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Clint kisses Phil's lips right up until he shuts them away. When he fastens a cock ring around Phil, every pass of the roll of wrap, when he kneads those little balls of wax between his fingers and molds them into Phil's ears. The last thing to go on is the hood, and Clint kisses each eyelid and then his lips before he puts it on.
And that's it. Sometimes Clint leaves the mouth open and teases Phil with his fingers or his cock, but tonight after one last sweet kiss, he slowly zips it shut to leave Phil floating in a tight hot world of black.
Phil can feel Clint's hands pressing against his body as if they're somehow further away than he knows them to be, down his chest, his arms, his hips. As though they're packing him in even tighter. There's a double tap against the back of his hand, left free but still pinned to his side. He puts his thumb up and Clint squeezes it before moving down further, pressing against Phil's thighs and knees and shins.
When he gets to Phil's feet, left free of the wrap just as other parts of Phil have been, Clint strokes a finger up both soles and Phil can't help but jerk and whimper, but it's muffled inside his head and inside the hood, and he doesn't know what he sounds like from outside it all. It's just one more element to remove him from himself, beholden to his body and to Clint.
Phil never expected them to ever really do this stuff. It was borne of Phil's awkward squirming during an episode of a cop show they watched where the psycho of the week had a victim wrapped in plastic. At first Clint feared it was the crazy murderous aspect, but it was the restriction aspect that had Phil shifting in his seat, and when that came out, Clint went full steam ahead with it, eager to give Phil something as Phil so freely gives to him.
When they talk about doing this, Clint talks of Phil being his 'toy' for the night. It started as a joke, Clint mentioning that the whole process, being wrapped up tight with just his cock free made Phil practically an extremely deluxe dildo, but it made Phil catch his breath enough that that's what it became.
Phil lies there and wonders if Clint's talking, what he's doing beyond rubbing his feet. That's another part of the excitement though: not knowing what's happening beyond the small windows of himself that are allowed freedom. Sometimes Clint sets things up beforehand: a laptop with some porn, bowls of ice and tubs of warming gel, other things that make Phil shiver with anticipation like chillis, scouring pads and ginger. There's a sound, a few vibrators, a sleeve that fits snugly around Phil's cock... but this time, nothing was laid out for him to see beforehand so he can only guess as to what Clint will use tonight. He never leaves Phil for long when he's like this, touching his hand if he steps away with two sharp squeezes and then again when he comes back, but it's only for seconds at a time.
There's a warm wet pressure on his big toe and he knows Clint's sucking it, pushing his tongue between that and the second one before moving his mouth to rove over each in turn, gently using his teeth to tease him. It’s at once ecstatic and terrifying, since it feels like it would be so easy for Clint to just nip one off, bite off a toe and leave him there. He knows he wouldn't, knows it would take more than what Clint's doing to do that, but his animal instinct screams at him to stop what is happening and he can't. He just has to lie there and take it.
His cock, hard since the first slick sound of the wrap, sways gently in the air, cool compared to the rest of his skin, trapped and breathless inside those layers of unforgiving plastic. He can feel it jump along with Clint's toothy exploration of his feet and isn't sure what he wants to happen. As soon as Clint starts teasing his cock, it'll become unbearable and wonderful, torturous and perfect at the same time. A barbed gift that he's not sure he wants yet.
Phil breathes hard through his nose at another tug at one of his toes and finds Clint's fingers tapping the back of his hand again. He hesitates a moment before putting his thumb up, so Clint taps him once more. This time Phil takes a moment before putting his hand flat. He's alright for a little more.
It's a complicated little language they've built over time, a few more hues than the verbal version of traffic lights. A hand flat is a soft 'I want something else', a flat hand with spread fingers is a hard request to move on. A fist is a full stop. If Clint's not asking for Phil's feedback, Phil can click his fingers to get his attention. Clint has his own set of squeezes and taps, Phil's hand the one point of communication between the two. Sometimes they use it at other times, a secret language for dinner parties and galas that no one but Natasha’s ever noticed and called them on.
Clint threatens to bite off a few more toes before relenting, kissing them instead before moving off. He holds Phil's hand and seems to move away, and then Phil can feel him kiss where the zip on his hood is, a brief pressure before it's gone and instead there's a sharp jolt of cold on one of Phil's nipples. An icy drop of water finds its way under the edge of the wrap to trickle down and over Phil's fever-hot skin, and then the same cold is at his other nipple, gone as soon as it's there and then replaced by Clint's hot mouth instead. Where the ice came from, Phil has no idea, but he can barely think about it when Clint takes turns between using his mouth on one nipple and the ice cube on the other, switching over to suck and bite at each in turn til Phil isn't sure which is which, hot or cold.
The icecube disappears then, and rough fingers pinch each nipple before leaving them and finding Phil's hand again. Given the all-clear, Clint moves to breathe over the warm skin on Phil's balls. It's cold breath, and Phil’s already so gone that he can't work out why before the cold of the ice is back, on his balls this time and surrounded by Clint's lips. He's sucked and kissed and made so cold with it that it's painful and alarming and blessed relief too. Phil can feel the heat of his own sweat slicking between his skin and the wrap, too hot and too close and too everything, made even more so by Clint's hot mouth and the ice inside it.
He can't move or buck up or even beg like this, so his entire world focusses on that melting sliver of ice in Clint's mouth and the way it slowly gives way to Clint just sucking and nipping at his balls before he moves up to tease Phil's dick. Clint goes so slowly when he does this, like he's trying to use just the very tip of his tongue to coat Phil's cock with saliva as thoroughly and precisely as he can. It's torturous. He's humming, Phil thinks, because there's another layer of sensation that colours the curls of Clint's wet tongue over his skin. He's sure of it when he finally wraps his lips over the head of Phil's cock, vibrating down onto him and pulling off slow.
And then he's gone again, tapping Phil's hand and squeezing no when Phil asks for more. The next thing Phil feels is vibration again, but stronger, mechanical. Nudged up against Phil's balls and then held there somehow. Clint checks again at the same time as closing his lips over the head of Phil's cock once more and Phil can't co-ordinate himself to motion yes fast enough. He knows he's making noises, undignified moans and grunts that he can only hear through the vibrations inside his head. The hood is too tight for him to open his mouth and speak, but it's a comfort, being able to let himself go completely and be this undignified thing.
The pressure of Clint's mouth leaves Phil and then he's a weight on Phil's stomach, legs either side of him, brushing against Phil's hands. He wants to reach to them and stroke them properly, get a hold of that glorious muscle and skin that he can't see beyond the glistening god that Clint is in his head.
Clint's hands are on Phil's cock again, but a new angle, and then Phil can feel himself being pressed against slick skin for the shortest moment before he slips into a tight, hot pressure. His balls press harder against the vibrator when Clint sinks all the way down on 'his dildo' before he slides back up, then back again til he's fucking himself on Phil's cock with abandon.
Things come and go after that since Phil loses himself to it utterly, his whole world dialed down to the pressure around his cock and the vibration on his balls, his nipples being pinched and pulled, the heat all around and inside him. He's a thing for Clint to play with, nothing more, just bits to be touched and rubbed, a dildo for Clint to fuck himself on, a pair of nipples for him to tease. He won't get to come, not til Clint's done, satisfied with his game, it's not up to Phil to decide anyway, helpless against Clint's ministrations. It's like he's not there at all, just his most important parts, and it makes him feel needed and an extravagance at the same time.
Phil feels more than listens to the dull thuds of his own heartbeat in the dark, faster and faster as Clint works over his cock. It doesn't feel like sex, it's something else entirely, just pleasure and little daubs of pain that light him up from the inside, and Phil's mind swims with thoughts of deep sea creatures swimming in the black, bright blips of bioluminescence. There's pressure everywhere, Phil's cock neatly inside the heat of Clint and his body tightly bound too, restricted and small and passive.
There's a tap against the back of Phil's hand again and he tries to grab Clint's fingers, like an anchor to keep him from drifting off completely. Phil tells him that it's alright, that he's ok so far away like this, and Clint holds on and says that he loves him.
The orgasm inside Phil feels big, like somehow more of his body beyond his cock and his balls is readying for a final explosion. He feels it like hot embers running over his skin, waves of them flitting across his edgeless consciousness. The wonderful pressure around him holds him there, vibrations humming and numbing while Clint keeps riding him through it, over and over and over, tight and hot and slick like Phil is, like Clint's fucking himself on all of Phil at once. He's moaning, crying out from deep inside himself, sounds drawn out the same as the orgasm that flies out of him, everything a cacophony of felt sound and gutful sensation.
Phil squeezes Clint's hand and he slows, til he's barely moving on his spent cock, but tightening around him rhythmically as he jerks himself to completion. It's a little too much, and Clint sometimes keeps going, but tonight he slides off slowly to leave Phil's wet cock swaying in the air. All Phil can feel is the soft kiss of cool air on his wet dick, a pressure on his chest that's probably Clint cleaning him up.
When Clint taps again, Phil holds on once more, and he doesn't know how long it is that they stay like that, just Clint's hand in his and his cock slowly softening, letting him draw himself back in completely so he's just a set of thoughts floating in the void. Clint squeezes his hand after some small eternity and Phil nods.
Clint gets the hood off fast, cool air rushing to caress Phil's face. The lights are low for his eyes to readjust, but he sees Clint's face, flushed and smiling, and Phil smiles back slowly. They still don't speak, and Clint holds Phil's hand again until Phil squeezes and tips his head to one side for the wax to be taken out. Clint does it quickly, looking down on him with patience and grace that Phil won’t ever get over.
"How are you doing?" Clint asks softly, brushing fingers through Phil's sweaty hair. He smiles and closes his eyes in answer, making a little noise he's unable not to make that sounds louder than it seems it should. He's relaxed and unguarded like this, and Clint's said he likes it, how special it makes him feel that Phil can be like that with him. He's not Agent or Coulson or even Phil right now, just happiness and warmth and pleasure, and Clint keeps stroking his hair perfectly.
After a little while, Phil takes a breath and asks to be cut out, and Clint goes slowly, careful and neat as he cuts through the layers of plastic. Phil waits til he's cut all the way down before moving his arms gingerly, the cool air of the room waving over his damp hot skin. Clint peels the stuff away and waits for Phil to adjust, flexing his arms and legs before nodding for Clint to roll him off and onto the softness of a towel. He balls up the plastic and squirrels the cock ring away before checking Phil over and laying beside him. They don't speak much til Phil stretches again and sits up, slowly getting off the bed to go to the bathroom. He's clammy and prickly feeling, but a cool shower leaves him feeling fresh and new. Clint's there with a towel when he steps out of it, saying he has to dry off Phil's wings since he just came out of his chrysalis; Phil supposes that's appropriate, since it does feel as though something changes each time they do this, even if he's never quite able to say what.
For the rest of the night they laze about, Phil more relaxed than he's felt in weeks with his tablet happily ignored in his bag. Clint brings him food and makes him eat and drink tea, and he'll stay in that sort of careful, kind mode all night, til he tucks Phil in and slots behind him.