[Avengers: Drabble] "Night Light" [Clint/Coulson, G]
Title: Night Light
Prompt: writerverse challenge #23 quick fic #8, prompts ‘lighthouse’ & ‘cold winter night’
Bonus: hurt/comfort
Word Count: 408
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Avengers (movie ‘verse)
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Summary: “Lighthouse. Abandoned, probably.”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Night Light
“Can you not fall over for a minute?” Clint asked, helping Coulson lean against the wall of the building. “I need to break in.”
“What is this place?” said Coulson, swaying but managing to stay on his feet.
“Lighthouse,” Clint replied, as he picked the rusty padlock with deft movements and reached for the other man again. “Abandoned, probably.”
The door swung open with a groan, revealing a small circular room filled with dusty, rickety furniture and outdated equipment. A narrow staircase began along one wall and spiraled out of sight into the floor above.
“Do you think you can manage the stairs, sir?” Clint asked.
Coulson lifted the hand that had been holding a waded handkerchief against his side, and it came away bloody. “I’ll have to,” he said.
Clint slid under his arm again, taking most of Coulson’s weight as they made their way slowly up the stairs. As he’d hoped, the top floor was the living quarters, a wooden bed, dresser and wardrobe. He eased Coulson onto the bed, then pulled his emergency first aid kit from the pocket of his uniform.
“It’s shallow,” Coulson said, helping peel away his blood-soaked dress shirt.
“But you lost a lot of blood.” Clint’s hands were gentle as he cleaned the wound, spread on the disinfectant gel, then pressed a clean bandage over it. “You need to keep warm, and get some rest.”
“Extraction isn’t for six more hours,” said Coulson, “and you’ve been up for almost thirty. You need rest, too.”
Clint grinned, and leaned down to pull off Coulson’s shoes, then his own. “All part of my plan, sir.” He opened the wardrobe and let out a triumphant noise when he found a frayed quilt inside. “Scoot over.”
Slowly, Coulson slid over a few inches, and Clint spread the quilt over the bed. He stowed his bow and quiver just under the bed, then paused. “What?” Coulson asked.
“I could find some wood, light a fire,” he said, nodding toward the stone hearth.
Coulson shook his head. “Smoke.” He sounded like he was already half asleep. “C’mere.”
The archer grinned and slid into bed, pressing himself against Coulson’s uninjured side. Outside, the wind picked up speed, and through the room’s high windows, he could see snowflakes tumble out of the twilight sky.
“Kinda nice,” Clint murmured. “Except for you getting shot.”
“Grazed,” corrected Coulson, automatically, and he fell asleep to the gentle rumble of Clint’s laughter.
THE END
Current Mood:
rainy
Prompt: writerverse challenge #23 quick fic #8, prompts ‘lighthouse’ & ‘cold winter night’
Bonus: hurt/comfort
Word Count: 408
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Avengers (movie ‘verse)
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Summary: “Lighthouse. Abandoned, probably.”
Note(s): originally posted to the writerverse wv_library
Night Light
“Can you not fall over for a minute?” Clint asked, helping Coulson lean against the wall of the building. “I need to break in.”
“What is this place?” said Coulson, swaying but managing to stay on his feet.
“Lighthouse,” Clint replied, as he picked the rusty padlock with deft movements and reached for the other man again. “Abandoned, probably.”
The door swung open with a groan, revealing a small circular room filled with dusty, rickety furniture and outdated equipment. A narrow staircase began along one wall and spiraled out of sight into the floor above.
“Do you think you can manage the stairs, sir?” Clint asked.
Coulson lifted the hand that had been holding a waded handkerchief against his side, and it came away bloody. “I’ll have to,” he said.
Clint slid under his arm again, taking most of Coulson’s weight as they made their way slowly up the stairs. As he’d hoped, the top floor was the living quarters, a wooden bed, dresser and wardrobe. He eased Coulson onto the bed, then pulled his emergency first aid kit from the pocket of his uniform.
“It’s shallow,” Coulson said, helping peel away his blood-soaked dress shirt.
“But you lost a lot of blood.” Clint’s hands were gentle as he cleaned the wound, spread on the disinfectant gel, then pressed a clean bandage over it. “You need to keep warm, and get some rest.”
“Extraction isn’t for six more hours,” said Coulson, “and you’ve been up for almost thirty. You need rest, too.”
Clint grinned, and leaned down to pull off Coulson’s shoes, then his own. “All part of my plan, sir.” He opened the wardrobe and let out a triumphant noise when he found a frayed quilt inside. “Scoot over.”
Slowly, Coulson slid over a few inches, and Clint spread the quilt over the bed. He stowed his bow and quiver just under the bed, then paused. “What?” Coulson asked.
“I could find some wood, light a fire,” he said, nodding toward the stone hearth.
Coulson shook his head. “Smoke.” He sounded like he was already half asleep. “C’mere.”
The archer grinned and slid into bed, pressing himself against Coulson’s uninjured side. Outside, the wind picked up speed, and through the room’s high windows, he could see snowflakes tumble out of the twilight sky.
“Kinda nice,” Clint murmured. “Except for you getting shot.”
“Grazed,” corrected Coulson, automatically, and he fell asleep to the gentle rumble of Clint’s laughter.
THE END
Current Mood:
rainy