Liberty

Title: Liberty
Fandom: MCU
Genre: Sentinel/Guide AU, Pre-canon, Fix-it
Pairing: Girl!Clint Barton/Sam Wilson
Author’s Note: It was supposed to be PWP but plot happened. Also, I labeled this fix-it because I firmly believe without Sam there, Ri was grounded and did not die.
Word Count: 2,138
Summary: No one in Sam Wilson’s family had ever come online as a sentence going so far back, the Center didn’t even bother to test him. That…was a mistake and he’d never been more glad of it.

 

 

“Check this out,” Ri crowed, and Sam turned to look.

There was a Humvee rocking its way down the dirt track to HQ. The top was off and there were three women—all in civilian dress—standing in the back. A fourth woman was driving and a man in an honest-to-God suit and tie was in the passenger seat.

The man climbed out and headed into the HQ. “Suit up,” he ordered without turning around.

All four women bounced out of the Humvee and started stripping off outer layers, to the rabid joy of the watching men.

It wasn’t a peep show or anything, all four of them were wearing full Under Armor suits under their khakis and whatever else but the visual of women—clean, not sand-encrusted women—taking off their clothes was a thrill.

Watching them layer on obviously armored tac suits and more weapons than his unit had used in the last year was a different kind of thrill.

“No one said the Commando Barbie Squad was coming into came today. Ow!” Ri fanned himself with the stupid hat he loved so much in appreciation.

The red-haired Commando Barbie glanced their way and smirked.

Sam pushed Ri. “She heard you, dumbass!”

“And I’ll give her an apology, if she wants to come get it.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and walked off to lean on a pole several steps away to put some distance between him and the idiot. If Ri wanted to piss off four women badass enough to come rocking into this part of the world looking like that. Women that handled and donned on such a wild array of weapons so confidently—it was his funeral. Sam wanted no part of that foolishness.

“Hawkeye,” Suit’s voice carried easily as he excited the HQ. This was a man that was used to giving orders. “The Sergeant Major would like a demonstration.”

“Wilson, don’t move!” A woman shouted.

Before he could react in any which way there was an arrow in the pole he was leaning on, right between his first and second fingers.

“Would you like me to trim his fingernails, sir?” The blonde woman—the one holding a goddamn bow!—asked the sergeant major. “Or I could shave the hyena’s so-called mustache.”

Ri immediately stopped laughing at him to glare at Hawkeye’s back. She didn’t even bother to turn around—he wasn’t sure she’d turned around to take the shot either, actually—but the driver stared Ri down until he ducked his head in apology.

It took him a few tries to get her arrow out of the pole. The metal shafts were surprisingly slick, and he wasn’t sure how to get it out without messing up the feathers at the end. Real, actual feathers. Not the synthetic stuff he would have assumed modern archers used. When he finally got it out, he walked it over to Hawkeye.

She was smiling as she watched him get close.

Not sure what to say, he held out the arrow.

“Thanks,” She winked at him. “It’s my favorite type.”

“You’re welcome,” he said because his momma raised him with manners. He didn’t know what else to say though. “How many types do you have?”

“Depends on the mission. For this? Smash and grab, heavy on the smash? Light rods, penetrators—like this one—boomers, and a half dozen utility types.”

“Utility? Like, what? Grappling arrows?”

“I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you.” She laughed at him but not in a mean way.

He grinned. “That’d be a shame.”

“A damn shame,” she agreed. “You’re too pretty to die young.”

“Clint,” the driver called.

Hawkeye glanced at her and then back to him, “That’s my queue. See ya ‘round.”

“See ya,” he stepped back and stood there like an idiot as the Humvee pulled away.

Ri was at his side immediately. “Dude, what the hell?”

“Man, I got no idea.”

“Talk about close encounters of the hot kind. Damn, Wilson got game!”

Other guys from his unit and even more he didn’t know clapped him on the back or nodded at him in respect. Sam didn’t get it. All he’d done was talk to a woman.

“You don’t get it,” one of the kids in communications told him later, “They’re, like, super hush-hush, hardcore wetwork kinda shit. The kinda shit even sentinels see and either say nah, fam or go feral over. And one flirted with you! And you survived!”

Sam just rolled his eyes and went to collect Ri. It was their daily flight slot and they needed to check the authorized airspace before they went up.

“Ready, Jones?”

“Ready, Wilson.”

Because Ri was too nosey for his own good, they flew straight for the edge of their cleared air and circled around to the barrier that had changed from yesterday to today. About three square miles had been cut out of their allowed flight area and Ri wanted to see what he could see.

Sam liked flying to borders as an sort of unofficial patrol, to make sure nothing was trying to sneak up on them, so he didn’t mind too much.

He honestly hadn’t associated the changes with the arrival of Hawkeye and company but then, as they were skirting their allowed route, he saw the red-haired Commando Barbie charge out of a doorway with the driver on her heels. Together they took out at least a dozen men in under two minutes. Bare handed.

A building on the far side of the compound went up in a dramatically large explosion and he looked back down just in time to see the two Commandos below him disappear into separate buildings.

“What the fuck,” Ri said softly and Sam privately agreed.

“Come on, we’re drifting too far,” was what he said out loud. “Better head back to base.”

“Roger that, Sergeant.”

-*-

That night Sam got to leave the base and he decided to hit one of the civilian bars. He didn’t want to get drunk, really, but he could use some time away from the staring eyes. Apparently, the compound he’d seen the Commandos at was now a still-smoking crater and that had pumped the gossip about him and Hawkeye up to eleven.

He didn’t get it. He’d had a conversation with a woman. It was nothing any of them couldn’t do everyday if they walked into the right areas of the camp.

Whatever, a bar full of civilian contractors wouldn’t give a shit about a guy that talked to a girl. That nonsense was behind him.

Only…Hawkeye was ahead of him.

She was seated at the bar and staring at him. With her hair a loose golden mess around her head and wearing a purple dress that was almost as out of place out here in BFE as her boss’s suit. There was a man on her right that might as well be talking to a brick wall for all the progress he was making with Hawkeye and another…probably dozen trying to play it cool and not stare too obviously.

She raised an eyebrow at Sam when he hesitated.

Sam rolled his eyes—at both of them—and made his way over.

“Where are your friends?” He asked.

“Nat’s got her eyes on Lieutenant Hill.” Hawkeye jerked her head over to where the red head was flirting with a female Naval Lieutenant.

“Bobbi wants to have sex while high as fuck and May’s watching her back/helping with target acquisition.” She tipped her head to indicate the other half of her team. “I hope that hyena of yours can fuck like it’s his job. They’re both hard to please, and they’re worse when they’re together.”

“Well, he doesn’t do it professionally,” he said lightly, and she snickered. “But he’s committed and creative. And great with his mouth.”

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow. “Voice of experience?”

“Oh yeah,” he grinned. He wasn’t ashamed of his bisexuality. Not. One. Bit. “Ri’s a great ride.”

“Are you?”

“That where you think this is going?”

“If you want it to,” she agreed baldly. “If you don’t want to, I’m sure I won’t have a problem finding someone else to ride home.”

“Oh, no, I’m your ride,” he agreed and she smirked. “Doesn’t mean you don’t have to work for it, though.”

Hawkeye laughed. “Bring it, brah.”

-*-

He waited politely for Hawkeye—for Clint, as she preferred to be called—to lock the door. She turned to his with a smile and she…was just so gorgeous, he pushed her up against the door and kissed her.

“You taste so good,” he murmured as he turned his attention to her neck. “Like leather and beeswax and—” he set his teeth in her skin so he’d stop talking. She just…tasted amazing.

“You’re not a sentinel, are you?” She gasped, her fingers digging into his back.

“No.” He ran his neck up her nose.

“That’s how sentinels describe me, is all. Leather,” she moaned when he nipped her ear, “beeswax and mature, fertile woman.”

Huh, maybe that was what the earthy-wet smell was. “Are you a guide?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“There’s no record of sentinels in my family.”

“I want you to fuck me like you’re my sentinel,” she whispered in his ear.

He growled and pulled her off the door. “Clothes. Off.”

She grinned and started hastily throwing her clothes around the room. He was pulling off his shirt when she asked, “How do you want me?”

He could barely think but he knew exactly what he wanted. “Knees.”

She shivered and crawled onto the bed naked as the say she was born. She shot him a saucy wink over his shoulder and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He crawled behind her and started grinding his cloth-covered cock against her.

“Oh god. Sam, oh god.”

He pushed her back so her chest was on the bed and she groaned.

“Sam, please. Get in me, god.”

She wasn’t ready for him and he knew it with so many senses he didn’t know which to call it. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her though, so he backed off and used his mouth and his fingers. She came trembling under his attention and he’d never been more pleased. Her pleasure was a gift to his mind and to his senses.

He stuffed a pillow under her belly and pushed her down on it to ease her strain.

She keened as he pushed into her and her body accepted him. Her mind pushed into his with just as much force and was just as much welcome.

He blanketed her body with his own and buried his face in her hair. He had never expected this, never imagined this could be his. “Guide.”

She turned her head so her cheek graced his brow. “Sentinel.”

-*-

He was fucking his guide for the third time.

It was such a strange thing to think, his guide, but he knew it was true down to the depths of their bonded souls. They would stand together for the rest of their lives. Defend the tribe, build a family. Together, just them against the universe.

Her arms tightened around him. “It’s just Coulson.”

He released her neck from his mouth to look at her and the door to their room opened.

Her commander, her handler, the Suit closed the door behind him and leaned against it rather than enter further. Before he could growl at the man, Clint’s scent shifted. She wasn’t attracted to this suit—to Coulson—that wasn’t what his nose was telling him.

She liked being watched. Or, maybe, being caught by her commanding officer.

“You’re dirty,” he whispered to her.

She laughed but he turned it into a breathless moan with a roll of his hips because he was dirty too. It was only part of why they fit so well.

“Agent Barton, Sergeant Wilson,” Coulson called their attention.

“Sir,” Clint managed.

Sam did not stop the slow roll of his hips. If this asshole unbonded guide wanted to talk to his guide during their nesting period, he was going to have to work for it.

“I think its safe to say your time at SHIELD has ended.”

“Yes,” Clint moaned. “Yes, sir.”

“I have a government project that’s been trying to recruit me. It’s with the Air Force. I think you two would be a good fit. May too, probably. I can see about us moving over.”

“Sounds good, sir.”

“Sergeant Wilson?” Coulson checked with him.

“As my guide says.”

“Alright, I’ll contact General O’Neill and get your transfer paperwork started, Sergeant. We’re holding the hotel until further notice but you might want to consider evac to a more secure location for the rest of your nesting period.”

That…sounded smart. “We’ll let you know,” he promised.

“Very good,” Coulson opened the door and started to leave.

“Don’t forget his wings, Coulson!”