Fic: Falling With a Purpose
Title: Falling With a Purpose
Author: meloenijs
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3.088
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I’m merely borrowing them.
A/N: Written for this prompt on cc-feelsmeme.
Summary: In the five months since SHIELD had recruited the man, he’d scared off several junior agents, leading to their resignation, and went through three different handlers. SHIELD had known about his authority problems before they signed him up, which was why they hadn’t given up on him yet. That, and his remarkable marksmanship.
All in all, it would certainly be a challenge, and that was why Phil had requested to be assigned as Clinton Francis Barton’s new handler.
Phil liked a challenge. That was why he’d requested this new full-time assignment, even though he’d been high enough up on the ladder not to have to deal with probationary agents for months now. But he’d heard the rumours of terror about the newest asset, the way he’d disappear out of sight as soon as he was let outside by climbing up the nearest building and making his escape over the roofs. Probationary agents weren’t supposed to be allowed off-base unsupervised, but no one was able to follow him once he went off.
In the five months since SHIELD had recruited the man, he’d scared off several junior agents, leading to their resignation, and went through three different handlers. SHIELD had known about his authority problems before they signed him up, which was why they hadn’t given up on him yet. That, and his remarkable marksmanship.
All in all, it would certainly be a challenge, and that was why Phil had requested to be assigned as Clinton Francis Barton’s new handler.
---
Watching his new charge make his way through the obstacle range, Phil admired the absolute control Barton had over his own body, and, in extension, his bow. He’d decided that apart from the basic info he’d read in Barton’s file, he wouldn’t pry any deeper. Building a trustful work relationship has to come from two sides, and going in prejudiced wouldn’t help them.
When the last target had an arrow neatly stuck into the middle, Phil stepped forward to introduce himself.
“Agent Barton.” The archer looked up from where he’d been fondling his bow.
“I’m agent Coulson and I will be your new handler. I’m sure you’re aware of how this works.”
“Sure, done it enough times now. How did you enjoy the show, Coulson?” Barton asked with a smug grin.
Phil answered him with an unimpressed gaze. “You will address me as agent Coulson or agent. If you’d follow me, I’ll show you where my office is so you won’t be able to claim getting lost.”
“Sure, boss-man. Go ahead.”
---
Two weeks into their new handler-asset relationship Barton had yet to do something truly gruesome. So far, the worst he’d done was trying to shoot toothpicks with olives at one end at Phil’s lunch to ‘give it the finishing touch’.
Today, Phil had found a completed form requesting off-base time stapled to his office door, a noticeable improvement from what he’d heard of Barton’s former handlers - as long as you ignored the fact it was filled out in purple Sharpie. This form and its implications had been a large problem previously, Barton’s handlers unable to follow him on the rooftops but also not allowed to simply revoke his access off-base since he technically didn’t abuse the rules. It was the responsibility of a handler to keep the asset under control.
Phil granted the request and went off in search of Barton, curious of what would happen.
---
Clint was waiting in his quarters, pacing up and down all ten square feet of them, thinking about Coulson. His new handler shouldn’t be able to deny his request, but two of his previous assholes of handlers had made sure they did as much as possible to try and revoke his off-base privileges. He’d listened to the gossip about Coulson after meeting him, so he knew his handler wasn’t known as a bad man - strict but fair seemed to be the general consensus.
His pacing was interrupted by a knock on the door. Pulling himself together, he opened the door. Coulson stood there, looking as blandly amused as ever.
“You wanted to go out?”
“I’ve been cooped up inside for weeks, I’m going crazy here,” Clint confessed.
Coulson nodded and moved out of the doorway, waiting for Clint. “Should I get a leash first?”
Clint grinned, “Aww, sir, you should’ve told me you were into the kinky stuff. I would’ve worn something different.”
All he got in response was a lifted eyebrow, but Clint had seen the amused twinkle in Coulson’s eyes. So his handler did have a sense of humour.
---
As soon as they were outside Clint considered his escaping options. Plenty of climbable buildings around where he’d be able to lose Coulson. After a furtive glance at his handler, he started sprinting towards the closest one and made his way to the roof.
Once safely settled a few blocks away, Clint considered Coulson’s reaction. Or rather, non-reaction. Surely he’d been warned about Clint’s behaviour, and yet he hadn’t made any attempt to prevent him from going off. Curious about what his handler had in mind to stop him, he rounded back to where he’d escaped, using a different route.
Coulson, of course, wasn’t where he’d left him. He stalked across the nearby roofs, searching for his g-man.
Clint had nearly resigned himself to the fact that this might have been the easiest getaway yet when he caught a glimpse of Coulson. The man was calmly drinking coffee in the little shop across the street, sitting at a table next to the window. Getting a seat next to a window is something you try to avoid in this line of work, so Clint made his way down, taking a calculated jump of the roof and swiftly swinging down using the rain pipes.
He knew Coulson must have noticed it - it was right across from where he was seated, but not once had he lifted his head to watch him. It bothered Clint that Coulson was able to get to him so easily. Making his way across the street and ordering a coffee, he wondered if this would be when Coulson showed his true colours. If he’d lose his temper and start shouting at Clint for being a liability and unfit for field work, like his previous handlers had done.
He took a seat across Coulson, mentally preparing himself. Coulson didn’t look up from his paper until he’d finished reading his page. “Done so soon?”
“What?” Clint asked, started by the unexpected question.
Making eye contact, Coulson replied.
“You’re a grown man, Barton. I’m not your nanny. I trust you are able to make your own decisions.”
Clint avoided replying by taking a sip of his coffee. He studied the man in front of him. Coulson looked like your everyday low level business man, black suit, generic white shirt with a tiny stripe in them, tie with cold, dark colours. The beginnings of a receding hairline. Clint wouldn’t have spared him a second glance passing by on the street, which is exactly what Coulson tried for. Looking further than that top layer though, Clint found a man with a gentle smile and the nicest calming blue eyes.
The declaration of trust Coulson had given him, after knowing Clint two weeks, definitely made him interesting to Clint. He planned to find out more about his handler.
---
Phil ignored the eyes he could feel aimed at the back of his head and continued filling out the paperwork he was working on. Ever since the first time he’d been off-base with Barton, the archer had been camping in the air ducts above Phil’s office. Phil didn’t mind, since it meant his charge wasn’t off terrorising other people, so he’d never spoken about it to Barton.
In fact, it seemed like a lot of Barton’s quirks had been centred around Phil lately. When they went off-base, Barton still immediately jumped up the nearest building he found, but instead of running off like the first time he trailed Phil until he was settled somewhere, reading his paper or doing paperwork.
Every time Barton came back to ground-level, he ran across the rooftops in a circle, centring the place where Phil was waiting. Then he’d make sure Phil was able to see him before descending, most of the time by leaping of the roof and grabbing hold of a window sill at the last possible moment before pushing himself off and rolling across the street.
It was a miracle no one had run over him yet.
---
It was Clint’s first mission as an official SHIELD agent, no longer probationary after the standard one year training. Whether it was a coincidence or not, Clint was still glad that Coulson had been assigned as his handler for what should be just a simple hit and run.
Clint was currently camping out on a rafter, watching out for the target through a small roof window. He’d been chatting to Coulson about what he could see - not much - and about the small napping owl next to him. He didn’t get any replies, but neither did he get any warnings to cut it off, which was all the encouragement he needed.
“Barton,” Coulson finally said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Target is coming your way. Take the hit when you can.”
Clint went silent and focused completely on the sight out of the little window.
“Target terminated.”
“Good job, Barton.”
The praise gave Clint a warm feeling, and he made his way down using the beams, completely ignoring the ladder to his right.
---
Phil was waiting in the safe house for Clint - Barton - to return. He should’ve been back already, and Phil couldn’t help but worry. Over the past months he’d grown to appreciate Clint’s company, maybe even a little too much. If something were to happen now, on their first mission, Phil would never forgive himself.
Just as Phil was mentally creating another doom scenario, Clint dropped on the windowsill and knocked, gesturing to open the window. Phil remained still for a beat, then gathered his self-control, opened the window, and very carefully didn’t cause Clint any bodily harm.
Clint ignored any danger signs he might’ve picked up on and grinned widely. “I brought you a present.” He fumbled around in his vest and pulled a creased little packet out of it.
“Is it a dead rat?” Phil asked. Clint had sometimes brought him back road kill he’d encountered on their trips off-base, as well as various other items.
Clint scoffed and nudged the packet against Phil’s hand with all the excitement of a kid opening presents on Christmas. “Go on, open it.”
Over the past months, Phil had learned it was sometimes best to just humour Clint, so he took the packet and gently opened it, discovering a silk blue tie with brown stripes. He stared at it, baffled, until Clint took it out of his hands. “Here, let me.”
Before he knew what was happening, Clint had removed his own (polyester) tie and had the new tie around his neck in a neat half-Windsor knot. Clint took a step back to admire the sight.
“It looks great on you. Brings out your eyes,” Clint admitted with a small smile.
Phil looked down at himself and back up at Clint. “Are you planning something I should know about?”
Clint’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “Coulson! You should never know what I plan. That way you can’t be hold responsible in any way.”
---
After that first mission, Clint didn’t repeat his stunt of going missing during missions to go present-hunting, and returned to the safe house when he was supposed to. Instead he’d picked up the habit of filing out his paperwork in Coulson’s office, keeping his handler company through the day.
Every time he’d seen Coulson wear the tie he’d given him, Clint felt the same warm feeling spreading through him, glad that his gift had been well received. Coulson might not have entirely known the gesture behind the gift, but Clint liked marking significant milestones in relationships. Clint wasn’t sure how to define their relationship yet, but they definitely had one.
He’d decided to start courting Coulson around the fourth month of working together, and so far all of his efforts seemed to be welcome. And maybe bringing your special other stuff you found along the road wasn’t the most conventional gesture, but then, neither Clint nor Coulson were the epitome of normal.
The one year anniversary of their meeting was coming up, and Clint had been working up to asking Coulson out for lunch for several days now, lingering in Coulson’s office and, probably, being a nuisance.
---
Phil ignored the mess of broken paperclips that had been swept under the couch in his office, courtesy of a bored Clint, and considered the multi-coloured stone in his hand. Clint had presented it to him over lunch earlier, telling him it was a meditation stone. Or a paper weight, if he preferred.
It felt smooth in his hand, just the right size to fit in his palm but still able to easily stroke his thumb over the surface. Phil had to admit it was a considerate gift.
---
“Coulson? You’ve never told me your first name,” Clint mumbled.
“It’s Phil,” Coulson said, looking up from the medical report about Clint’s current condition.
“Phil. ‘s nice,” Clint slurred, turning his head to smile at Phil.
---
Phil pulled the door to his office open and caught a stumbling Clint into his arms. “You should be in Medical.”
“You should be at home. How about we compromise?” Clint offered.
When he felt Phil doubting, he added, “I shouldn’t be unsupervised tonight and I’m going home with or without you.”
Phil gave in and nodded, pulling up Clint from where he still stood slumped against Phil’s chest and slung Clint’s arm over his shoulder. “At least try to keep as much weight of your leg as you can.”
When they arrived at Clint’s apartment, Phil was glad to discover there was an elevator in the building. Dragging a drugged-up agent with a shot leg home wasn’t nearly as much fun as it was made out to be.
Clint handed over a single key to open his door, and waved Phil away when he tried to hand it back. “Keep it. It’s the spare one.”
Making sure Clint was settled on the couch, Phil made his way to the kitchen, finding plenty of leftovers in the fridge. He divided the still edible looking foodstuffs between two plates and heated them up, carrying them back over to Clint.
Clint gave up his channel surfing in favour of practically inhaling the food and then poking Phil in the side to make him put in a DVD. Phil ignored him until his own dinner was finished and got up, picking out the first case he found.
It turned out to be ‘Mulan’, and Clint settled happily against Phil’s side, singing along under his breath.
---
Clint woke up disoriented, unused to waking up next to a warm body. He lifted his head from Coulson’s shoulder, unabashedly taking in the sight.
Taking a chance, he pressed a butterfly kiss to the corner of Phil’s mouth. He pulled back, took a mental snapshot, and settled more comfortably against Phil’s chest.
---
Their unofficial two year anniversary didn’t go exactly the way Clint had hoped it would. Instead of snagging Phil out of his office to treat him to a romantic dinner, he was being shouted at by Coulson for endangering the whole of SHIELD by making a different call. Clint didn’t regret anything about bringing Black Widow with him rather than shooting her, but he did feel guilty about laying the responsibility at Coulson’s feet. If it backfired, Coulson would held responsible, not Clint.
---
“You’re going to ask him to move in with you?” Natasha asked as she tried to strangle Clint.
“Yeah,” Clint choked out. “It’s the next big step.”
Natasha snorted and released Clint from her hold. “Are you sure he even knows you’re together?”
Clint flopped onto the ground and stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve been on countless dates, we’ve slept together in his bed a couple of times, I cook him dinner. How could he not?”
Natasha’s face appeared into his view, looking down at him. “Then why hasn’t he made a move yet, after all this time?”
“Maybe he’s saving himself for marriage; I don’t know, ‘Tasha,” Clint groaned. “Relationships aren’t about sex.”
Natasha shrugged and offered him a hand to help him up. “Let me know what he says.”
---
“What?” was Phil’s first reaction. Not the most eloquent reply he’d ever given, but he was sure he’d misunderstood the question. Had Clint seriously just asked him to move in together?
“If you… uh... wanted to move in with me?” Clint asked again, looking more and more nervous with every passing second.
Thoughts were going through his head at the speed of light, unsure what to make of the seemingly out of nowhere question.
“Yes.” Wait, what?
Clint brightened visibly at his answer and decided to plough right through Phil’s confusion by giving him a chaste kiss on the mouth.
“Great! I hope you don’t mind if we use your bed, it’s just a lot more comfortable,” Clint started rambling.
Listening to the familiar rhythm of Clint’s voice, Phil went back over the past years they’d known each other. The way Clint had brought him a steady supply of food and occasionally gave him little gifts, all their outings to fancy restaurants - which really should’ve clued him in earlier. The first time they’d ended up in Phil’s bed together (after they returned from a 72-hour mission without any sleep and had just crashed in the nearest place), and how he’d woken up with Clint’s arm slung over his waist the next day.
“Clint,” he interrupted Clint’s current rambling about building Phil a little Captain America shrine.
“Phil?” Clint asked, suddenly nervous again after hearing Phil’s grave tone.
“I don’t worship Captain America,” Phil deadpanned. He stepped closer to Clint, stopping a hair’s breadth away from Clint’s face. “I could make a lame pun about who I am about to worship later, or someone could finally kiss me.”
Clint grinned, eyes shining with mirth. He brought up his hands to frame Phil’s face before closing the gap between them.
The kiss started slow, a simple connecting of lips. It slowly gained more heat; Clint’s tongue darted out, licking across Phil’s bottom lip. Phil brought up one hand to rest on the back of Clint’s neck, the other on the small of his back.
When they had to pull back to regain their breath, Phil rested his forehead against Clint’s.
---
Natasha saw Clint walking around with a smug grin and felt happy for him. But she still made sure to be off the premises to avoid them roping her into helping them move.
Author: meloenijs
Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3.088
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, I’m merely borrowing them.
A/N: Written for this prompt on cc-feelsmeme.
Summary: In the five months since SHIELD had recruited the man, he’d scared off several junior agents, leading to their resignation, and went through three different handlers. SHIELD had known about his authority problems before they signed him up, which was why they hadn’t given up on him yet. That, and his remarkable marksmanship.
All in all, it would certainly be a challenge, and that was why Phil had requested to be assigned as Clinton Francis Barton’s new handler.
Phil liked a challenge. That was why he’d requested this new full-time assignment, even though he’d been high enough up on the ladder not to have to deal with probationary agents for months now. But he’d heard the rumours of terror about the newest asset, the way he’d disappear out of sight as soon as he was let outside by climbing up the nearest building and making his escape over the roofs. Probationary agents weren’t supposed to be allowed off-base unsupervised, but no one was able to follow him once he went off.
In the five months since SHIELD had recruited the man, he’d scared off several junior agents, leading to their resignation, and went through three different handlers. SHIELD had known about his authority problems before they signed him up, which was why they hadn’t given up on him yet. That, and his remarkable marksmanship.
All in all, it would certainly be a challenge, and that was why Phil had requested to be assigned as Clinton Francis Barton’s new handler.
---
Watching his new charge make his way through the obstacle range, Phil admired the absolute control Barton had over his own body, and, in extension, his bow. He’d decided that apart from the basic info he’d read in Barton’s file, he wouldn’t pry any deeper. Building a trustful work relationship has to come from two sides, and going in prejudiced wouldn’t help them.
When the last target had an arrow neatly stuck into the middle, Phil stepped forward to introduce himself.
“Agent Barton.” The archer looked up from where he’d been fondling his bow.
“I’m agent Coulson and I will be your new handler. I’m sure you’re aware of how this works.”
“Sure, done it enough times now. How did you enjoy the show, Coulson?” Barton asked with a smug grin.
Phil answered him with an unimpressed gaze. “You will address me as agent Coulson or agent. If you’d follow me, I’ll show you where my office is so you won’t be able to claim getting lost.”
“Sure, boss-man. Go ahead.”
---
Two weeks into their new handler-asset relationship Barton had yet to do something truly gruesome. So far, the worst he’d done was trying to shoot toothpicks with olives at one end at Phil’s lunch to ‘give it the finishing touch’.
Today, Phil had found a completed form requesting off-base time stapled to his office door, a noticeable improvement from what he’d heard of Barton’s former handlers - as long as you ignored the fact it was filled out in purple Sharpie. This form and its implications had been a large problem previously, Barton’s handlers unable to follow him on the rooftops but also not allowed to simply revoke his access off-base since he technically didn’t abuse the rules. It was the responsibility of a handler to keep the asset under control.
Phil granted the request and went off in search of Barton, curious of what would happen.
---
Clint was waiting in his quarters, pacing up and down all ten square feet of them, thinking about Coulson. His new handler shouldn’t be able to deny his request, but two of his previous assholes of handlers had made sure they did as much as possible to try and revoke his off-base privileges. He’d listened to the gossip about Coulson after meeting him, so he knew his handler wasn’t known as a bad man - strict but fair seemed to be the general consensus.
His pacing was interrupted by a knock on the door. Pulling himself together, he opened the door. Coulson stood there, looking as blandly amused as ever.
“You wanted to go out?”
“I’ve been cooped up inside for weeks, I’m going crazy here,” Clint confessed.
Coulson nodded and moved out of the doorway, waiting for Clint. “Should I get a leash first?”
Clint grinned, “Aww, sir, you should’ve told me you were into the kinky stuff. I would’ve worn something different.”
All he got in response was a lifted eyebrow, but Clint had seen the amused twinkle in Coulson’s eyes. So his handler did have a sense of humour.
---
As soon as they were outside Clint considered his escaping options. Plenty of climbable buildings around where he’d be able to lose Coulson. After a furtive glance at his handler, he started sprinting towards the closest one and made his way to the roof.
Once safely settled a few blocks away, Clint considered Coulson’s reaction. Or rather, non-reaction. Surely he’d been warned about Clint’s behaviour, and yet he hadn’t made any attempt to prevent him from going off. Curious about what his handler had in mind to stop him, he rounded back to where he’d escaped, using a different route.
Coulson, of course, wasn’t where he’d left him. He stalked across the nearby roofs, searching for his g-man.
Clint had nearly resigned himself to the fact that this might have been the easiest getaway yet when he caught a glimpse of Coulson. The man was calmly drinking coffee in the little shop across the street, sitting at a table next to the window. Getting a seat next to a window is something you try to avoid in this line of work, so Clint made his way down, taking a calculated jump of the roof and swiftly swinging down using the rain pipes.
He knew Coulson must have noticed it - it was right across from where he was seated, but not once had he lifted his head to watch him. It bothered Clint that Coulson was able to get to him so easily. Making his way across the street and ordering a coffee, he wondered if this would be when Coulson showed his true colours. If he’d lose his temper and start shouting at Clint for being a liability and unfit for field work, like his previous handlers had done.
He took a seat across Coulson, mentally preparing himself. Coulson didn’t look up from his paper until he’d finished reading his page. “Done so soon?”
“What?” Clint asked, started by the unexpected question.
Making eye contact, Coulson replied.
“You’re a grown man, Barton. I’m not your nanny. I trust you are able to make your own decisions.”
Clint avoided replying by taking a sip of his coffee. He studied the man in front of him. Coulson looked like your everyday low level business man, black suit, generic white shirt with a tiny stripe in them, tie with cold, dark colours. The beginnings of a receding hairline. Clint wouldn’t have spared him a second glance passing by on the street, which is exactly what Coulson tried for. Looking further than that top layer though, Clint found a man with a gentle smile and the nicest calming blue eyes.
The declaration of trust Coulson had given him, after knowing Clint two weeks, definitely made him interesting to Clint. He planned to find out more about his handler.
---
Phil ignored the eyes he could feel aimed at the back of his head and continued filling out the paperwork he was working on. Ever since the first time he’d been off-base with Barton, the archer had been camping in the air ducts above Phil’s office. Phil didn’t mind, since it meant his charge wasn’t off terrorising other people, so he’d never spoken about it to Barton.
In fact, it seemed like a lot of Barton’s quirks had been centred around Phil lately. When they went off-base, Barton still immediately jumped up the nearest building he found, but instead of running off like the first time he trailed Phil until he was settled somewhere, reading his paper or doing paperwork.
Every time Barton came back to ground-level, he ran across the rooftops in a circle, centring the place where Phil was waiting. Then he’d make sure Phil was able to see him before descending, most of the time by leaping of the roof and grabbing hold of a window sill at the last possible moment before pushing himself off and rolling across the street.
It was a miracle no one had run over him yet.
---
It was Clint’s first mission as an official SHIELD agent, no longer probationary after the standard one year training. Whether it was a coincidence or not, Clint was still glad that Coulson had been assigned as his handler for what should be just a simple hit and run.
Clint was currently camping out on a rafter, watching out for the target through a small roof window. He’d been chatting to Coulson about what he could see - not much - and about the small napping owl next to him. He didn’t get any replies, but neither did he get any warnings to cut it off, which was all the encouragement he needed.
“Barton,” Coulson finally said.
“Yes, sir?”
“Target is coming your way. Take the hit when you can.”
Clint went silent and focused completely on the sight out of the little window.
“Target terminated.”
“Good job, Barton.”
The praise gave Clint a warm feeling, and he made his way down using the beams, completely ignoring the ladder to his right.
---
Phil was waiting in the safe house for Clint - Barton - to return. He should’ve been back already, and Phil couldn’t help but worry. Over the past months he’d grown to appreciate Clint’s company, maybe even a little too much. If something were to happen now, on their first mission, Phil would never forgive himself.
Just as Phil was mentally creating another doom scenario, Clint dropped on the windowsill and knocked, gesturing to open the window. Phil remained still for a beat, then gathered his self-control, opened the window, and very carefully didn’t cause Clint any bodily harm.
Clint ignored any danger signs he might’ve picked up on and grinned widely. “I brought you a present.” He fumbled around in his vest and pulled a creased little packet out of it.
“Is it a dead rat?” Phil asked. Clint had sometimes brought him back road kill he’d encountered on their trips off-base, as well as various other items.
Clint scoffed and nudged the packet against Phil’s hand with all the excitement of a kid opening presents on Christmas. “Go on, open it.”
Over the past months, Phil had learned it was sometimes best to just humour Clint, so he took the packet and gently opened it, discovering a silk blue tie with brown stripes. He stared at it, baffled, until Clint took it out of his hands. “Here, let me.”
Before he knew what was happening, Clint had removed his own (polyester) tie and had the new tie around his neck in a neat half-Windsor knot. Clint took a step back to admire the sight.
“It looks great on you. Brings out your eyes,” Clint admitted with a small smile.
Phil looked down at himself and back up at Clint. “Are you planning something I should know about?”
Clint’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “Coulson! You should never know what I plan. That way you can’t be hold responsible in any way.”
---
After that first mission, Clint didn’t repeat his stunt of going missing during missions to go present-hunting, and returned to the safe house when he was supposed to. Instead he’d picked up the habit of filing out his paperwork in Coulson’s office, keeping his handler company through the day.
Every time he’d seen Coulson wear the tie he’d given him, Clint felt the same warm feeling spreading through him, glad that his gift had been well received. Coulson might not have entirely known the gesture behind the gift, but Clint liked marking significant milestones in relationships. Clint wasn’t sure how to define their relationship yet, but they definitely had one.
He’d decided to start courting Coulson around the fourth month of working together, and so far all of his efforts seemed to be welcome. And maybe bringing your special other stuff you found along the road wasn’t the most conventional gesture, but then, neither Clint nor Coulson were the epitome of normal.
The one year anniversary of their meeting was coming up, and Clint had been working up to asking Coulson out for lunch for several days now, lingering in Coulson’s office and, probably, being a nuisance.
---
Phil ignored the mess of broken paperclips that had been swept under the couch in his office, courtesy of a bored Clint, and considered the multi-coloured stone in his hand. Clint had presented it to him over lunch earlier, telling him it was a meditation stone. Or a paper weight, if he preferred.
It felt smooth in his hand, just the right size to fit in his palm but still able to easily stroke his thumb over the surface. Phil had to admit it was a considerate gift.
---
“Coulson? You’ve never told me your first name,” Clint mumbled.
“It’s Phil,” Coulson said, looking up from the medical report about Clint’s current condition.
“Phil. ‘s nice,” Clint slurred, turning his head to smile at Phil.
---
Phil pulled the door to his office open and caught a stumbling Clint into his arms. “You should be in Medical.”
“You should be at home. How about we compromise?” Clint offered.
When he felt Phil doubting, he added, “I shouldn’t be unsupervised tonight and I’m going home with or without you.”
Phil gave in and nodded, pulling up Clint from where he still stood slumped against Phil’s chest and slung Clint’s arm over his shoulder. “At least try to keep as much weight of your leg as you can.”
When they arrived at Clint’s apartment, Phil was glad to discover there was an elevator in the building. Dragging a drugged-up agent with a shot leg home wasn’t nearly as much fun as it was made out to be.
Clint handed over a single key to open his door, and waved Phil away when he tried to hand it back. “Keep it. It’s the spare one.”
Making sure Clint was settled on the couch, Phil made his way to the kitchen, finding plenty of leftovers in the fridge. He divided the still edible looking foodstuffs between two plates and heated them up, carrying them back over to Clint.
Clint gave up his channel surfing in favour of practically inhaling the food and then poking Phil in the side to make him put in a DVD. Phil ignored him until his own dinner was finished and got up, picking out the first case he found.
It turned out to be ‘Mulan’, and Clint settled happily against Phil’s side, singing along under his breath.
---
Clint woke up disoriented, unused to waking up next to a warm body. He lifted his head from Coulson’s shoulder, unabashedly taking in the sight.
Taking a chance, he pressed a butterfly kiss to the corner of Phil’s mouth. He pulled back, took a mental snapshot, and settled more comfortably against Phil’s chest.
---
Their unofficial two year anniversary didn’t go exactly the way Clint had hoped it would. Instead of snagging Phil out of his office to treat him to a romantic dinner, he was being shouted at by Coulson for endangering the whole of SHIELD by making a different call. Clint didn’t regret anything about bringing Black Widow with him rather than shooting her, but he did feel guilty about laying the responsibility at Coulson’s feet. If it backfired, Coulson would held responsible, not Clint.
---
“You’re going to ask him to move in with you?” Natasha asked as she tried to strangle Clint.
“Yeah,” Clint choked out. “It’s the next big step.”
Natasha snorted and released Clint from her hold. “Are you sure he even knows you’re together?”
Clint flopped onto the ground and stared up at the ceiling. “We’ve been on countless dates, we’ve slept together in his bed a couple of times, I cook him dinner. How could he not?”
Natasha’s face appeared into his view, looking down at him. “Then why hasn’t he made a move yet, after all this time?”
“Maybe he’s saving himself for marriage; I don’t know, ‘Tasha,” Clint groaned. “Relationships aren’t about sex.”
Natasha shrugged and offered him a hand to help him up. “Let me know what he says.”
---
“What?” was Phil’s first reaction. Not the most eloquent reply he’d ever given, but he was sure he’d misunderstood the question. Had Clint seriously just asked him to move in together?
“If you… uh... wanted to move in with me?” Clint asked again, looking more and more nervous with every passing second.
Thoughts were going through his head at the speed of light, unsure what to make of the seemingly out of nowhere question.
“Yes.” Wait, what?
Clint brightened visibly at his answer and decided to plough right through Phil’s confusion by giving him a chaste kiss on the mouth.
“Great! I hope you don’t mind if we use your bed, it’s just a lot more comfortable,” Clint started rambling.
Listening to the familiar rhythm of Clint’s voice, Phil went back over the past years they’d known each other. The way Clint had brought him a steady supply of food and occasionally gave him little gifts, all their outings to fancy restaurants - which really should’ve clued him in earlier. The first time they’d ended up in Phil’s bed together (after they returned from a 72-hour mission without any sleep and had just crashed in the nearest place), and how he’d woken up with Clint’s arm slung over his waist the next day.
“Clint,” he interrupted Clint’s current rambling about building Phil a little Captain America shrine.
“Phil?” Clint asked, suddenly nervous again after hearing Phil’s grave tone.
“I don’t worship Captain America,” Phil deadpanned. He stepped closer to Clint, stopping a hair’s breadth away from Clint’s face. “I could make a lame pun about who I am about to worship later, or someone could finally kiss me.”
Clint grinned, eyes shining with mirth. He brought up his hands to frame Phil’s face before closing the gap between them.
The kiss started slow, a simple connecting of lips. It slowly gained more heat; Clint’s tongue darted out, licking across Phil’s bottom lip. Phil brought up one hand to rest on the back of Clint’s neck, the other on the small of his back.
When they had to pull back to regain their breath, Phil rested his forehead against Clint’s.
---
Natasha saw Clint walking around with a smug grin and felt happy for him. But she still made sure to be off the premises to avoid them roping her into helping them move.