops by a bar for a drink and a game of pool and runs into Clint. The passion is hot and heavy while the bullets fly.

Part 1 of my Two Snipers series

Close Encounters of the Preferred Kind

Part 2 in my wholly unintentional Two Snipers series.

Rating: PG-13

Fandom: Justified/The Avengers (MCU) Crossover (kinda)

Pairing: Clint Barton/Tim Gutterson

Word Count: 2066

Warnings: Fluff (kinda sorta, if you squint), canon level violence, aliens, cussing, a lot of cussing.

Jump, Jive, & Wail - Bucky x Fem!OC

Pairing: Bucky x OC (in progress)

Warnings: Death by fluff, casual swearing, smut in later chapters

Series Summary: A bunch of interrelated of fluffy ficlets about Bucky and Grace. For a woman who’s more spice than sugar, she’s awfully sweet on him.

Chapter Summary: In which Bucky has the worst kept secret crush in the history of ever on the cute, new, tattooed teammate. Grace is shy but definitely interested, and just waiting on the right dance partner.

Playlist: I made a playlist as I wrote this in case you’d like a soundtrack as you read.

New York State of Mind (Clint x Fem!OC)

Word Count: 680

Warnings: unbeta’d, angst, character death, just all the sadness

Written for @ackeviddlestan ’s Clint Barton Song List Challenge

Prompt: #8 - New York State Of Mind

Pairing: Clint x Fem!OC

Rating: PG

Summary: She was his home. His time away. His peace of mind. Yeah, when he came back to the city from the compound, he came back to Brooklyn. His building. He came back to her as well. She was the one thing that he refused to give up under any circumstances.

(image credit for Succubus - Holly Woolford)

Someone To Watch Over Me - Bucky x EnhancedFem!OC (in progress)

Warnings: Smut (so much smut! M/F, Oral Sex (male and female receiving), toys, Bisexual OC), swearing, drinking, killing.

Summary: The five times Bucky watched Tela, the newest Avenger, and the one time she truly saw him.

A/N: Wanda’s of age, this just came from nowhere in my mind while I was working on something else and it needed a home. Many, many thanks to @stevieang for the beta. She is amazing and wonderful and you should read all her stuff.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Indecent Indulgences (complete)

Word Count: 9744

Warnings: Marvel AU, College!AU, No powers, Age gap, older woman/younger men, cougar on the prowl, Super spicy, Bisexual Steve and Bucky, Threesome F/M/M, PWP, Bucky Barnes has a filthy mouth, Steve does too, PIV sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral sex for everyone, completely self-indulgent and I'm not even a little bit ashamed.

Pairing: Stucky x Fem!OC

Rating: E

Summary:

There were lines. Lines she knew she shouldn't cross--couldn't cross--because Dr. Layla Ciccone knew that once she did there was no way back. Not for her. Not for them.

Layla's busy life hadn't had room for dating. A trauma surgeon at the local hospital, she had been content to raise her daughter alone after her divorce and any needs she had were met with something rechargeable and unlikely to leave her wanting.

That did not, however, stop her from wanting.

Her daughter's friends since childhood, Steve and James were by no means little boys anymore. Hadn't been for a while now. And ignoring the temptation they presented grew more difficult by the day.

There were lines Layla knew she shouldn't cross, but sometimes, the only way to overcome temptation is to give in to it.

A/N: I got this vibe after listening to 'Stacy's Mom', having been inspired to do so by reading @abbatoirablaze's story of the same title. Hers is about Jake Jensen and is a fantastic read, this is straight up Stucky porn.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

I Wanna Bake It With You - Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness

Summary:

Bucky’s a secret baker. A guy who throws down cupcakes like it’s going out of fashion as a way to handle his anxiety and nerves. And he’s nothing but a ball of nerves where you’re concerned.

You’re friends, besties even, but oh, what he wouldn’t give for something more.

A/N: This is my first reader-insert fic, so roast me if you gotta, but I think I did okay. This is a drabble, so there's two things outside of my normal comfort zone, and it's just something fluffy that's been kicking around my brain for forever. I have this vision of Beefy!Bucky baking and belting out Air Supply songs at top volume and it just brings me fucking life.

The Chain, The Magic Circle, & Us

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff

Relationship: Stucky x Avenger!reader (gender/appearance nonspecified)

Summary: You, Steve and Bucky share a hobby, and a learning curve.

A/N: Continuing in my supersoft supersoldiers theme, this is Stucky x reader fluff and I am wholly unashamed. Headcanon format

Accidentally In Love

Pairing: Stucky x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 6600-ish.

Summary:

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / ?

Damsel In This Dress

Warnings: Not many, probably mostly swearing. This is just a bit of fluff.

Rating: PG-13 mostly for language

WC: 1000-ish.

Summary: Layla finds herself stranded at a Stark gala, with her terrible ex circling like a shark. Enter an unlikely savior in the form of one smoking hot Winter Soldier.

Radio Free Bucky - Bucky x Fem!OC

Pairing: Bucky x OC (in progress)

Warnings: Fluff, mild angst, casual swearing, smut in later chapters

Series Summary: A bunch of interrelated of fluffy ficlets about Bucky and Penelope. Strangers in the night, tenuously connected by the past, finding their way together a little at a time.

Chapter Summary: In which Bucky has a birthday and someone unexpected knows about it.

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dispatchvampire · 5 years

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Bad Mistakes (I’ve Made A Few)

Author: Dispatchvampire (Lexipedia369)

Rating: M

Fandom: Justified/The Avengers (MCU) Crossover (kinda)

Pairing: Clint Barton/Tim Gutterson

Word Count: 3925

Warnings: Smut (M/M oral sex, drinking), fluff (kinda sorta, if you squint)

Synopsis: Two snipers, both alike in dignity, or something like that. A meet cute goes terribly awry when Tim stops by a bar for a drink and a game of pool and runs into Clint. The passion is hot and heavy while the bullets fly.

Author’s Notes: Not sure what happened here. I was watching a Tim/Raylan video from the Justified fandom, and my mind immediately jumped to shipping him with Clint. I’d say I’m ashamed except these two sassy human disasters have a fair bit in common and are both in need of some romantic attentions. This was fun to write and there are a couple cameos from other fandoms (NCIS:NOLA and In Plain Sight). Oh, and the mood board was all me, with picture credit going to their varying photographers.

Didn’t matter what city he was in, all dive bars looked about the same at 1:30am. There were the regulars holding up the bar or pretending to watch the game as they marinated their livers, the loners killing time until it was socially acceptable to make a bad decision worse, and of course, the guys shooting pool either because they were good at it or because they had no problem lightening their wallets. Loud enough to keep conversations sparse and drinking at the forefront. His kinda place.

This was where Tim Gutterson found himself on a Friday night after a few hours on a plane from Lexington. He’d hit the hotel the Marshal’s Service had chosen for him, but that was just to drop off his stuff before he could disappear into the fabric of a town he only saw on Memorial Day for his annual pilgrimage to drink heavily in Arlington Cemetery. Sometimes living on was a bigger bitch than advertised.

In town for a weeklong protection detail as a sniper, he didn’t have to report until the following day, but there was nothing on the books that said he couldn’t hit town a little early and reconnoiter or some such shit. And by ‘reconnoiter’, he meant ‘drink until his liver repents and then two or three more for good measure.’ Oh, he’d still be good for the job, he could shoot a rifle in his sleep, but the alcohol would definitely render the District tolerable.

Sipping a beer or three on a barstool off to the side with a good line of sight for the door and the rest of the joint, he watched a tall, blond drink of water work his way through a long line of volunteer victims at the pool table. He normally wasn’t one to ogle a man in a place like this, but from his semi-secluded spot in the corner under a flickering neon beer sign, he figured he was safe enough that it wouldn’t harm anything.

The guy was up at least a couple hundred bucks, taking their money cheerfully and without boasts. He’s just a guy giving a clinic instead of playing a game. And damn but the guy was pretty.

Tall with spikes of wheat blond hair that went a little bit of everywhere in a way that was both artful and likely unintentional, on the honed and carved side of thin with a sleeveless purple shirt that showed off his sexy arms and chest, and jeans tight enough that his palms itched with the urge to explore. That ass should not be legal. “You want next?”

The playful voice derailed his train of thought, obviously so immersed in his musings about the hottie at the pool table he missed the end of the game and said hottie addressing him directly. “Who, me?” It was more a stalling tacting than a question while his brain took a second to catch up to the moment at hand instead of getting lost in the bottle glass blue eyes and obscenely sensual pink lips smirking in his direction.

The man methodically attended to the tip of the pool cue with a small cube of blue chalk, a tiny smile curling his lips and a slight flush to his cheeks. Blinking slowly, he made a show of taking in the area around them. “No one else here,” he answered, voice soft, raspy, like velvet against skin.

“Sure.” Tim’s boots hit the ground as he stood, feeling both the challenge and like a bit of diversion may be just what he needed. Grabbing a cue from the rack on the wall, he checked it for warping, settling on the fourth one he found before casually sidling up to the table and taking the chalk from his opponents outstretched hands. “What’s the buy in?”

“I’ll go easy on you and make it $20.”

Tim winked as he took his wallet was out with a bill folded neatly beneath the chalk. “You’re too kind.” He was absolutely not leisurely perusing his ass as the man bent over the table to shag the free balls and corral them into the rack on the felt. “You wanna break or you want me to?”

Blondie licked his lips as he smiled indulgently, a hand out as the picture of magnanimity. “By all means.” His arms were art, all perfectly defined biceps, tris, and forearms. It wasn’t a stretch at all to imagine them holding him up against the wall, and… yeah. Okay, so maybe his libido had hit a bit of a dry spell but damn if this guy didn’t look like rain.

The quick peek of his tongue over his lips shot a streak of heat straight through him, but Tim ignored it for the battle in front of him. He was here to play, but he wasn’t here to lose, and something told him his new friend was going to regret offering him the opening.

******

In a night full of lackluster beer and the occasionally decent pool-player, Clint had been bored. A bored Clint is a dangerous Clint, or at least once prone to some sketchy impromptu decision-making. Even though he knew he should hang it up and get a couple hours sleep before the job he had to do in the morning—the one he’d come to town specifically to do—the moment this new distraction had walked in the door, he knew his night had taken a turn.

No one shows up this late in the evening without a bit of mischief in mind. There were rules, after all. His hope, and to be fair his dick’s hope, was that their definitions of mischief would line up enough to benefit them both.

From his barstool perch next to the wall, Clint watched the man with the tousled, shaggy brown hair as he approached the head of the table, all long legs and swagger. He was about 6’, wiry but muscular with forearms that challenged the integrity of the rolled up sleeves of his open black button down and the bearing of someone who’d spent a fair bit of time in the sandbox answering to Uncle Sam’s call. He could fill out a pair of jeans, though, sinfully well.

In truth, he’d spotted him when he’d come in the bar, noticing the newcomer both for his out-of-place vibe as well as his inherent hotness. Local cop or Fed, he couldn’t tell, but then, he also really didn’t care: the gun discreetly holstered at the small of his back was a dead giveaway. In Clint’s line of work, it paid to be wary, even as he eye-fucked him a little bit. This wasn’t his neighborhood local, or Brooklyn, or someplace he could disappear fairly easily if necessary, so mindful was better than the alternative.

The break was authoritative, strong, with quite a bit more oomph than he was accustomed to this late at night in a dive bar on the outskirts of Georgetown. No less than two balls fell and the way the guy licked his lips while surveying the table damn near made him purr.

“Nice leave,” he murmured around a sip from his bottle, hoping to cover for his suddenly flushed face and breathless voice.

Mr. Hotness rolled a shoulder in a bored shrug and drawled, “My ball-handling ability has never been in question.”

Clint’s bottle of beer settled hard against the table next to him after it slipped out of his fingers from the shock of the unexpected flirtation in the unreasonably sexy southern twang. “I’ll take your word for it,” he replied as soon as he picked his jaw up off the floor. He’d been debating the merits of flirting with this stranger, so the shot across the bow was definitely an eye-opener, in the best possible way.

“Too much?” The man asked with a wicked smirk over his shoulder as he stretched out over the table to check the angles for a highly intricate combo.

“No such thing,” he answered honestly, enjoying the banter while marveling at his luck. Finding someone hot who seemed to enjoy flirting back was rarer than a four leaf clover.

“Good.” His opponent winked then tapped the corner by Clint with the tip of the pool cue. “Three rails and corner pocket.”

Clint snorted, both in disbelief and a bit of arousal at the brashness the other man showed, giving way to downright impressed as he not only made the shot, but left himself lined up perfectly for his next. “Jesus.” This was the first promising adversary he’d had all night in addition to being the sexiest. Competence got to him Every. Single. Time.

Running his fingers through his unruly, dark hair, the man at the table had a cocky grin that was all teeth and dimples. “I’d like to think I’m better lookin’, but okay.”

That accent was doing things to Clint and making his jeans just a bit too tight to be comfortable. Deep and maybe a little laconic, tinged with a Southern cadence and flavor. “You’re not from around here.” He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement as it tumbled past his lips. He was admittedly terrible at small talk, but that accent was hitting his brain like the pornographic version of an etch-a-sketch, all thoughts wiped but still desperately turned on.

The brunet lifted his head and winked at him as he nailed a no-look bank shot into the side pocket, that was so pretty Clint damn near teared up. “Neither are you.” He circled the table to plot his next move, down to one solid and the eight ball.

“Fair.” He dipped his head, mesmerized by the skill on display as the man made another shot and lined up for the killing blow. The way his ass looked as he bent low to line up his shot, he wasn’t even mad about it. It was over in an instant and he never even got to step up to the table.

The waitress came around and collected their bottles as she informed them of last call, and Clint knew what he had to do. Sauntering up to the man who’d (turned him on so completely) beaten him soundly, he stuck out a hand with his winnings in it. “Damn fine game.”

He quickly stuffed the cash in his wallet before shaking the archer’s hand with a shy grin. “Thanks.”

“I’m Clint.” He was already in for a penny, right?

The man hung his cue up on the wall and cocked his head to the side, regarding him with a flirty grin. “Nice to meet you. Tim.”

Feeling the warmth of the other man’s hand, calloused fingertips and sure grip, he decided to just go for it. “You wanna get outta here?”

Tim blinked slowly as a truly naughty grin unfurled across his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

******

Dear Penthouse... he laughed at himself even as his head slammed back against the wall, this was the kind of shit that happened to Raylan. He’d never been one to just meet someone and immediately find some dark corner to indulge their baser inclinations. Maybe the cowboy was rubbing off on him, and not in the way he’d anticipated.

Tim certainly never expected to meet a hot Fed—the gun on his hip carefully disguised by the rumpled t-shirt kind of advertised, and nothing about him at all said ‘local boy’—much less end up in the alley behind the bar deliciously smothered by a solidly muscular body while his mouth devoured him from the inside out. The brick bit into the thin cotton of his shirt as he finally—finally—got his hands on that perfectly shaped ass. Fingers digging into the muscle with just the right amount of give making the blond gasp as he buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck,” Clint breathed in his ear as he slotted his thigh between Tim’s, strong hands on his hips lifting him against the wall to grind considerable stiffness against him. “Tim, I want…” Plush lips soft and wet against the stubble on his jaw, biting kisses that trail back to his lips, needy moans muffled by the lips fused to his own.

“Yeah…” he panted dropping his head back to the wall behind him, not quite sure what he just agreed to, but the way the other man was palming his cock over his jeans had him ready to go along with just about anything he suggested. The way Clint whimpered as he sank to his knees on the ground in front of him damn new melted him on the spot, as his belt and jeans fell open in record time.

Clint looked at him like he was the first meal he’d had in weeks as he dipped his fingers past the crinkled waistband of his boxers. Painfully hard, Tim couldn’t hold back the hiss of pleasure as Clint’s sure and steady hand wrapped around his cock and stroked him from base to tip.

For a second his conscience reminded him that in addition to sorely embarrassed and likely prosecuted, he stood a very real chance of being fired from the Marshal’s Service if they got caught, not to mention the absolutely legendary ass-chewing he’d receive from his boss, Art. At least, it crossed his mind right before Clint shoved his boxer briefs down to his thighs and attempted to swallow him whole.

Threading his fingers through the spikey blond hair, Tim groaned softly as Clint’s tongue worked its magic massaging his cock as his head bobbed on the thick shaft. The tiny little purrs and whimpers at the back of his throat vibrated around the sensitive flesh, stealing the breath from his lungs and setting his skin ablaze. He was a flame, an ember, the pleasurable sensations branding themselves along his nerve endings and leaving him whimpering, whining, a barely verbal mess skating along the razor’s edge of need.

“Please, jesus fuck please, Clint…” his words failed as glistening blue eyes gazed up at him. His breath hitched as the man on his knees swallowed around the tip of his cock, taking him all the way down to the root. There were no words, a keening wail covered by his own shirtsleeve, leaving him wrung out and wrecked, just beyond the reach of the neon lights and the social mores that would have otherwise constrained them.

Rolling nimbly to his feet, Clint braced a hand on the wall next to his head, leaning down to take his lips again, the taste of his cum filthy on his tongue as they wound around each other like they had all the time in the world now. And maybe they did. Work would be done in the morning, but for now, they had the night and honestly, he was good with that.

“So,” he drew the word out as his fingertips wandered over the intricately carved landscape that was Clint’s chest and abs on his way to the button of his jeans. “You have someplace we can go where I can return the favor?”

“As a matter of fact…”

******

“Aw coffee, yes” Clint moaned as he all but assaulted the industrial three-pot coffee machine in the tiny the Federal courthouse break room, filling up his travel mug and pounding it down in a few healthy gulps before pouring himself another. It was going to be that kind of day. Would it look bad if he came to his seat with his mug and a couple more cups besides? Does he really care, is the real question.

God damn, but last night was incredible. His knees were still mad about the concrete alley shenanigans, but the cause had been righteous, and watching Tim come apart because of his lips and tongue was beyond hot. Everything that came after was the kind of thing that needed a dedicated Pornhub channel, and damn if he wasn’t pleased about it. Thank Thor he was flexible.

Even better, he was staying at the same hotel, so instead of having to grab an Uber back home when he left, all Clint had to do was make it down to his floor. He was proud of the couple hours sleep he’d managed to get in, but the day was going to be long and goddammit, he was out of coffee again. Before he could snag another refill, though, he saw everyone filing into the dimly lit press room and figured he should follow suit.

It was alphabet soup in the courthouse today, with guns from the FBI, USMS, NCIS, and several other lettered agencies crowded down the aisles, stuffing themselves in rows of seats way too small to accommodate their frames and their sidearms, and so far, he’d only seen one person he recognized from an joint-op FBI in Louisiana. Unfortunately the seat next to her was taken, as were most of the ones in the first few rows, leaving him to scramble into one of the open spots in the next to the last row closest to the exit. Good thing he sees better from a distance. He hated sitting with his back to the door, but this was probably the safest place on the planet to do so outside of Avengers Tower.

“Allright, if someone would get that door, we’ll start.” The man at the head of the press room in front of the projection screen was the kind of tall Clint normally associated with Steve. Regal, commanding, with short dark hair, sharp, hawkish features and the kind of no-nonsense expression he figured came standard once your security clearance got high enough, he wore a flatteringly tight navy blue t-shirt with ‘POLICE’ emblazoned in gold on the front and a pair of jeans that would have been noteworthy in their aesthetic merit on any other occasion.

Not that he was lusting after the SAC. Really. Jesus, one night of extracurricular entertainment and he’d clearly lost his damn mind. He needed more coffee, desperately.

“I’m Deputy Chief Marshall Mann of the Marshal’s Service, and I’m coordinating the security detail for the United States v. Anselmo.” Clint’s tiny snort of amusement at the unfortunately named Marshal touched off a ripple of amused snickers through the room, but the man just took it in stride with a bored smile and an eyeroll that suggested this wasn’t the first time. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Laugh it up. When I asked your agencies for their best sharpshooters, they sent me you chuckleheads. I feel like I should do a better job of masking my disappointment, and yet…”

Clint choked back a chuckle. Alright, this guy? This guy he could work for, no problem. Confident but not cocky, he had an air of competence and no-bullshit attitude that reminded him a great deal of Phil.

The briefing was thorough, a protection detail for a hotly contested federal court case with numerous credible threats against the witnesses involved. Packets full of potential suspects were handed out for study, pictures and dossiers of potential targets projected onto the screen as well as identifying features. As far as jobs went, it was pretty standard, room full of heavy hitters notwithstanding.

When they broke for lunch, Clint had his head down finishing up his notes when he was shoulder checked, hard, strewing the dossier packet on the floor all around him and sending his coffee mugs, plural, rolling out into the aisle.

“Aww, paperwork, no…” he all but whined, seeing the last of his life-elixir drain out of the clearly misnamed ‘spill-proof’ lid and onto the carpet. Not that anyone could tell the difference really for the years of wear and stains already present, but he would know and mourn accordingly. Right after he got another few cups in him.

“Are you sure you’re an acrobat? Because you are damn clumsy.”

Even in his pouting over his dissipated beverage, that voice made him smile. “I have no idea how you manage to be both sunshine and a pain in my ass, and yet here we are.”

“It’s a gift.” Special Agent Tammy Gregorio beamed at him before pulling him in for an exuberant hug. With her long curly dark hair and big dark eyes, she was easily one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and that had been only because she’d wanted Tasha’s phone number. In her uncharacteristically casual Yankees cap and ponytail combo with her fitted navy shirt and jeans, he could see the eyes of the other male agents tracking them with abject jealousy. “How in the hell are you, Barton?”

“Doin’ alright. How’s the FBI been treating you?” He collected his belongings quickly into his rucksack and tossed the extraneous cups in the trash.

“Eh…” she grimaced, clearly looking for the polite answer, not that he blamed her given their surroundings, the walls had surveillance equipment in addition to eyes and ears. “It’s a long story. How’s about we talk about it over lunch?”

The Brooklyn in her voice warmed his heart and gave him a sense of home, not that he’d tell her that for fear of catching a fist to the jaw. She wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. Hiking his bag up over his shoulder, he held the door to the press room open for her. “You’re buyin’, I’m goin’.”

Linking her arm through his, she laughed softly. “Come on then, I got a buddy waitin’ for me downstairs.”

“Oooh, is he hot?” He asked as they took the main staircase to the ground floor and out the front doors. One of the first things he and Tammy figured out about each other was their mutual disinterest in that side of things. With each other. He’d lusted after her partner at the time—an unreasonably sexy Polish-Jewish guy named Jubal… something—and she’d been in love with Natasha since the moment the redheaded Russian landed at Louis Armstrong Airport.

“He was the guy sitting next to me in the front row.” At his clueless shrug, she rolled her eyes indulgently. “See for yourself.”

Clint felt his heart drop for a moment and then race back up to lodge in his throat as his eyes followed her outstretched hand to the shaded park bench across the street. Sitting there, cool as you please in his sunglasses and well-worn jeans with his ankle resting on the opposite knee, was—

“Tim!” The brunet looked up the moment she called his name, and even behind his dark lenses, Clint could see the color drain out of his face and slip beneath the collar of his black t-shirt. “This is the guy I was telling you about. Clint Barton,” she gestured to him, “this is Tim Gutterson with the Marshal’s Service. He was a Ranger before he went Fed.” Unsure of the protocol, Clint offered his hand because it was polite, and Tammy kept right on talking, oblivious to the tsunami of sexual tension that just flooded the immediate vicinity. “Tim, Clint’s with SHIELD and he’s also—”

“With the Avengers,” Tim supplied, taking his hand as his lips twitched. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise.” The touch of skin, so warm in the daylight felt so filthy and it was an act of sheer willpower that his cock remained in the SFW position with him so close. He even smelled good, dammit.

Tammy turned him loose with a satisfied grin and took off at a brisk pace. “Alright, so my favorite sushi bar is right around the corner….”

It was going to be a long week.

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