Chapter Text
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A god was straddling Clint’s lap, strong thighs a comforting bracket around his hips. A hand gently cupped the back of his neck while its twin threaded calloused fingers through his hair. Apollo’s lips were soft and he tasted impossibly of sunlight and warm summer days.
He kissed slowly, tenderly, as if Clint were some fantastical being, liable to dissolve in his arms if he made any sudden movements.
Clint had seen Apollo dissolve too many times to discount that possibility, especially when he tilted his head just so and any thoughts the mortal had managed to cling to fled him as he melted into the couch, Apollo leaning forward to chase his lips.
The immortal’s weight shifted at the movement, pressing against him heavily. He felt his own vocal cords vibrate; the sound too quiet for him to hear. A moment later a responding hum filled his mind, deep and sweet and warm. The sound made him shiver and pull his lover closer, clutching at the soft fabric of his shirt.
Clint had been hard of hearing for as long as he could remember, though his hearing had worsened with age and then settled at exactly 50% deaf in each ear the first time he’d met Apollo. He caught some sounds better than others, but had never been able to differentiate the subtle qualities of human voices without the filter of his hearing aids.
At least, not until Apollo, and his voice that bypassed his ears and resonated in his mind itself. Through Apollo, he could finally latch onto the tones that changed meanings in a way he’d never quite understood. With one person’s voice, he got a glimpse into the subtleties of vocal communication.
Almost as if he knew this and was trying to show Clint as much of a variety as he could, Apollo’s voice seemed to change every time they met. Sometimes higher, sometimes lower. Sometimes almost piercingly clear and resonant, other times soft and muted. Always achingly, hopelessly beautiful. Today Apollo’s voice was as low as it had ever been, and Clint’s breath caught in his throat at the sound.
The smug bastard knew it, too. He could feel the god’s self-satisfied grin against his skin. The trailing caress of curly hair against Clint’s skin made him shiver as those clever lips mouthed warm kisses down his neck. Apollo reached Clint’s firm shoulder and paused there, just a chaste press of his lips as he breathed steadily and gave another pleased hum.
“Are you smelling my shoulder right now?” Clint asked incredulously, once his mental faculties had properly recovered.
He opened his eyes and craned his neck slightly to look over at his god. Molten gold eyes blinked lazily back at him from behind thick blonde lashes.
Apollo drew back slowly, his movements bringing to mind nothing so much as the languid stretch of a particularly satisfied housecat. His hands trailed down Clint’s neck and settled on his shoulders, holding eye contact the whole time.
“Can’t a god appreciate the evidence of such skill in his own domain?” He crooned in that deep, rich voice, hands squeezing at the well-built muscles of Clint’s shoulders.
Clint felt another sound escape his throat, and though he still couldn’t hear it, he suspected it was a somewhat pathetic whimper. Blood rushed to his cheeks from embarrassment, but Apollo’s smile only grew.
Tanned calloused fingers rose to steer his chin up, and soft lips pressed a sweet peck against his own. The accompanying chuckle was like the rumbling of far-off thunder, and it made Clint seriously consider dissolving right then and there—just on principle. He graciously elected not to, and instead chased after his god and captured those heavenly lips with his own.
Time seemed to slow in a honey-thick haze as they traded warm touches and soft sounds between them. The satin slide of tongue against tongue and the thrill of Apollo’s hand pulling lightly at his hair made the world fade down to the two of them.
Clint let himself explore the planes of his god’s arms and back, sunk his fingers into silky hair. It was a light honey color today, longer than usual, and it tumbled in ringlets past Apollo’s shoulders.
At some point, the blood in Clint’s body stopped flooding his cheeks and instead directed its efforts elsewhere. Apollo made a sound of delighted interest and shifted his hips down and Clint… froze.
His blood immediately ran cold, and an uncomfortable knot grew in his stomach. This hadn’t happened yet. Not with Apollo.
But of course, good things could never last. He’ll leave, a voice whispered in Clint’s mind. They always leave.
The thought made his heart ache sharply and nausea clawed its way up the back of his throat. But maybe this time he could push through the discomfort and do enough to make him stay.
Apollo started to pull back, clearly noticing something was wrong. Clint pulled him in and kissed him soundly to stop the questions from escaping his lover’s lips. He clutched desperately at Apollo’s faded Angelic Upstarts tee-shirt and pushed his own hips up to grind against the god.
He had to swallow down the reflexive gag, cold sweat breaking out over his body.
Apollo pulled back, one impossibly strong hand pushing his shoulder down and the other stilling the movement of Clint’s hips. “Stop,” Apollo said, deep voice ringing with concern.
Clint struggled desperately, trying to go back to what they’d had just a few moments ago before he’d had to go and ruin everything. “Please stop,” Apollo repeated. “Clint, honey, you’re crying.”
Oh. So that was why his vision was so blurry. He gave up, going limp, and his god released the restraining grip in favor of wiping at the tears as they ran hot lines of misery down Clint’s face. Those strong, calloused hands were heartbreakingly gentle as they cradled his chin, and Clint could feel Apollo’s intent stare even as he closed his own eyes to escape it.
Everything felt like it was crumbling, the ecstatic high from earlier plummeting. He felt cold, suddenly, even with the literal god of sunlight right there with him. The world was cold and buzzing and he felt like he was going to shake out of his skin and dissolve at any moment—in a decidedly bad way, this time.
Clint’s mind raced and his fingers twitched, clinging onto the worn material of Apollo’s threadbare shirt like a lifeline as his lungs began to shudder and stutter with each breath.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart,” Apollo said, and even with only a few months of practice reading tone, Clint could hear the panic in that voice. “Do you need some space? Should I back off a little?” That blessed weight on his legs withdrew slightly and Clint felt like he was going to float away.
He panicked, shaking his head vigorously as he pulled on the fabric in his fists. No, no, nononononono don’t leave don’t leavemealoneagain please don’t leave. His ears were ringing, and Clint genuinely couldn’t tell if he was talking or not, but something must have gotten the message across because suddenly there were arms around him again.
“Okay, okay. I’ve got you,” his god said hurriedly. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart, I promise. I’ve got you.” Clint sobbed in relief as he was gathered forward into a firm embrace, just this side of crushing.
His head was tucked into the crook of a neck, soft curls hiding his face from the world. A hand rubbed up and down his back in steady strokes and he was rocked slowly from side to side in those arms.
Like a child.
It was mortifying to lose it like this over something everyone else actively desired. He shook, desperately trying to catch his breath and reign in his tears.
It felt like pulling and twisting a rubber band back onto itself over and over again, but after several long moments, he managed to collect himself and took a fortifying breath before forcing his hands to unclench and release the god in front of him.
Apollo was having exactly none of that. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Just let it all out, alright? I’ve got you. I’ll be here for as long as you want me.”
And he really meant that, too.
What an asshole. “You’re such an asshole,” he said aloud, his throat tight.
“Uh huh.” Apollo agreed easily, running his fingers through the short hair at the base of Clint’s neck. “I’m terrible, really.”
That rubber band snapped, and Clint broke into full sobs, finally letting himself wrap his arms around Apollo and cling.
“There we go.” Warm lips pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Clint’s head. “Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”
Those honeyed words in that low, warm voice made him shiver in a slightly less terrible way and he kind of hated that Apollo had such a profound effect on him.
“Fuck you.”
“Hmmm no, I don’t think you will.” Apollo said. Clint genuinely couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a joke or if Apollo had misheard somehow.
He might have laughed, or maybe those were just particularly obnoxious sobs. “Shut up,” he said, clinging harder.
“Too soon?”
Clint just shook his head and burrowed further into his god’s embrace.
It was a long time before his body stopped shuddering, the cold buzz retreating from his veins. His head pounded, his eyes were sore, his nose was stuffy, and he was pretty sure he’d gotten snot and tears all over the shoulder of Apollo’s old band shirt.
He withdrew, finally, from the circle of Apollo’s arms. His god let him retreat with one last squeeze and leaned back, still straddling his lap in a position that would have made any mortal’s limbs go numb ages ago.
Clint had apparently been sweating this whole time because when the air hit his slightly damp skin, he was suddenly cold all over again. Clint felt a bit like that band shirt, all wrung out and stretched and covered in bodily fluids.
Apollo raised one hand and ran a thumb over Clint’s cheek. Warmth flooded him, and his congested headache receded under the gentle push of the healer’s power. He caught that hand and pressed a kiss to the palm in gratitude.
Dating the god of healing did have its benefits, he supposed, even if the guy was a jerk who made him feel all the stupid emotions that he’d rather shove into a little box and ignore for the rest of eternity.
“I’m gonna have a shower,” he said quietly. Or, well, he thought he’d said it quietly. It was hard to tell without the hearing aids. Regardless of the volume, Apollo nodded in understanding and clambered gracelessly off his lap to curl up on the couch.
Clint’s legs tingled slightly, pins and needles from having a grown-ass man on top of him for gods know how long. He pushed through the discomfort and stood up, stretching lightly as he padded over to his bedroom to grab some clothes to change into.
He glanced over his shoulder as he left the living room, and met Apollo’s eyes—the other man had been watching him intently. Apollo tilted his head slightly to the side, expression unreadable but eyes warm. “Take your time,” he said gently. “I’ll be here when you come back.”
Clint grunted eloquently and went to wash the stale sweat off.