I honestly don't get how anyone could be THIS FUCKING HOT

[sirona_fics]

OKAY OKAY YOU GUYS, JUST. You can blame/thank delicatale for those, because she was the one to shove them in my eyeballs, AND NOW I CANNOT LOOK AWAY. BECAUSE. JUST. Okay, look, y'all know what happens when I lay my eyes on a sharp-dressed BAMF, don't you? YEAH. SO. I thought these ought to be shared with the world. YOU'RE WELCOME.





...AND NOW WE SHOULD ALL WRITE COMMENT-SUIT!PORN FIC HERE. AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, PREFERABLY ALSO STARRING PHIL MF COULSON. BECAUSE. LOOK AT HIM. I WANT TO PEEL HIM NAKED AND PUT MY MOUTH ALL OVER THAT.

Comments

[delicatale.livejournal.com]

Phil steps around the desk, until he's close enough that Clint can feel his body heat and smell the faint trace of aftershave. Clint takes a deep breath, reaching out helplessly and fisting his hand in the lapel of Phil's jacket.

"I've already broken all my rules for you, Clint," Phil says, soft and low. "But we really should get out of here."

Clint nods slowly, reluctantly letting go of Phil's jacket and moves away, closer to the door. He hears Phil's steps, following him, and they're off through the mostly empty maze-like corridors of the SHIELD complex. They fit side by side in the elevator, Phil pressing the button to the parking floor.

"Are there cameras in these?" Clint asks, pointing to the ceiling, and Phil shakes his head. Clint grins, and reaches out for Phil again. "Good."

[linaerys.livejournal.com]

EEEEEEEEEEEE! Comment!suit!porn!

You two are the best!

[sirona-gs.livejournal.com]

Phil's hands slither under his suit jacket as soon as Clint is close enough, sliding against his sides and stroking up his back, like a brand over Clint's shirt. Clint gasps when Phil's mouth fits over his, pulling him closer so he can get his hands on more of Clint, one hand closing tight over Clint's ass. Clint grunts and jerks forward, plastering himself against Phil's front and the thick shape of his cock against Clint's lower belly. There's a desperate moan ringing in his ears, and it takes Clint a moment to realise it's coming from him. Phil's grip tightens.

The lift dings, and the doors start to open. It's one of the hardest things Clint has ever done to step away from Phil; he has to brace himself against the wall of the cabin because his knees feel a little shaky from the overwhelming need churning in his stomach, to step back against Phil, press him into the wall and kiss him stupid.

Phil makes the decision for him, placing a warm hand at the small of his back and ushering him out into the car park. Clint goes, because he wants to, and because just that muted touch is enough to send shivers all the way down his spine. All he can think is that he hopes to god that Phil's apartment isn't too far, or they're never going to make it, and he wants Phil's big, sure hands all over his naked skin.

[delicatale.livejournal.com]

As they step inside Phil's car, Phil behind the wheel, Clint's mind reels at how confidently Phil has touched him, like he's known forever just exactly where to put his hands for Clint to keen. It's extremely erotic, and it takes all of his self-control not to grab Phil once they're in the car, the memory of Phil's hands on his hips - not enough on skin, fuck's sakes - making him want to spread his legs in the confined space of the passenger seat of the car.

The suit is constricting, and once again Clint wonders how can Phil go through each day wearing these kind of clothes. He looks good in them, sure enough, but Clint is moving cautiously, afraid he'll rip his pants or the back of his jacket every time he shifts.

"How do you do it?"

Phil looks startled for a second, driving fast but carefully. "What?"

"Live in suits."

"I don't. I don't sleep in them."

Clint feels the temperature climb up a few degrees in the car, just by that comment. Phil can be surprisingly single-minded, not that Clint minds.

"What do you sleep in, then?"

Clint watches Phil smirk. "You'll have to wait and see, won't you?"