Round 1
* * * Round 1 is now OPEN to new prompts. * * *
Prompt Post No. 1
Please make sure to read the rules.
Click here for flat view.
This round will be closed to new prompts for a 24 hour hiatus once it reaches two thousand comments. Fills may still be posted. After another 2000 comments, Round 1 will close. Round 2 will go live one week after this ( Read more... )
Prompt Post No. 1
Please make sure to read the rules.
Click here for flat view.
This round will be closed to new prompts for a 24 hour hiatus once it reaches two thousand comments. Fills may still be posted. After another 2000 comments, Round 1 will close. Round 2 will go live one week after this ( Read more... )
Mostly, because it’s better than blaming himself, and Natasha isn’t here, she’s undercover at Undisclosed Location #72, so it’s easy to say it’s all her fault. If she were here, she’d tell Clint he’s being ridiculous, but hey, guess what, she’s not.
Now, he was prepared to admit the whole thing was amusing, slightly adorable, a little annoying, and quite baffling except not really (come on, have you seen Phil? People aren’t blind, Clint can’t blame them.) He was prepared to move on, even if the newbie agents giggled and blushed (no, really) when Phil was around, medical took great pleasure in laying their hands all over Phil’s body (that’s the annoying part) and Julia kept trying on seducing him with baked goods and awkward conversation (adorable. And damn useful, her cookies were awesome.)
It’s not like anyone else got to take Phil home.
(Neither did Clint, to be fair. Home was Avengers Mansion, and even now, while Thor and Tony are absent and everything is blissfully quiet... no. Walls tend to disappear at scarily regular intervals, Bruce’s moods aren’t conductive to any kind of a romantic atmosphere, and Phil still gets a little starry-eyed around Steve, so they’re definitely not fucking around the Mansion. Phil’s apartment it is, especially since they bought a new bed.)
(Fine, yes, Clint broke the previous one. It had it coming.)
(Pun maybe intended.)
Yes, back to the subject at hand. So, it didn’t seem like anyone was actually trying anything (except maybe fatten Phil up, Julia), so Clint could deal and abstain from hovering in Phil’s office all the time. And since there wasn’t much else to do except randomly freak out people on the corridors, he spent most of his time on the range or in the weapons department.
Or, he would, if not for that one thing.
Reply
They’re two of Clint’s favourite people around here. Joe used to work for Hammer but resigned much earlier than the company went down. He’s quiet and capable and Clint can appreciate that. Claudia, on the other hand, is tiny, wears pigtails, and talks to her weapons like they’re her children. Or dolls. She’s absolutely not allowed to ever interact with Tony Stark, because the entire Shield, including Fury, lives in a fear that they might get on well.
“If it’s another Zombies and Ninjas debate, my answer stands,” he informs them.
“No, it’s about Agent Coulson,” Joe says, and Clint forces himself to stay absolutely still and offer an earnest gaze in return.
“What about him? Because if it’s another Zombies and Ninjas debate, that’s classified,” he says and Claudia laughs, swatting his shoulder.
“No, just... what’s his deal? Gay or straight? And most importantly, if he’s single? We’re trying to figure out which one of us might have a chance,” she adds in a scenic whisper, gesturing between herself and Joe.
What?
No, really, what? Clint was fine with the whole thing because it didn’t seem like people were doing anything with their crushes, and there was no designs on Phil’s virtue.
(Yeah, okay, Clint would be the first to ask “what virtue.” Even if there was some to begin with (maybe), Clint has done well away with that in the past few years. If you were to place bets on which Avenger has the best sex life, you’d probably bet Tony Stark and you would be dead wrong. Quality, not quantity.)
(Fine, he doesn’t exactly know what Natasha gets up to, so he doesn’t have all the data. She never tells him anything.)
Reply
“Sorry. Don’t know, guys,” he says, spreading his arms and shrugging. “Heard he might be married,” he adds, and, just because he really sometimes can’t help himself, he goes on. “There might be kids. Three of those, yeah.”
Yeah. That’s not going to come back and bite him in the ass.
“Oh,” Claudia says, her face crunched up in disappointment. “Oh, well. All the good ones, right, Clint?”
“Right,” he nods sagely, then looks at his wrist. “Oh my god, look how late it is. Gotta go,” he tells them and hightails it from there before he can say anything else and dig himself a deeper grave.
On the other hand, weapons people. Who are they gonna tell?
Oh, wait.
Which is why he’s not quite surprised when the first thing Phil says when he gets home, already tugging at his tie the moment he crosses the threshold, is: “Have you heard that newest rumour about me being married with six kids?”
“Huh,” Clint says, because, well, huh. Rumour mill works faster these days, he blames the Internet. Also, six kids? “You think they just assumed you adopted all the Avengers?”
“Now that would be disturbing, considering,” Phil mutters, discarding his jacket over the back of the armchair and sliding in to join Clint on the couch. Clint obligingly shifts and moves his arm to the back of the couch, fingers brushing Phil’s shoulder. “It’s not the wildest rumour I’ve heard this week, but it’s a bit puzzling.”
Clint has an excellent poker face. You can’t read it. “It’s too quiet, people get weird ideas.”
Phil is still watching him, head tilted a little, eyes narrowed. Clint squints right back. “What?” he says, not defensively at all.
“I was waiting for you to take it to the logical conclusion of: ‘it’s quiet, here’s a weird idea, most likely connected to sex.’”
“It’s like you know me,” Clint admits. “Hey, it’s quiet, here’s a weird idea. Let’s order in and stay on the couch all evening. Go through the insanity that is your TiVo.”
Phil smiles softly and nods, already working on the top two buttons of his shirt. Clint’s fingers itch to help, and hey, he will. They settle in comfortably as Clint goes through his cellphone in search of the pizza place number, a little distracted by Phil’s hand resting on his thigh, fingers idly moving over the seam of his jeans. There’s no intent behind it, yet, just a gentle, absent-minded caress, and Clint has to keep himself from doing something like purring in contentment while he’s on the phone.
He kind of likes the quiet times best.
*
Reply
Leave a comment