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Entry tags:
Offering it Up
Title: Offering it Up
Fandom: Avengers
Prompt: Corporal Punishment
Medium: FIC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 717
Summary: Clint can't quite give up the role yet, he needs to atone.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply
“Kneel, my brother, and pray for forgiveness for your sins.”
“Really, you’re going to keep this up? The Op is over, you can take off the cassock.”
Hands pressed Clint to his knees. “I know not of what you speak. Let us pray together. And may our prayers lift the burdens of our brethren that toil in limbo.”
“Oh, brother,” Clint muttered, settling back onto his calves as he knelt obligingly.
“Yes, brother. We may atone for the sins of others. We may bring light back into the world.”
“Who's under that hood?” Clint reached up and grasped the edge of the cassock squinting into the darkness to check and make sure this wasn’t a real monk chastising him.
The brother slapped at his hand. “God knows all, Brother. Names are unnecessary. Is not one virtuous man like any other?”
“Look ...”
“Brother,” the Brother snapped, grasping the edge of Clint’s hood and twitching it up into place. “We still have services to perform. We need to atone for sins of the flesh.”
This was the last time he was letting him do an immersion Op. He was taking his Nameless Brother personna to an extreme. Clint was ready to go home, kick back, order a pizza, watch football and down a few brews. But, no. His partner wanted to stay in the hotel room and continue playing monk.
Well, at least they’d escaped the monastery.
Knowing he wasn’t getting out of the uncomfortable robes until they had finished playing out the scene, Clint sighed and bowed his head. “And how are we to atone, brother?”
“There are customary ways. We could spend hours in prayer.”
“I think we’ve done enough praying.” Clint’s knees were sore. “And chanting. And certainly enough singing!”
A flogger appeared in Clint’s view. “Self flagellation is tradition in our order. Offer up your pain in service to the lord.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’ll supervise. Take off your cassock, leave the hood.”
Well, if he had said it was going to be a kinky game, Clint might have been more into it from the start. He shrugged out of the cassock and pushed down his boxers, then knelt naked on the rug. He gave the flogger a few practice swings and then he began to whip over his shoulders, hitting himself hard enough to eventually raise welts. He had the tails hitting the spots where his partner usually rested his hands during sex. The thought of those hands pressing into the sore marks later made Clint’s cock go hard.
“Eleven., Do one more, brother,” the Brother called. Clint was glad to hear that he wasn't the only one unaffected by what he’d been watching, his voice was husky. He did the last stroke and then let the flogger drop down to his lap.
Robes swished around him and a foot was planted between his shoulders, pressing him forward. He went down, unable to see anything as his hood fell around his face. The flogger was pulled from his grip. “Count them,” came the firm command.
The first stroke landed hard across his bare ass. He counted it. The next one was harder. By the time the tenth one landed, he knew he was going to be heavily marked. After five more, he heard a gruff command, “Up!”
He pushed himself upright. When he peeked up around the edge of his hood, he saw a wall of dark brown robe in front of him. “You need to perform another service, Brother.” He heard the rustle of robes and saw feet appear, then knees and as he looked up, he found himself facing a familiar erect cock.
Clint reached up and grasped the shaft and lowered his mouth over it. Hands fell on top of his hood and held him in place as he slowly serviced his partner as demanded. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall fully into the fantasy of being a nameless naughty monk.
He swallowed everything, took everything.
“I need to get out of this robe and take a shower.”
“Are we done atoning and servicing and playing priest now?” Clint complained.
His hood was pushed back and Phil smiled down at him. “Yeah, I’m sweaty. It isn’t sexy anymore. C’mon, I’ll make it up to you in the shower.”
The End
Notes: Hurt Comfort Fill: Corporal Punishment
for a Kink Bingo Postage Stamp: Anonymity, Roleplay, Penance/Punishment & Service
Fandom: Avengers
Prompt: Corporal Punishment
Medium: FIC
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 717
Summary: Clint can't quite give up the role yet, he needs to atone.
Content Notes: No standard notes apply
“Kneel, my brother, and pray for forgiveness for your sins.”
“Really, you’re going to keep this up? The Op is over, you can take off the cassock.”
Hands pressed Clint to his knees. “I know not of what you speak. Let us pray together. And may our prayers lift the burdens of our brethren that toil in limbo.”
“Oh, brother,” Clint muttered, settling back onto his calves as he knelt obligingly.
“Yes, brother. We may atone for the sins of others. We may bring light back into the world.”
“Who's under that hood?” Clint reached up and grasped the edge of the cassock squinting into the darkness to check and make sure this wasn’t a real monk chastising him.
The brother slapped at his hand. “God knows all, Brother. Names are unnecessary. Is not one virtuous man like any other?”
“Look ...”
“Brother,” the Brother snapped, grasping the edge of Clint’s hood and twitching it up into place. “We still have services to perform. We need to atone for sins of the flesh.”
This was the last time he was letting him do an immersion Op. He was taking his Nameless Brother personna to an extreme. Clint was ready to go home, kick back, order a pizza, watch football and down a few brews. But, no. His partner wanted to stay in the hotel room and continue playing monk.
Well, at least they’d escaped the monastery.
Knowing he wasn’t getting out of the uncomfortable robes until they had finished playing out the scene, Clint sighed and bowed his head. “And how are we to atone, brother?”
“There are customary ways. We could spend hours in prayer.”
“I think we’ve done enough praying.” Clint’s knees were sore. “And chanting. And certainly enough singing!”
A flogger appeared in Clint’s view. “Self flagellation is tradition in our order. Offer up your pain in service to the lord.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’ll supervise. Take off your cassock, leave the hood.”
Well, if he had said it was going to be a kinky game, Clint might have been more into it from the start. He shrugged out of the cassock and pushed down his boxers, then knelt naked on the rug. He gave the flogger a few practice swings and then he began to whip over his shoulders, hitting himself hard enough to eventually raise welts. He had the tails hitting the spots where his partner usually rested his hands during sex. The thought of those hands pressing into the sore marks later made Clint’s cock go hard.
“Eleven., Do one more, brother,” the Brother called. Clint was glad to hear that he wasn't the only one unaffected by what he’d been watching, his voice was husky. He did the last stroke and then let the flogger drop down to his lap.
Robes swished around him and a foot was planted between his shoulders, pressing him forward. He went down, unable to see anything as his hood fell around his face. The flogger was pulled from his grip. “Count them,” came the firm command.
The first stroke landed hard across his bare ass. He counted it. The next one was harder. By the time the tenth one landed, he knew he was going to be heavily marked. After five more, he heard a gruff command, “Up!”
He pushed himself upright. When he peeked up around the edge of his hood, he saw a wall of dark brown robe in front of him. “You need to perform another service, Brother.” He heard the rustle of robes and saw feet appear, then knees and as he looked up, he found himself facing a familiar erect cock.
Clint reached up and grasped the shaft and lowered his mouth over it. Hands fell on top of his hood and held him in place as he slowly serviced his partner as demanded. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall fully into the fantasy of being a nameless naughty monk.
He swallowed everything, took everything.
“I need to get out of this robe and take a shower.”
“Are we done atoning and servicing and playing priest now?” Clint complained.
His hood was pushed back and Phil smiled down at him. “Yeah, I’m sweaty. It isn’t sexy anymore. C’mon, I’ll make it up to you in the shower.”
The End
Notes: Hurt Comfort Fill: Corporal Punishment
for a Kink Bingo Postage Stamp: Anonymity, Roleplay, Penance/Punishment & Service