5
THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND SIX WILL OPEN ON SUNDAY THE 3RD.
ROUND FIVE
closing at 5000 comments
Please read the [rules] before commenting!
ASK-A-MOD
Please remember to check the recent PSA posts for the newest information about this community!
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!Put [RPF] ( Read more... )
A Matter of Importance
The first time it happens is only a few weeks after Barton went against orders and decided to bring Natasha Romanoff in instead of taking her off the playing board for good. He made a good case for it, argued that a woman with her skills is a lot more useful to SHIELD alive than dead. Phil backed him up. That’s his job, after all.
It’s difficult to get a good grip of Romanoff, impossible to figure out what she’s really thinking, and Phil only decides to give her a chance because Barton seems to trust her.
He changes his mind the day he walks in on them in the locker room showers. The sound is almost drowned out by the shower, but it’s there, and it’s the only reason Phil carefully peeks around the corner before he enters. And there they are. Up against the tile wall, Romanoff’s legs wrapped around Barton’s waist, her arms around his neck, the muscles of his back straining under the running water, their movements rough and hurried. Her voice is deep and throaty as she urges him on, sounds like liquid sex, and his breathing is a little shaky, enough that you can almost hear him smile.
Phil is so angry that he can barely remember his own name. He’s mad at the Widow, mad at Barton, but most of all he’s furious with himself for not thinking one step further. Phil trusts Barton’s judgement unconditionally when it comes to making split moment decisions in the field. When it comes to his personal life, however, the only thing Barton can be trusted with is to make terrible choices. Phil knows Romanoff’s file by heart, knows that for her, emotions only exist to be manipulated, sex is only a tool to get what she wants.
He wants to go in there, put a stop to it immediately, but he knows that he needs to calm down first, get a hold of his temper and wait until he’s rational enough to make Barton see the truth - that he’s only being used again. Phil doesn’t look forward to that conversation at all. That’s what makes him the most angry. He’s worked with Barton long enough to know that the man is a resilient little bastard, that he can take hit after hit and come out standing. If you really want to make him hurt, you need to go for his heart. If that’s Romanoff’s game, Phil will gladly kill her himself.
Then the klaxons go off all at once, and there’s no time to do anything about it. Phil surveys the battle, listening to his agents’ voices over the comm, hoping against hope that Romanoff will wait at least a little longer until she decides to double-cross them.
Three hours later, the Black Widow steps in front of a bullet meant for Hawkeye’s back.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Barton tells her later in the infirmary, face tight with worry and self-recrimination.
Romanoff raises an eyebrow. “Why not? I thought you wanted us to be partners.”
The hospital bed makes her look small and pale and tired, and in that precise moment, Phil sees the exact same unguarded vulnerability that Barton must have seen when he decided not to take the shot.
It might be a mistake, but he recruited Barton to SHIELD with the promise of a second chance. Maybe Romanoff is not so different after all.
Reply
Barton and Romanoff have other ideas.
It’s a tiny one-room flat with an even tinier kitchen, furnished only with a few mattresses on the floor. Phil takes the time to remove his belt, his shoes and his jacket before he lies down on one of them and drops off to sleep immediately.
A little later, he wakes up from the unmistakable sounds of his agents having sex a few feet away. Phil lies very still, feigning sleep, and cursing under his breath. He’s bone-tired, he has bruises in places he doesn’t want to think about, and he just wants to be unconscious.
It’s different this time, slow and tender and intimate in a way that makes Phil embarrassed to listen in. Romanoff whispers something in Russian, too low for Phil to make out the words, and Barton laughs quietly in response, and then does something that makes her shudder against the mattress. She sighs softly when she comes, he follows a moment later with a heartfelt moan.
Phil does his best not to think about the way his dick has woken up and started to take an interest in the proceedings. It’s a perfectly natural reaction, he tells himself. Two very attractive people are having sex next to him. It’s a purely biological response and it doesn’t mean anything.
He waits until they’ve fallen asleep. Then he slides out from under the blankets to go get himself a glass of water. He drinks it looking out of the grimy kitchen window, so lost in thought that he almost doesn’t notice Barton coming into the kitchen. Clint is naked save for a sheet wrapped around his waist, and he’s moving stiffly, like every muscle in his body hurts. They probably do. Phil has seen the state of his back.
“Sorry we woke you up,” Clint says, hiding a yawn behind his hand.
“Is this a good idea?” Phil asks, because he has to ask. Natasha has proven herself to be trustworthy often enough that Phil has stopped worrying that she’ll betray them, but there are more than one way for an agent to be compromised. Emotional attachment can be just as dangerous when goes both ways.
Clint ducks his head, scratches his neck, and when he looks up again there’s an almost boyish look about him, like someone who knows he’s way out of his depth.
“Probably not,” he admits. “I just...” He hesitates. “Did you know she’s never had sex for fun before? Or for comfort, or just because she likes the other person, the way normal people do it? That’s just not right.”
Phil knows this line of work is not kind to women, that they are often required to put their bodies to use in ways most men don’t have to. It’s not fair and he doesn’t like it, but he must also acknowledge that he’s part of a system that supports it. Still. He might not completely understand Natasha yet, but he has started to like her, and the knowledge that she had something like this stolen from her makes him very angry on her behalf.
“Is it going to be a problem?” Clint asks, and Phil is aware that he only has to say the word and Clint will break it off. Knowing what he knows now, he just doesn’t have the heart.
He shakes his head. “Not if you don’t make it one. You’re both professionals so I’m going to trust you not to be stupid about this.”
The earnest, grateful look on Hawkeye’s face tells Phil he’s made the right decision.
Reply
Boredom is not an excuse to lose focus. They all know it, but it still grates on them. Even with the air conditioned suite at the luxury hotel they’ve been staying, it’s hot and uncomfortable. Someone needs to watch the cameras they installed in their target’s room at all times, but at this point they’re almost positive that it’s a dead end and that they’re just waiting around in the unlikely event that something should happen.
Phil has spent all day tailing their target on a leisurely stroll around the city and he’s in a terrible mood when he returns to the hotel. He’s warm and sweaty and he just wants to go stand in front of the AC for an hour or so.
They set up the computers and the monitors for the surveillance cameras in the lounge. When Phil enters, Barton is sitting in the office chair by the desk and Romanoff is straddling his thighs, riding him in a slow, teasing pace. They’re both half-dressed and whatever skin is visible is glistening with sweat. He has one hand fisted in her hair and her fingers are clawing at his back and they’re kissing, hard and deep and bruising.
Phil knows they have to be aware of his presence, must have heard him walk in, but neither of them seems to care.
It’s against every protocol that ever existed, but Phil decides that he’d better just leave them to it. He has learned that when it comes to Barton and Romanoff, you get the best results if you let them bend the rules just enough to make things interesting.
Besides, he can see that they’re both keeping half an eye on the monitors. If this is what they need in order to work off a little adrenaline, Phil won’t complain. It’s a lot better than having the two of them climbing the walls or coming up with even more stupid things to do.
He heads for his bedroom where he drinks some water and does a few breathing exercises. He considers a cold shower, but decides against it. Purely biological response, he reminds himself. He takes off his jacket and his tie, kicks off his shoes, and then takes off his socks too, for good measure.
He’s walking around barefoot, trying to cool down a little, when someone knocks on the door. Phil is expecting Barton and when he opens the door, he’s almost a little surprised to find Natasha standing there instead.
Reply
“We’ve never discussed this, you and I,” she says, graciously ignoring his momentary lapse.
“It’s none of my business,” Phil answers. “As long as it doesn’t affect your work, there’s nothing to discuss.”
“Isn’t it? You care about him.” It’s a statement, not a question, and Phil can’t argue. He and Barton have been friends for a long time, partners even longer. Under those circumstances, it’s difficult not to care.
“So do you.” He’s careful not to mention the L-word. Clint hasn’t mentioned anything along those lines, at least not yet.
“I owe him,” Natasha says, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture that would seem defensive if it had been anyone else.
“Is that all it is?” Phil asks, his stomach suddenly going cold with the terrible suspicion that Clint might have gotten the wrong idea about what’s going on between the two of them. Did the people who turned Natasha into what she is really screw her up that badly?
“I think we both know that’s not all,” she says, apparently reading his mind. “But I’m not used to thinking about other people in those terms. Don’t worry, I don’t see it as an obligation. I’m just not sure what kind of words to put on it.”
She’s probably aware of it already, but Phil still has to tell her, just so it’s clear between the two of them that this isn’t a game, that any screw-ups that might occur will have consequences. “Clint has been hurt before.”
“I know. That’s something we have in common, I think.” There’s a hint of regret in her voice. “I won’t hurt him. He won’t hurt me. We’re still figuring out the rest. He’s... important. Is that enough to make you satisfied?”
Phil doesn’t know what to say. To be honest, he’s been expecting this to blow up in all of their faces long ago, and it keeps surprising him that it’s still working so well. It’s evident that Clint and Natasha need each other, that they’re good together in every way that counts.
In the end, he only nods in response. It doesn’t seem like anyone’s about to get their heart broken and that’s good enough for him.
Just as Natasha is about to walk out the door again, she turns around. “You’re important too, Phil,” she says. She doesn’t use his first name often, and Phil has learned to listen carefully when she does.
“Me?”
She shrugs. “You’re important to him, that makes you important to me. I just thought you should know.”
After that, Natasha leaves and Phil is alone with his bewildered thoughts. He knows that one of these days, he’s going to have to sit down and give the whole situation the consideration it deserves. Until then, he’s content with being important. After all, they’re both important to him too.
Reply
“Was that a complaint?” Natasha asks, her voice so silky soft it sends shivers down Phil’s spine.
He’s in his office and didn’t realize he’d forgotten to take his earwig out until he heard their voices over the still-open comm. It’s a good thing they’re on the private channel. And Phil needs to say something. Preferably soon.
“Hell no,” Clint pants. “I’ll die a happy man, just... please?”
“What makes you think I’m anywhere done with you yet?”
He can imagine it, Clint spread out at her mercy, begging for release. Yes, he can imagine it very well. Not that he actually is. That would be inappropriate.
Phil sighs, shifts a little in his chair (because he’s been sitting still in the same position for too long, no other reason at all) and says, “Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff? May I draw your attention to the fact that your comms are still active?”
There’s a brief moment of silence, then Clint says, “Sorry, sir,” in a tone of voice that completely lacks every trace of regret.
Natasha only laughs before the comm goes silent, and Phil goes back to his paperwork with that laugh stuck in his mind, open and happy. He knows that there are preciously few people who are allowed to hear her like that and the realization that he is now one of them is both humbling and honoring.
Reply
No one says anything in the office and there are no grand gestures, just the way Phil likes it. He comes home from work, intending to order Chinese and spend the rest of the evening watching TV. He’s already studying the various take-out menus he keeps in a kitchen drawer when the doorbell rings.
Barton and Romanoff are standing outside, laden with grocery bags and packages.
“What, you thought we didn’t know?” Clint asks with a wide grin, barging into the apartment.
Natasha stops on the threshold, gently kisses his cheek and says, “Happy birthday, Phil.”
It turns out to be a very educational evening. First, Phil discovers that Barton is surprisingly good cook. It’s never come up before, not during all the years they’ve worked together, but five minutes after Clint has stepped into the apartment, he’s already taken over the kitchen. Phil’s culinary skills extend to microwaving frozen tv-dinners and boiling water for instant noodles, but Clint chops vegetables with easy familiarity and it doesn’t take long for all kinds of delicious smells to start rising from the pots and pans on the stove.
Birthday celebrations might be bothersome and unnecessary, but Phil could definitely get used to a home cooked meal now and then.
The second thing Phil learns this evening is that an ex-marine has nothing on an ex-Russian when it comes to drinking. For some inexplicable reason, they start doing shots half-way through dessert, working their way through the bottle of vodka Phil keeps in his freezer and almost never touches.
An hour later, he’s completely wasted. It’s not a bad feeling. It’s been a rough couple of months - too much to do and too little time, moving from crisis to crisis without a chance to settle down in between. They moved from the kitchen into the living room a little while ago and Phil is sitting in his favorite armchair, so relaxed that he’s almost melting into the cushions, watching the room spin gently around him. Clint and Natasha are on the couch, curled up close together, arguing about what really happened in Budapest. Natasha is, if not drunk, so at least a little tipsy. Clint has kept to beer, with the explanation that hard alcohol doesn’t mix well with his genes, but he’s still nowhere near sober.
The two of them keep touching each other, the way they only do when they’re alone or in the company of people they trust. Usually, Phil doesn’t think much of it, it’s just something they do. Today, the sight of Natasha sliding her hand up and down Clint’s thigh is an aching reminder of how long it’s been since someone touched Phil that way.
He tries to date sometimes, but it never seems to work out. Probably because the only alternatives he has are either people from work, which would be problematic at best, or civilians, which means he has to lie about his entire life. There was a cellist for a while, and he actually thought it might work out, but it ended when she got a new job in Portland and he couldn’t present her with a satisfactory answer for why he couldn’t move there with her.
Natasha takes the opportunity to demonstrate her uncanny proficiency at mindreading.
“Did you two ever sleep together?” she asks.
If Phil was a little less drunk, he might have reacted differently. As it is, he only has the energy to shake his head and wave his hand in a floppy little motion. “No,” he says, and it comes out a little more slurred than he meant it to. “It’s... you know. Work. Chain of command. Sort of thing.” He hopes she’ll get the gist of it.
It’s not like the thought has never crossed his mind. Clint is an attractive man and they have always had a connection. But Phil is also responsible for him and it wouldn’t be professional.
“It never really came up,” Clint agrees. “It’s kinda complicated, isn’t it?”
Reply
“Life is short,” Natasha says with a little shrug. She turns her head and kisses him back, adding a little more intent.
There’s something going on between them tonight and Phil suspects it’s completely passed him by until now. This is more than them being comfortable with showing affection in his presence. Now, they’re putting on a show for him, and he’s not entirely sure how to deal with it. A whole new set of possibilities is opening up in front of him.
But he’s drunk, and they’re beautiful, and that’s all that seems to matter at the moment. He watches them kiss, not even trying to fool himself that he’s not actually interested. If he wanted to, he could get out of the chair, walk over to the couch, and join them there.
He doesn’t. Instead, he watches how Clint ups the ante, starts kissing his way down her throat, unbutton her blouse and mouth at the soft swell of her breasts. Natasha leans back with a lazy little smile on her lips, allowing him to worship her body, clearly enjoying herself. He peels her out of her top, kisses a path down her naked stomach while he unzips her jeans and pulls them down over her pale white thighs. She spreads her legs willingly, runs her fingers through his hair and guides his head down.
Phil is getting hard in his pants - you’d have to be dead not to be, and he’s not fooling himself anymore. This has nothing to do with involuntary biological responses. This is him wanting things he thought he could never have, not until now.
The noises Natasha makes as Clint eats her out are fantastic. Phil wants to know what it feels like to be the one who gets to make her sound like that, his fingers wants to know the touch of the soft skin on the inside of her thighs. She comes with a shout of pure abandon, her back arching off the couch before she relaxes back into Clint’s hands with a satisfied smile on her lips. Clint crawls up and kisses her, his face still wet from her juices. She grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head and then does short work on his jeans, directing him to step out of them.
They switch places. Natasha kneels between Clint’s spread legs while he sprawls out on the couch, sliding down low so his ass is almost hanging off the edge. He’s rock hard, his cock straining up towards his taut stomach, leaking a little precum. Natasha licks the head, swirling her tongue, and Phil wants to know what that feels like too. Judging by the blissed out expression on Clint’s face, it has to be amazing. She teases him until he’s pleading and then sucks him down all in one go.
Clint is holding himself very still on the couch, clearly struggling not to fuck up into her mouth, and when he rolls his head and meets Phil’s gaze, the invitation is evident on his face. Phil is tempted, so very tempted, but he stays where he is for now. If he moves, this might turn out to be just a crazy, vodka-soaked dream.
Natasha slides two fingers into her mouth alongside Clint’s cock and gets them nice and wet, dripping with saliva, before she sneaks them back to tease his hole, and that’s where he loses every trace of self-control. He rides her fingers while she licks up and down his cock, mouthing at his balls. He holds his breath when he comes, spurting all over his own stomach and her face. When he’s done, he reaches down and gently brushes a trembling finger over her cheek, wiping it clean.
Natasha climbs into Clint’s lap, leans her head against his shoulder and he wraps his arms around her as they fall into a messy, sticky heap on the couch.
Phil could go to them, but he’s drunk and they’re beautiful. They’ll still be beautiful tomorrow, and he will be sober and maybe he’ll feel differently about this. If he doesn’t... well, then he has a decision to make.
He waits until they’ve both fallen asleep until he gets out of the chair and staggers into the bedroom. He crawls into bed where he fucks his own hand until he comes, the images of everything they just offered still fresh in his mind.
Reply
Phil’s birthday turns out to be the last time the three of them are in the same place for any length of time, and after a while that evening starts to feel like a hazy dream that he might have imagined altogether.
It’s not until many months afterwards, when he’s lying on the Helicarrier deck, drowning in his own blood, that Phil remembers Natasha’s words, “Life is short.” He wishes he could go back to that evening, take that step, have that moment together with his friends, his partners, at least once.
Nothing to do about it now. You blew your chance, Coulson, you miserable fuck, now at least make this mean something.
Reply
Stark already offered him a suite in the newly re-dubbed Avengers Tower, but Phil couldn’t take him up on the offer. He has a home. He has people willing to look after him. That, and he has unfinished business with said people.
He didn’t even have to ask Clint and Natasha to act as his caretakers. The moment he was let out of the infirmary, they were already there waiting, ready to take him home.
Healing is very tiring work and the doctors are not sure yet if Phil will recover completely. It’s still difficult to move his arms too far back, for example. In the bedroom, Clint helps him with the buttons on his shirt, getting them open one by one, before sliding the garment off his arms, letting it fall to the floor. Then he just... stops. He stands there as if frozen to the floor, staring at the scar on Phil’s chest and God, Phil wants to murder Loki for putting that look in Clint’s eyes.
“It’s all right,” he says. “I’m still here, I’m not going anywhere.”
He grabs Clint’s hand, guides it to the angry red marks marring his skin, and holds it there, until Clint has stopped focusing on the scars and started concentrating on the heartbeat underneath instead.
Phil can sense more than hear Natasha coming up behind him and he can’t hold back a small gasp when she starts tracing her fingers over the corresponding scar on his back. The healing scar tissue is still very sensitive. The touch doesn’t hurt, but it’s intense in a way that’s not quite arousing, but extremely intimate.
They’re standing like that for a long time. Eventually, Natasha steps up close against Phil’s back, brushes her lips over the spot between his shoulder blades, and wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. Clint waits even longer until he makes his move, leaning his head forward until they’re standing with their foreheads pressed together. He closes his eyes and slowly moves in for a kiss, tasting of deep relief and maybe a little hint of desperation.
Phil has waiting for this for a very long time, since before he knew he even wanted it. It’s not everything he imagined. In his fantasies, he was whole and hale, not a patchwork of damaged muscles and slowly healing lungs. Still, you have to take what you can get, and the fact that he’s alive and finally has the opportunity to do this counts for everything.
Both Clint and Natasha got their second chances. This is Phil’s second chance, and he intends to make the most of it.
Clint kisses him for what feels like an eternity, while Natasha runs her hands over his back and sides, learning the lines of his muscles, mapping out every scar and every mark. When she starts mouthing at his neck, Clint breaks the kiss and slowly goes to his knees in front of Phil.
Reply
But he died not long ago. If that’s not a reason to play a little fast and loose with the rules, Phil doesn’t know what is.
“I’m not up for much, I’m afraid,” he says, apologetically. There are so many things he would like to do right now, but while the spirit is willing the flesh is still pitifully weak.
Clint looks up at him though long dark eyelashes, his voice a throaty growl. “When you’re better, I want you to fuck me until I’m screaming. Then I want to watch while you’re doing her, and by the time you two are done, I’ll probably be up for round two.”
Phil makes a mental note to get better as fast as he can.
“We’ve had a lot of time to think about this,” Natasha says, whispers really, into his ear.
Clint nods. “There are lists involved. Diagrams and stuff. I even added some footnotes because I know you like that shit.”
Weak flesh notwithstanding, Phil can feel the hum of arousal coil in this belly. Who wouldn’t, with Clint Barton’s mouth so close to their dick? Natasha is shifting around a little so she can tilt her head up to kiss him while Clint opens his pants and takes him out, stroking him to full hardness. Natasha’s hands are roaming over his chest now, finding his nipples and teasing them until they’re tight little nibs.
“He’s so very good with his mouth,” she tells him when Clint presses his tongue against the base of Phil’s cock and slowly starts working his way up towards the tip. “You’ll want to take advantage of that, I think. I certainly like to.”
Clint starts sucking him for real then, taking him in as deep as he can, fondling his balls, running his hands up and down his thighs. Phil is getting a little weak at the knees and wonders distantly if this counts as the strenuous activity that the doctors told him to avoid.
He doesn’t have to worry though. Clint and Natasha have him. They won’t let him fall. Phil leans against Natasha and trusts her to hold his weight, feels how Clint is keeping his trembling legs steady. They have time now and in this moment, he doesn’t have to think at all. He can just relax, and let them take care of him.
- fin -
Reply
Reply
Reply
Beautiful.
Reply
Reply
This was just gorgeous and I loved how it progressed to Phil realizing he wanted to be with them.
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment