Fic: "Three for Playing" 3/3
title: three for playing
author: perletwo
rating: NC-17 (this part)
fandom: Marvel movieverse
warnings (this part): language, sex sex sex
prompt: tl;dr: Coulson gets kittenfied and witnesses Clint's many facets.
The cat has nine lives: three for playing, three for straying, three for staying. - English Proverb
I suspect that many an ailurophobe hates cats only because he feels they are better people than he is - more honest, more secure, more loved, more whatever he is not. -Winifred Carriere
Some get an itchin' for a critter they been scratchin'. -Rowlf the Dog, "I Hope that Something Better Comes Along," lyrics by Paul Williams & Kenny Ascher
Clint followed Coulson into the back of an ambulance, and listened to the EMTs rattle off his vitals. He sat back out of their way, and wished he could take his friend’s hand.
Coulson was stable by the time they reached SHIELD’s medical facility. When they had him in an examination cubicle, he opened his eyes and lifted his head.
“Barton?”
“Here, boss.” Clint called from the doorway. “Fury told me to stand guard.”
“Thought I heard that,” he replied, voice thin. “How long was I -”
“About a day and a half, give or take.” Clint looked away.
“I should probably say something. I don’t know.” He tried to shrug and winced. “Thank you? I’m sorry?”
“Hey. What’s to be sorry for? It’s not like you saw me naked or something.” Clint’s jaw set. “Oh. Wait.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“Yes. No. Yes.” He winced. “I mean, I’m not angry exactly. Not at you, anyway. Embarrassed. About the whole - situation.”
“Fair enough,” Coulson said, and watched Clint step aside to let a doctor into the cubicle.
*********
The doctor had Coulson turn onto his side and took down the top of his exam gown, and began picking glass slivers out of the wound on his shoulder. Clint watched the procedure with an appalled fascination.
“Jeez, Coulson. Your back’s like one enormous bruise,” he said, eyeing the discoloration over his friend’s shoulders.
“You got it right, I hit the bookshelves at speed,” Coulson replied.
“I’m a bit concerned about those welts on top of the bruise,” the doctor said as he stitched up the shoulder wound.
“You’re new here, aren’t you, Doc?” When the doctor nodded, Coulson sighed. “The welts are old. You’ll find ‘em on my charts under scars and identifying marks. They’re usually pretty faint, they probably just stand out with the bruising under them.”
“Can you give me a read on the pain levels from this, on the 0 to 5 scale?” the doctor asked.
He hesitated. “I’ve developed a high tolerance for pain. It makes it hard to gauge,” he said finally. “It’s not so bad I can’t ignore it.”
Clint’s focus sharpened, and he studied the welts - thin white ridges striping the middle of Coulson’s shoulders. “Leather belt?”
“It’s a classic for a reason,” Coulson said with a nod.
“Pretty skinny belt,” Clint observed.
“Woman’s belt.”
Clint winced. “Sorry.” Coulson just shrugged, and Clint strove for a lighter tone. “You musta been a pretty bad little kid, from the looks of it.”
He shrugged again. “If you define ‘bad’ as ‘being there,’ sure. Hard habit for a four-year-old to break.”
“…I can shut up now, if you’d rather.”
“No, it’s okay. Painkillers always make me gabby.” Coulson looked over his shoulder at Clint. “There was a bright side. It helped me develop the first two tenets of my personal philosophy.”
Clint smiled. “Which are?”
“One, always be very quiet. This is SOP when dealing with a crazy person. Ow.”
“Sorry,” the doctor said. “Had to yank on that to get the sutures secured. Almost done.”
“So what’s point two?” Clint asked, to distract him from the suturing.
“Hmm?” He turned his head away from the doctor to focus on Clint again.
“Your personal philosophy.”
“Oh. Yeah. Two. Always assume everyone is a crazy person. That’s also SOP, unless they’re conclusively proven safe and sane - what I call the Grandparent Exception. Good people, my grandparents. Solid as they come. Wish you could meet ‘em.”
“Sorry, man. If you want I can forget I ever saw that.” He gestured toward the scars on his friend’s back.
Coulson shook his head. “No big deal, anymore. Just - ancient crap.”
Anger flashed briefly through Clint’s eyes, and then his face shuttered over into cool professionalism. He came to attention as Fury walked into the room.
“Agent Coulson?”
“Sir.” Coulson cleared his throat. “Quick sitrep. Some weeks ago I was talking with Thor about how Asgardians mix magic and technology. He brought me back a book from Asgard to look at, which I was deciphering very slowly with a dictionary of Old Norse. Loki teleported into my house to take that book - and did, as best I can recall. It gets a little blurry at the end there. As to the rest, Agent Barton had the details of the fight essentially correct, and I was with him for the duration of the time I was a cat. He can debrief you there better than I can.”
“Thank you, Agent. The situation is being dealt with. I’m sending Thor, Captain America, Hawkeye and Hulk to deal with Loki, keeping Black Widow and Iron Man in reserve. You will be under 24-hour guard until this matter is resolved.”
Coulson started to sit up, winced. “Due respect, sir, but Loki didn’t target me specifically. He only assaulted me because I caught him in the act. I doubt he’ll come back for me.”
Fury’s eye regarded him coolly. “I wasn’t aware you had such insight that you can predict the game plan of a God of Mischief, Agent Coulson.”
“…oh. No. No sir.” He settled back down on the table. “A bodyguard’s probably a good idea, now you put it like that.”
Clint snorted, and was met with the Stare. “You. Report to Hangar D immediately. Deployment’s in one hour.”
“Sir. Yes sir. Live to serve, Bosses.” He sketched a mocking salute at Coulson and Fury and left.
Fury sighed and ran a hand over the good side of his face. “That boy…”
“He’s seriously pissed off, sir,” Coulson interjected. “Mostly at me. Giving him a job to do, away from here, is probably the best thing for him right now.” He winced. “Wish I had one.”
*********
Fury returned to Coulson’s bungalow late the next afternoon. The guard opened the door, and he found the front room cleared of all furniture except the bookcases, and Coulson curled up on the floor in the sunbeam by the window.
“Taking an afternoon nap, Agent?”
Coulson scrambled into a slightly more dignified sitting position. “Taking a break from working, sir. I spent the morning getting the broken crap out of the room, and I just ran the Roomba,” he waved a hand at the little robot vacuum, “and once I get my second wind I’ll have the Scooba give the floor a good washing down.”
Fury smiled. “Bet you’d’ve loved to have those toys when you were a kid.”
“Mom would’ve sold ‘em for drug money,” Coulson said wryly. “But yeah, we can add them to the list of impossible things that would’ve made my life easier back then.”
“I just stopped by to update you. The Avengers are back from kicking Loki’s ass. Still not sure what exactly he was up to, but it seems to have more to do with pulling a prank on Thor than anything earth-shattering. Hawkeye called him out on ‘attacking Coulson’ as he put it, and Loki said in his defense he hadn’t actually hurt you. I don’t think Barton was buying it, though.”
“It’s true enough. Worst that’s come out of the whole mess is that now I’ll have to shop. I hate to shop. I was just lying here wondering, can I really, really not live without a TV?” He sighed. “No injuries?”
“None. Barton asked for and was given the rest of the day at liberty, to make up for working through the night. Said he had ‘shit to take care of at home,’” Fury said. “I don’t even think I want to know.”
Coulson fought back a smile. “No, sir. You really don’t.”
*********
The next morning, Hawkeye completed the first round of his training session and walked off the floor to find Coulson in his usual place, leaning against the table with coffee in hand, suit impeccable.
“Nice work there,” he said, and passed Clint a towel. “I hear you had fun with mischief gods yesterday.”
“Thanks, and yeah, it was a blast,” Clint said wryly. “You’re up and around mighty soon. Couldn’t stay away?”
“I got bored. Say what you will, hanging around with you Avengers types is never boring.” He lifted his coffee in salute.
“Yeah, right. That’s why you followed me around all night and all day when you were a cat?”
Coulson shrugged. “It’s as good an explanation as any.”
“Do better.” Clint threw the towel back on the table with a touch more force than was necessary.
“Yep. You’re still pissed.”
“What did you expect? I let you in my house. You know things about me now I would never willingly let anybody else in on - including some I’d never willingly let you personally know. Why shouldn’t I be pissed off?”
“C’mon. What’d I see that I couldn’t’ve guessed anyhow? That you’re smarter than you pretend? That you’re not as confident as you act? That you’ve got ambitions?” Coulson shook his head and set his coffee down. “Point four of my personal philosophy. The harder you try to conceal something, the more obvious it is to everybody around you.” He tugged at his shirt cuffs.
“What was that? Rubbing it in that you’re better dressed than me?”
“What?...oh.” He looked down at his arms. “No, it’s just, long sleeves are part of how I realized point four. I always wore long sleeve shirts when I was a kid - yeah, I was that kid, the one that dressed like the school had uniforms even though it didn’t - and it worked fine at school. But then I’d go to my grandparents in the summer, July and August when it’s like 110 degrees, and I’m in long sleeve oxfords. I might as well have had a neon sign flashing ‘HIDING SOMETHING UNDER HERE.’”
“Hiding what?”
“Wha -oh. The cigarette burns. Of course.”
“You’re kidding,” Clint said, floored.
“Huh? No, of course I’m not kidding, why would I even -” He took off his suit jacket, unbuttoned the cuff of one shirt sleeve and pushed it up to his elbow. “They’re faint now, but I think there’s enough light in here to see them.” He lifted his arm.
Clint took Coulson’s wrist in one hand and with the other traced lines through the constellation of faint round white scars atop his forearm. “These? Yeah. I see ‘em.”
Clint’s hands were warm, and Coulson felt his mind shift into focus on the sensation in much the same way it did when shooting practice targets.
“Why’re you telling me all this?” Clint asked, voice rough.
“Because I -” Coulson looked down, shook his head to clear it. “Because I think you’ve got this image of me in your head that puts distance between us. That I grew up privileged and - sheltered from the kind of problems you had growing up. That I’d be - shocked or, or disgusted, if I saw you clearly. And it’s just wrong. I didn’t have the adult responsibilities you took on way too young, but I had my own version of them. I don’t know what exactly your life was like after your parents died and you ran away, but I know what mine was like, and what I know of yours - resonates.”
“So this is like what, you show me yours so I’ll show you mine? Bullshit. That’s just bullshit.” Clint dropped Coulson’s arm and stalked off.
*********
Two hours later, Coulson was in his office, trying to get a handle on three days’ accumulation of paperwork. Clint walked in and slapped a file down on his desk.
“Sitrep on the Loki mission,” he said, and turned to go.
“Thank you. Do I also have you to thank for this?” Clint turned back to find Coulson holding up a plush toy kitten.
“No sir.” He shrugged. “For one thing, if I’d done it I’d’a gotten one that looked a lot more like you. Cat-you, I mean.”
Coulson sighed. “Good to know the SHIELD grapevine is working at capacity, then.” He started to drop the stuffed cat in his wastebasket, and was checked by a shocked noise from Clint. He put the cat back on the desk and looked up, eyebrows raised.
“…Um. If you don’t want that, can, ahh, can I have it?” Clint fidgeted awkwardly. “I mean, if you’re just going to throw it away anyway…”
“It might as well go to a good home,” Coulson finished, and pitched the toy overhand in Clint’s direction. Clint caught it one-handed. “It can keep you company while you study. How’d the paper go?”
Clint’s expression darkened. “None of your damn business,” he snapped, then shook his head. “Sorry. Thanks for the cat,” he added as he darted out the door.
*********
That evening, Coulson sat alone in the base’s commissary, reading reports while he dined on a salad. Clint came in, grabbed a beer and a sandwich, and came over to Coulson’s table.
“Hey. I just -” He stopped when his eye fell on Coulson’s dinner plate. “Tuna salad? Is that some kind of a joke?”
Coulson looked down at the plate, then back up. “If it is, it’s really not on you particularly, you know. I kind of think I ate a mouse.”
Clint’s eyebrows rose. “…how was it?”
“Crunchy. Could’ve used ketchup.” He shrugged. “Salade Nicoise is better. Not as good as the tuna straight from the can was, but…let’s just say I never had a proper appreciation for tuna before that morning. You wouldn’t believe how much keener a cat’s senses of smell and taste are than ours.”
“Guess not.” Clint looked away, opened his beer and drank. “I just, ahh. Owe you an apology. For this morning.”
“You gave me one already.”
“Yeah, that was for snapping at you in the first place,” he said. “This one’s for the content. I finished my paper after we got back yesterday. Turned it in last night. Don’t know how it’s gonna go over.”
“Doesn’t matter. I stepped over a line, you pushed me back. It happens.” Coulson kept eating.
“No, I mean - cat’s out of the bag, so to speak. You should - I should be able to let you ask about it.” He turned the beer bottle around in his hands. “It’s just - I kinda think I’m gonna blow it, and I really didn’t want to have an audience when that happens.”
“One bad paper’s not going to -” Clint cut him off with a raised hand.
“Not the paper.” He drank, nervously. “The whole thing. College.”
“Do your grades so far reflect that?” Clint shook his head. “Then why borrow trouble?”
“’Cause I don’t know what I’m doing there,” he answered. “Besides, the whole thing’s really your fault anyways.”
“My fault?!”
“Yeah. One day about a year ago? I was looking at your degrees on your office wall, and you said something about how it all seemed like life or death when you were in college and you wished you’d known then how little of it you’d actually end up using, so you could’ve just enjoyed what you were learning. It made me think…” He shrugged and unwrapped his sandwich.
“I remember you looking at my diploma. I don’t remember what exactly I said.” He took a nervous sip of water. “I…have this tendency to babble when you’re around.”
“No you don’t. I mean, maybe it feels like babble, but it doesn’t sound like it. Usually it’s interesting.”
“Thanks.” Coulson looked down at his salad. “As for college, if you ever want some help -”
“No.” Clint stood abruptly. “Aggh. Sorry. No. Just, I gotta do this thing by myself. If I get you, or get anybody, to help it’ll feel like cheating.” He gathered his sandwich and beer. “I don’t cheat.”
“No, you don’t,” Coulson said to his retreating back.
*********
Coulson started the next day with his mandatory session with the division’s psychiatrist.
“How’s your week been going?” Dr. Eidson asked.
“The usual. Reports, paperwork. Fought a Norse god. Got turned into a cat.” He shrugged.
“Oh, is that all.” The older woman smiled. “Care to tell me how you feel about that?”
“Not really.” Coulson put his briefcase beside him on the couch and opened it.
“I had a feeling you’d say that,” she said, and turned back to her computer. “You know, I almost feel guilty filing the insurance claims for these sessions of ours? Almost.”
“I know what you mean.” He took out a set of files and a pen. “On the bright side, we both get so much real work done during these hours, don’t we?”
They smiled at each other over the old familiar joke, and set to ignoring each other for the next fifty-five minutes.
*********
“Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit dammit.” Clint leaned heavily on Natasha’s shoulder and limped off the sparring mat.
“Don’t even think about it, comrade,” she replied. “It’s off to Medical for you.”
“Dammit, Tasha, it’s just a bum ankle. Toss an ace bandage and a bag of ice on it and I’m good as new. Medical’s gonna make me take downtime I don’t need. I’ve worked through worse injuries, you know that.”
“Yes I do,” she said sweetly. “Which is exactly why I’m walking you to Medical. I want you in tip-top shape before the next time I kick your ass.”
*********
Coulson fidgeted impatiently through his fourth deadly dull debriefing of the day. He drummed his fingers on the desk top. He tapped a foot. He barely gave his agents time to answer before snapping out the next question.
When the debrief was done, Fury stepped into the room.
“You’re on a short fuse,” he said, studying the deep shadows under his friend’s eyes.
“My behavior was well within SHIELD regs,” Coulson answered.
“Wasn’t well within your own internal regs,” argued Fury. “Your cover’s slipping, Agent.”
“I have no idea what you mean, sir.” He gathered up his files and dumped them unceremoniously in his briefcase.
“Don’t pull that with me, Phil. I’ve been watching you build up your cover since you were -” Fury held a hand at knee-level.
Coulson gave him a baleful look. “So I’m having an off day. Happens to the best of us.”
“I’ll tell you what the General would tell you, son: You’re back at work too soon. You got things to get right within yourself, and you won’t be much good to anyone ‘til you do. Yourself least of all.”
“That’s low, Colonel. Throwing my grandfather in my face.” Coulson closed the briefcase with a snap.
“Whatever it takes, Agent.” Fury sighed and put a hand on Coulson’s shoulder. “Something else your grandfather would’ve done, without hesitation: You’re back on medical leave for the next three days. I don’t want to see your face back here until that time.”
Coulson’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened. Then he shut it firmly and straightened.
“Yes sir. Thank you very much, sir.”
He slammed the door on his way out.
*********
Coulson spent most of the following day shopping for furniture, which did nothing for his foul mood.
Clint limped his way through household chores, grocery shopping and other errands, and wound the day up with his social sciences class. Throughout the day he caught himself glancing back over his shoulder and down, as if expecting someone was following in his shadow.
*********
It was after midnight and Clint was twisting restlessly in a vain search for a comfortable position in bed. Movement caught his eye through the bedroom window. A flash of something pale in the moonlight drifting by, something familiar.
Clint jumped out of bed and rushed to the front door as quickly as his wrapped ankle would allow, still clad in only his shorts. He rounded his front walk to the sidewalk and intercepted Coulson, who shuffled along barefoot in a white t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms.
“Phil? What’re you doing out here?”
His friend shrugged, staring with hollow eyes at nothing. “I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I haven’t really slept since…” He made a vague rolling gesture with his hands.
“C’mon. Let’s get you inside.” He led Coulson in and closed the door behind them. He got Coulson settled in the dining nook and hobbled to the refrigerator. “D’you really not drink beer, or was that just a cat thing? …Aha. Let’s try this.” He pulled a bottle of red wine from the back of the fridge, and after a moment’s digging in the cabinets, poured it into two jelly jar glasses etched with cartoon characters.
Coulson took a sip of the wine and shuddered. “That is pretty raw stuff.”
“Got it to cook spaghetti sauce with,” Clint said. “Think of it as medicine. Drink enough of it and maybe it’ll knock you out.”
Coulson stood, prowled around the small kitchen. “It’s not just that I can’t sleep. It’s - I can’t get used to being human again,” he explained. “I hate not being able to smell things properly and I keep wanting to go after prey and I can’t figure out how people express emotions when they don’t have tails.”
“Have you talked with the doctors about this?”
He laughed. “Oh yeah. I’m going to tell them I wish I was still a kitten. I’m really going to tell them I miss seeing in the dark and hearing every tiny sound for miles.” He paced some more. “I’m not about to tell them I miss everything being simple and clear in my head and I miss being free to just play, and oh God I am absolutely not going to tell them how much I miss you petting me. Touching me.”
Clint looked up from his glass, and Coulson blanched. “And that’s not a thing that you’re interested in repeating, now that I don’t have the power of cute for a draw. I get it. It’s okay. I shouldn’t’ve…” He put his glass down and moved toward the doorway.
“Phil. Wait.” Clint stood, got in his path and caught him. He stepped in close, hands under the other man’s elbows, and leaned in to whisper hot and urgently in his ear. A red flush crept up Coulson’s neck and ears as he listened.
“That’s what you were dreaming, that night?” he asked, voice low. Clint drew back and nodded.
“About me?” Another nod, and a similar flush pinked Clint’s cheeks. “Okay. Okay. I can see it maybe being just a one-off, the subconscious does funny things -”
Clint cut him off with a raised hand, shook his head. “Couple nights a week, every week, for - God, I can’t even remember how long it’s been, now. Maybe more than a couple nights if I’d been spending a lot of time with you on a mission or something.”
Coulson picked up his glass again and took a long, shaky swallow. “Wow. We’re going to have to reevaluate you for undercover work. You sure hid the hell out of that one.”
“I didn’t think you - looked at me that way. Could ever want me that way.” His eyes were downcast. “And I - admire you, and respect you, and I like being around you. So much.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I wasn’t gonna risk losing that on what I was pretty sure was a non-starter.”
Coulson took a step closer, rested his head on Clint’s shoulder, buried his nose in the junction of neck and trapezius muscle, and breathed deep. “Oh yeah. That scent, that’s what I missed. It was everywhere when I was here as a cat. It made me feel warm all over. Happy.” He nuzzled at Clint’s neck with lips and the tip of his tongue. “I knew I was safe with you. Your scent, voice, posture, a hundred tiny subliminal cues people-senses miss, they all told me you were safe. Good. Solid. You got in on the Grandparent Exception without even trying.”
Clint chuckled, and ducked his head to brush his lips over Coulson’s. Then took his mouth in a deeper kiss.
Coulson initiated the second kiss, and Clint’s hands roamed lightly down his back and under the hem of his t-shirt. “Your back -”
“Is much better,” he mumbled against the side of Clint’s neck. “Swelling’s almost gone. Your ankle?”
“’S’ nothin’. Tasha ratted me out to Medical, they always make a bigger fuss’n they should.” He pushed Coulson’s shirt up to his underarms, took a step back to pull it off. “Oh.” He ran his hands over Phil’s shoulders, down his chest, and made him shiver and reach for Clint’s waist, tug him a few steps out of the kitchen toward the bedroom.
*********
They lay naked together on the bed, kissing and exploring, for what seemed like an eternity. Coulson felt the need become more urgent first, and he took control, shifting Clint onto his back and moving over him. Both men were breathing hard and fully aroused.
“Condoms,” Phil whispered in Clint’s ear. “Lube.” Clint flung an arm to one side and groped for a nightstand drawer. Phil lifted up away from Clint’s body, earning him a moan of disappointment, and rummaged in the drawer for supplies.
He drew back on his haunches and rolled the condom on, then settled back down over Clint, finding and working over his most sensitive spots with hands and mouth. Once he’d made his way to Clint’s groin, he edged his legs apart and settled between them. He took the bottle of lube in hand and looked up to Clint’s face.
“You sure? We’re crossing a point of no return here.”
Clint smiled. “Passed that back in the kitchen.”
Coulson returned the smile and slicked up his hands. One reached out to pull and squeeze at Clint’s erection, earning him a hiss of indrawn breath; the other slipped under the scrotum and prepped him with first one finger, then a second, moving inside him in time with the other hand’s strokes.
Clint moaned and twisted in frustration. “More - I need - Please, I can take more -”
“I’ve got more for you,” Phil answered, and removed his fingers and pushed his cock slowly inside. He rocked into Clint with a slow, easy rhythm that had the younger man purring with pleasure.
“This is the best dream,” he mumbled vaguely, eyes glassy and distant.
“Clint.” Nettled, Phil shifted the angle of their hips so that Clint’s prostate took the brunt of each thrust; Clint cried out from the pain/pleasure of the first impact, then bucked up into the next. “This is real.”
Their pace accelerated, and the heat rose higher and higher until neither could take it any longer. Phil’s hand quickened its pace on Clint’s cock and brought him to climax; his spasms triggered Phil’s orgasm, and he dropped shakily down to rest atop his lover.
*********
“Tell you something embarrassing?” Clint asked sometime later, as they relaxed in the afterglow.
“Jesus. We’re not passed ‘embarrassing’ yet?” Clint laughed and ducked his head.
“I miss the cat.” Coulson’s eyebrows raised. “I mean, I’m so happy to have the real you back you wouldn’t believe - especially after tonight. But…I miss having the little fuzzball following me around all the time. He made me feel - I don’t know - like someone was watching over me.”
“Someone was,” Phil murmured, stroking Clint’s hair.
“I even went down to the animal shelter today and had a look around the cat room -”
Phil’s look of dismay was comical. “You’ve been seeing other cats?!”
“No! I mean -” Clint kissed him softly. “I tried to. Hung out a while talking to the cats there, held a couple. But it wasn’t the same. With them I didn’t feel like I felt when I was with Cat. I didn’t feel - loved - the same way.”
“I should certainly hope not.” Coulson’s arms tightened around him. “No reason you can’t have a pet here, you know.”
Clint shook his head. “I’m away too much. Couldn’t take proper care of it, couldn’t take it with me on missions and such.”
“Not without help. Some of us don’t go racing into action as much as you do these days,” Phil pointed out. “I could help with the day-to-day for short-term absences, and there’s always kennels for long-term.”
“I’ll think about it,” Clint said, and kissed him gently. “Still wouldn’t be the same, though.”
*********
Both men slept, more soundly than they had in days. Clint woke alone in bed to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. He stumbled out to the kitchen and found Phil already drinking a cup. “Timezit?”
“8:30. I really, really don’t want to go -”
“Then don’t.” Clint wound his arms around Phil’s waist and nuzzled at his neck and jaw, working up to nibble his earlobe.
“- except that I’ve got furniture being delivered this morning, and I need to be there to let them in.” He turned his head to steal a kiss. “Come with me?”
Clint sighed. “So much for bed rest. Gimme 10 to get dressed and I’ll drive us. Kinda looking forward to it, now I think about it.”
“Trust me, my taste in furniture is not that exciting.”
“Not the furniture.” He gave Phil a deep, searching kiss. “My turn, in your bed.”
*********
Phil had a travel mug of coffee ready for Clint when he emerged in fresh clothes (“Promise not to spill this one,” he said ruefully, and made Clint smile), and they headed to Coulson’s bungalow, arriving a half-hour ahead of the delivery truck. Clint took his coffee into the bedroom and waited while Coulson supervised the delivery men in the setup.
Once the heavy lifting was done, he went into the bedroom and found Clint staring at a piece of framed art on one wall. “Is that…?”
He sat down beside Clint on the bed. “Yep. A genuine World War II USO revue poster, starring Captain America. The General saved one as a keepsake.”
“The General?”
“My grandfather. He served on the German front, was a colonel during the war. Retired after Korea as a general.”
Clint nodded and looked at the poster again. “Does Cap know about this?”
“Erm. No. No he doesn’t.” The discomfort in Coulson’s voice made Clint look back at him again. “Please don’t tell him. It just leads from me having it to the General giving it to me to him using Captain America as a sort of parable for me when I was growing up and being bullied - about the little guy with the heart of a lion, the one who stood up no matter how many times he got knocked down. I never could break Principle One enough to show deterrent aggression, but he taught me to fight. He turned me into a wolf in stalking lamb’s clothing.” Coulson blushed. “Please, promise me you won’t tell Capt. Rogers.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Not even for payback? For the whole cat thing?” he asked, and Clint shrugged.
“I don’t want - payback - not exactly. Not from you, anyway.” He answered the question on Coulson’s face before he could ask. “I don’t know from who, if not you. Fate maybe.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember ever hearing or reading about a Gen. Coulson.”
“Oh, no, Mom went by Coulson. Claimed she married my father, though I’m not sure about that. I went to my grandparents after she died, but she named me for them, and Phillips Phillips just sounds ridiculous. Or Phil Phillips, even.”
Whoa, whoa. Wait. Your grandfather’s General Phillips?” Coulson nodded. “General Chester Phillips? Like, one of the founders of SHIELD Gen. Phillips?”
Coulson nodded again. “Also one of the leaders on the Super-Soldier Project. So you see where it could get embarrassing if Capt. Rogers found out…” he gestured toward the poster.
“Yeah. Yeah, I see that.” He shifted around, swung a leg over Coulson’s to straddle his lap, and kissed him hard and hot. “You’ll just have to make it worth my while to keep quiet.”
Coulson grinned and lay back on the bed, pulling Clint down with him.
FIN
author: perletwo
rating: NC-17 (this part)
fandom: Marvel movieverse
warnings (this part): language, sex sex sex
prompt: tl;dr: Coulson gets kittenfied and witnesses Clint's many facets.
The cat has nine lives: three for playing, three for straying, three for staying. - English Proverb
I suspect that many an ailurophobe hates cats only because he feels they are better people than he is - more honest, more secure, more loved, more whatever he is not. -Winifred Carriere
Some get an itchin' for a critter they been scratchin'. -Rowlf the Dog, "I Hope that Something Better Comes Along," lyrics by Paul Williams & Kenny Ascher
Clint followed Coulson into the back of an ambulance, and listened to the EMTs rattle off his vitals. He sat back out of their way, and wished he could take his friend’s hand.
Coulson was stable by the time they reached SHIELD’s medical facility. When they had him in an examination cubicle, he opened his eyes and lifted his head.
“Barton?”
“Here, boss.” Clint called from the doorway. “Fury told me to stand guard.”
“Thought I heard that,” he replied, voice thin. “How long was I -”
“About a day and a half, give or take.” Clint looked away.
“I should probably say something. I don’t know.” He tried to shrug and winced. “Thank you? I’m sorry?”
“Hey. What’s to be sorry for? It’s not like you saw me naked or something.” Clint’s jaw set. “Oh. Wait.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“Yes. No. Yes.” He winced. “I mean, I’m not angry exactly. Not at you, anyway. Embarrassed. About the whole - situation.”
“Fair enough,” Coulson said, and watched Clint step aside to let a doctor into the cubicle.
*********
The doctor had Coulson turn onto his side and took down the top of his exam gown, and began picking glass slivers out of the wound on his shoulder. Clint watched the procedure with an appalled fascination.
“Jeez, Coulson. Your back’s like one enormous bruise,” he said, eyeing the discoloration over his friend’s shoulders.
“You got it right, I hit the bookshelves at speed,” Coulson replied.
“I’m a bit concerned about those welts on top of the bruise,” the doctor said as he stitched up the shoulder wound.
“You’re new here, aren’t you, Doc?” When the doctor nodded, Coulson sighed. “The welts are old. You’ll find ‘em on my charts under scars and identifying marks. They’re usually pretty faint, they probably just stand out with the bruising under them.”
“Can you give me a read on the pain levels from this, on the 0 to 5 scale?” the doctor asked.
He hesitated. “I’ve developed a high tolerance for pain. It makes it hard to gauge,” he said finally. “It’s not so bad I can’t ignore it.”
Clint’s focus sharpened, and he studied the welts - thin white ridges striping the middle of Coulson’s shoulders. “Leather belt?”
“It’s a classic for a reason,” Coulson said with a nod.
“Pretty skinny belt,” Clint observed.
“Woman’s belt.”
Clint winced. “Sorry.” Coulson just shrugged, and Clint strove for a lighter tone. “You musta been a pretty bad little kid, from the looks of it.”
He shrugged again. “If you define ‘bad’ as ‘being there,’ sure. Hard habit for a four-year-old to break.”
“…I can shut up now, if you’d rather.”
“No, it’s okay. Painkillers always make me gabby.” Coulson looked over his shoulder at Clint. “There was a bright side. It helped me develop the first two tenets of my personal philosophy.”
Clint smiled. “Which are?”
“One, always be very quiet. This is SOP when dealing with a crazy person. Ow.”
“Sorry,” the doctor said. “Had to yank on that to get the sutures secured. Almost done.”
“So what’s point two?” Clint asked, to distract him from the suturing.
“Hmm?” He turned his head away from the doctor to focus on Clint again.
“Your personal philosophy.”
“Oh. Yeah. Two. Always assume everyone is a crazy person. That’s also SOP, unless they’re conclusively proven safe and sane - what I call the Grandparent Exception. Good people, my grandparents. Solid as they come. Wish you could meet ‘em.”
“Sorry, man. If you want I can forget I ever saw that.” He gestured toward the scars on his friend’s back.
Coulson shook his head. “No big deal, anymore. Just - ancient crap.”
Anger flashed briefly through Clint’s eyes, and then his face shuttered over into cool professionalism. He came to attention as Fury walked into the room.
“Agent Coulson?”
“Sir.” Coulson cleared his throat. “Quick sitrep. Some weeks ago I was talking with Thor about how Asgardians mix magic and technology. He brought me back a book from Asgard to look at, which I was deciphering very slowly with a dictionary of Old Norse. Loki teleported into my house to take that book - and did, as best I can recall. It gets a little blurry at the end there. As to the rest, Agent Barton had the details of the fight essentially correct, and I was with him for the duration of the time I was a cat. He can debrief you there better than I can.”
“Thank you, Agent. The situation is being dealt with. I’m sending Thor, Captain America, Hawkeye and Hulk to deal with Loki, keeping Black Widow and Iron Man in reserve. You will be under 24-hour guard until this matter is resolved.”
Coulson started to sit up, winced. “Due respect, sir, but Loki didn’t target me specifically. He only assaulted me because I caught him in the act. I doubt he’ll come back for me.”
Fury’s eye regarded him coolly. “I wasn’t aware you had such insight that you can predict the game plan of a God of Mischief, Agent Coulson.”
“…oh. No. No sir.” He settled back down on the table. “A bodyguard’s probably a good idea, now you put it like that.”
Clint snorted, and was met with the Stare. “You. Report to Hangar D immediately. Deployment’s in one hour.”
“Sir. Yes sir. Live to serve, Bosses.” He sketched a mocking salute at Coulson and Fury and left.
Fury sighed and ran a hand over the good side of his face. “That boy…”
“He’s seriously pissed off, sir,” Coulson interjected. “Mostly at me. Giving him a job to do, away from here, is probably the best thing for him right now.” He winced. “Wish I had one.”
*********
Fury returned to Coulson’s bungalow late the next afternoon. The guard opened the door, and he found the front room cleared of all furniture except the bookcases, and Coulson curled up on the floor in the sunbeam by the window.
“Taking an afternoon nap, Agent?”
Coulson scrambled into a slightly more dignified sitting position. “Taking a break from working, sir. I spent the morning getting the broken crap out of the room, and I just ran the Roomba,” he waved a hand at the little robot vacuum, “and once I get my second wind I’ll have the Scooba give the floor a good washing down.”
Fury smiled. “Bet you’d’ve loved to have those toys when you were a kid.”
“Mom would’ve sold ‘em for drug money,” Coulson said wryly. “But yeah, we can add them to the list of impossible things that would’ve made my life easier back then.”
“I just stopped by to update you. The Avengers are back from kicking Loki’s ass. Still not sure what exactly he was up to, but it seems to have more to do with pulling a prank on Thor than anything earth-shattering. Hawkeye called him out on ‘attacking Coulson’ as he put it, and Loki said in his defense he hadn’t actually hurt you. I don’t think Barton was buying it, though.”
“It’s true enough. Worst that’s come out of the whole mess is that now I’ll have to shop. I hate to shop. I was just lying here wondering, can I really, really not live without a TV?” He sighed. “No injuries?”
“None. Barton asked for and was given the rest of the day at liberty, to make up for working through the night. Said he had ‘shit to take care of at home,’” Fury said. “I don’t even think I want to know.”
Coulson fought back a smile. “No, sir. You really don’t.”
*********
The next morning, Hawkeye completed the first round of his training session and walked off the floor to find Coulson in his usual place, leaning against the table with coffee in hand, suit impeccable.
“Nice work there,” he said, and passed Clint a towel. “I hear you had fun with mischief gods yesterday.”
“Thanks, and yeah, it was a blast,” Clint said wryly. “You’re up and around mighty soon. Couldn’t stay away?”
“I got bored. Say what you will, hanging around with you Avengers types is never boring.” He lifted his coffee in salute.
“Yeah, right. That’s why you followed me around all night and all day when you were a cat?”
Coulson shrugged. “It’s as good an explanation as any.”
“Do better.” Clint threw the towel back on the table with a touch more force than was necessary.
“Yep. You’re still pissed.”
“What did you expect? I let you in my house. You know things about me now I would never willingly let anybody else in on - including some I’d never willingly let you personally know. Why shouldn’t I be pissed off?”
“C’mon. What’d I see that I couldn’t’ve guessed anyhow? That you’re smarter than you pretend? That you’re not as confident as you act? That you’ve got ambitions?” Coulson shook his head and set his coffee down. “Point four of my personal philosophy. The harder you try to conceal something, the more obvious it is to everybody around you.” He tugged at his shirt cuffs.
“What was that? Rubbing it in that you’re better dressed than me?”
“What?...oh.” He looked down at his arms. “No, it’s just, long sleeves are part of how I realized point four. I always wore long sleeve shirts when I was a kid - yeah, I was that kid, the one that dressed like the school had uniforms even though it didn’t - and it worked fine at school. But then I’d go to my grandparents in the summer, July and August when it’s like 110 degrees, and I’m in long sleeve oxfords. I might as well have had a neon sign flashing ‘HIDING SOMETHING UNDER HERE.’”
“Hiding what?”
“Wha -oh. The cigarette burns. Of course.”
“You’re kidding,” Clint said, floored.
“Huh? No, of course I’m not kidding, why would I even -” He took off his suit jacket, unbuttoned the cuff of one shirt sleeve and pushed it up to his elbow. “They’re faint now, but I think there’s enough light in here to see them.” He lifted his arm.
Clint took Coulson’s wrist in one hand and with the other traced lines through the constellation of faint round white scars atop his forearm. “These? Yeah. I see ‘em.”
Clint’s hands were warm, and Coulson felt his mind shift into focus on the sensation in much the same way it did when shooting practice targets.
“Why’re you telling me all this?” Clint asked, voice rough.
“Because I -” Coulson looked down, shook his head to clear it. “Because I think you’ve got this image of me in your head that puts distance between us. That I grew up privileged and - sheltered from the kind of problems you had growing up. That I’d be - shocked or, or disgusted, if I saw you clearly. And it’s just wrong. I didn’t have the adult responsibilities you took on way too young, but I had my own version of them. I don’t know what exactly your life was like after your parents died and you ran away, but I know what mine was like, and what I know of yours - resonates.”
“So this is like what, you show me yours so I’ll show you mine? Bullshit. That’s just bullshit.” Clint dropped Coulson’s arm and stalked off.
*********
Two hours later, Coulson was in his office, trying to get a handle on three days’ accumulation of paperwork. Clint walked in and slapped a file down on his desk.
“Sitrep on the Loki mission,” he said, and turned to go.
“Thank you. Do I also have you to thank for this?” Clint turned back to find Coulson holding up a plush toy kitten.
“No sir.” He shrugged. “For one thing, if I’d done it I’d’a gotten one that looked a lot more like you. Cat-you, I mean.”
Coulson sighed. “Good to know the SHIELD grapevine is working at capacity, then.” He started to drop the stuffed cat in his wastebasket, and was checked by a shocked noise from Clint. He put the cat back on the desk and looked up, eyebrows raised.
“…Um. If you don’t want that, can, ahh, can I have it?” Clint fidgeted awkwardly. “I mean, if you’re just going to throw it away anyway…”
“It might as well go to a good home,” Coulson finished, and pitched the toy overhand in Clint’s direction. Clint caught it one-handed. “It can keep you company while you study. How’d the paper go?”
Clint’s expression darkened. “None of your damn business,” he snapped, then shook his head. “Sorry. Thanks for the cat,” he added as he darted out the door.
*********
That evening, Coulson sat alone in the base’s commissary, reading reports while he dined on a salad. Clint came in, grabbed a beer and a sandwich, and came over to Coulson’s table.
“Hey. I just -” He stopped when his eye fell on Coulson’s dinner plate. “Tuna salad? Is that some kind of a joke?”
Coulson looked down at the plate, then back up. “If it is, it’s really not on you particularly, you know. I kind of think I ate a mouse.”
Clint’s eyebrows rose. “…how was it?”
“Crunchy. Could’ve used ketchup.” He shrugged. “Salade Nicoise is better. Not as good as the tuna straight from the can was, but…let’s just say I never had a proper appreciation for tuna before that morning. You wouldn’t believe how much keener a cat’s senses of smell and taste are than ours.”
“Guess not.” Clint looked away, opened his beer and drank. “I just, ahh. Owe you an apology. For this morning.”
“You gave me one already.”
“Yeah, that was for snapping at you in the first place,” he said. “This one’s for the content. I finished my paper after we got back yesterday. Turned it in last night. Don’t know how it’s gonna go over.”
“Doesn’t matter. I stepped over a line, you pushed me back. It happens.” Coulson kept eating.
“No, I mean - cat’s out of the bag, so to speak. You should - I should be able to let you ask about it.” He turned the beer bottle around in his hands. “It’s just - I kinda think I’m gonna blow it, and I really didn’t want to have an audience when that happens.”
“One bad paper’s not going to -” Clint cut him off with a raised hand.
“Not the paper.” He drank, nervously. “The whole thing. College.”
“Do your grades so far reflect that?” Clint shook his head. “Then why borrow trouble?”
“’Cause I don’t know what I’m doing there,” he answered. “Besides, the whole thing’s really your fault anyways.”
“My fault?!”
“Yeah. One day about a year ago? I was looking at your degrees on your office wall, and you said something about how it all seemed like life or death when you were in college and you wished you’d known then how little of it you’d actually end up using, so you could’ve just enjoyed what you were learning. It made me think…” He shrugged and unwrapped his sandwich.
“I remember you looking at my diploma. I don’t remember what exactly I said.” He took a nervous sip of water. “I…have this tendency to babble when you’re around.”
“No you don’t. I mean, maybe it feels like babble, but it doesn’t sound like it. Usually it’s interesting.”
“Thanks.” Coulson looked down at his salad. “As for college, if you ever want some help -”
“No.” Clint stood abruptly. “Aggh. Sorry. No. Just, I gotta do this thing by myself. If I get you, or get anybody, to help it’ll feel like cheating.” He gathered his sandwich and beer. “I don’t cheat.”
“No, you don’t,” Coulson said to his retreating back.
*********
Coulson started the next day with his mandatory session with the division’s psychiatrist.
“How’s your week been going?” Dr. Eidson asked.
“The usual. Reports, paperwork. Fought a Norse god. Got turned into a cat.” He shrugged.
“Oh, is that all.” The older woman smiled. “Care to tell me how you feel about that?”
“Not really.” Coulson put his briefcase beside him on the couch and opened it.
“I had a feeling you’d say that,” she said, and turned back to her computer. “You know, I almost feel guilty filing the insurance claims for these sessions of ours? Almost.”
“I know what you mean.” He took out a set of files and a pen. “On the bright side, we both get so much real work done during these hours, don’t we?”
They smiled at each other over the old familiar joke, and set to ignoring each other for the next fifty-five minutes.
*********
“Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit dammit.” Clint leaned heavily on Natasha’s shoulder and limped off the sparring mat.
“Don’t even think about it, comrade,” she replied. “It’s off to Medical for you.”
“Dammit, Tasha, it’s just a bum ankle. Toss an ace bandage and a bag of ice on it and I’m good as new. Medical’s gonna make me take downtime I don’t need. I’ve worked through worse injuries, you know that.”
“Yes I do,” she said sweetly. “Which is exactly why I’m walking you to Medical. I want you in tip-top shape before the next time I kick your ass.”
*********
Coulson fidgeted impatiently through his fourth deadly dull debriefing of the day. He drummed his fingers on the desk top. He tapped a foot. He barely gave his agents time to answer before snapping out the next question.
When the debrief was done, Fury stepped into the room.
“You’re on a short fuse,” he said, studying the deep shadows under his friend’s eyes.
“My behavior was well within SHIELD regs,” Coulson answered.
“Wasn’t well within your own internal regs,” argued Fury. “Your cover’s slipping, Agent.”
“I have no idea what you mean, sir.” He gathered up his files and dumped them unceremoniously in his briefcase.
“Don’t pull that with me, Phil. I’ve been watching you build up your cover since you were -” Fury held a hand at knee-level.
Coulson gave him a baleful look. “So I’m having an off day. Happens to the best of us.”
“I’ll tell you what the General would tell you, son: You’re back at work too soon. You got things to get right within yourself, and you won’t be much good to anyone ‘til you do. Yourself least of all.”
“That’s low, Colonel. Throwing my grandfather in my face.” Coulson closed the briefcase with a snap.
“Whatever it takes, Agent.” Fury sighed and put a hand on Coulson’s shoulder. “Something else your grandfather would’ve done, without hesitation: You’re back on medical leave for the next three days. I don’t want to see your face back here until that time.”
Coulson’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened. Then he shut it firmly and straightened.
“Yes sir. Thank you very much, sir.”
He slammed the door on his way out.
*********
Coulson spent most of the following day shopping for furniture, which did nothing for his foul mood.
Clint limped his way through household chores, grocery shopping and other errands, and wound the day up with his social sciences class. Throughout the day he caught himself glancing back over his shoulder and down, as if expecting someone was following in his shadow.
*********
It was after midnight and Clint was twisting restlessly in a vain search for a comfortable position in bed. Movement caught his eye through the bedroom window. A flash of something pale in the moonlight drifting by, something familiar.
Clint jumped out of bed and rushed to the front door as quickly as his wrapped ankle would allow, still clad in only his shorts. He rounded his front walk to the sidewalk and intercepted Coulson, who shuffled along barefoot in a white t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama bottoms.
“Phil? What’re you doing out here?”
His friend shrugged, staring with hollow eyes at nothing. “I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. I haven’t really slept since…” He made a vague rolling gesture with his hands.
“C’mon. Let’s get you inside.” He led Coulson in and closed the door behind them. He got Coulson settled in the dining nook and hobbled to the refrigerator. “D’you really not drink beer, or was that just a cat thing? …Aha. Let’s try this.” He pulled a bottle of red wine from the back of the fridge, and after a moment’s digging in the cabinets, poured it into two jelly jar glasses etched with cartoon characters.
Coulson took a sip of the wine and shuddered. “That is pretty raw stuff.”
“Got it to cook spaghetti sauce with,” Clint said. “Think of it as medicine. Drink enough of it and maybe it’ll knock you out.”
Coulson stood, prowled around the small kitchen. “It’s not just that I can’t sleep. It’s - I can’t get used to being human again,” he explained. “I hate not being able to smell things properly and I keep wanting to go after prey and I can’t figure out how people express emotions when they don’t have tails.”
“Have you talked with the doctors about this?”
He laughed. “Oh yeah. I’m going to tell them I wish I was still a kitten. I’m really going to tell them I miss seeing in the dark and hearing every tiny sound for miles.” He paced some more. “I’m not about to tell them I miss everything being simple and clear in my head and I miss being free to just play, and oh God I am absolutely not going to tell them how much I miss you petting me. Touching me.”
Clint looked up from his glass, and Coulson blanched. “And that’s not a thing that you’re interested in repeating, now that I don’t have the power of cute for a draw. I get it. It’s okay. I shouldn’t’ve…” He put his glass down and moved toward the doorway.
“Phil. Wait.” Clint stood, got in his path and caught him. He stepped in close, hands under the other man’s elbows, and leaned in to whisper hot and urgently in his ear. A red flush crept up Coulson’s neck and ears as he listened.
“That’s what you were dreaming, that night?” he asked, voice low. Clint drew back and nodded.
“About me?” Another nod, and a similar flush pinked Clint’s cheeks. “Okay. Okay. I can see it maybe being just a one-off, the subconscious does funny things -”
Clint cut him off with a raised hand, shook his head. “Couple nights a week, every week, for - God, I can’t even remember how long it’s been, now. Maybe more than a couple nights if I’d been spending a lot of time with you on a mission or something.”
Coulson picked up his glass again and took a long, shaky swallow. “Wow. We’re going to have to reevaluate you for undercover work. You sure hid the hell out of that one.”
“I didn’t think you - looked at me that way. Could ever want me that way.” His eyes were downcast. “And I - admire you, and respect you, and I like being around you. So much.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I wasn’t gonna risk losing that on what I was pretty sure was a non-starter.”
Coulson took a step closer, rested his head on Clint’s shoulder, buried his nose in the junction of neck and trapezius muscle, and breathed deep. “Oh yeah. That scent, that’s what I missed. It was everywhere when I was here as a cat. It made me feel warm all over. Happy.” He nuzzled at Clint’s neck with lips and the tip of his tongue. “I knew I was safe with you. Your scent, voice, posture, a hundred tiny subliminal cues people-senses miss, they all told me you were safe. Good. Solid. You got in on the Grandparent Exception without even trying.”
Clint chuckled, and ducked his head to brush his lips over Coulson’s. Then took his mouth in a deeper kiss.
Coulson initiated the second kiss, and Clint’s hands roamed lightly down his back and under the hem of his t-shirt. “Your back -”
“Is much better,” he mumbled against the side of Clint’s neck. “Swelling’s almost gone. Your ankle?”
“’S’ nothin’. Tasha ratted me out to Medical, they always make a bigger fuss’n they should.” He pushed Coulson’s shirt up to his underarms, took a step back to pull it off. “Oh.” He ran his hands over Phil’s shoulders, down his chest, and made him shiver and reach for Clint’s waist, tug him a few steps out of the kitchen toward the bedroom.
*********
They lay naked together on the bed, kissing and exploring, for what seemed like an eternity. Coulson felt the need become more urgent first, and he took control, shifting Clint onto his back and moving over him. Both men were breathing hard and fully aroused.
“Condoms,” Phil whispered in Clint’s ear. “Lube.” Clint flung an arm to one side and groped for a nightstand drawer. Phil lifted up away from Clint’s body, earning him a moan of disappointment, and rummaged in the drawer for supplies.
He drew back on his haunches and rolled the condom on, then settled back down over Clint, finding and working over his most sensitive spots with hands and mouth. Once he’d made his way to Clint’s groin, he edged his legs apart and settled between them. He took the bottle of lube in hand and looked up to Clint’s face.
“You sure? We’re crossing a point of no return here.”
Clint smiled. “Passed that back in the kitchen.”
Coulson returned the smile and slicked up his hands. One reached out to pull and squeeze at Clint’s erection, earning him a hiss of indrawn breath; the other slipped under the scrotum and prepped him with first one finger, then a second, moving inside him in time with the other hand’s strokes.
Clint moaned and twisted in frustration. “More - I need - Please, I can take more -”
“I’ve got more for you,” Phil answered, and removed his fingers and pushed his cock slowly inside. He rocked into Clint with a slow, easy rhythm that had the younger man purring with pleasure.
“This is the best dream,” he mumbled vaguely, eyes glassy and distant.
“Clint.” Nettled, Phil shifted the angle of their hips so that Clint’s prostate took the brunt of each thrust; Clint cried out from the pain/pleasure of the first impact, then bucked up into the next. “This is real.”
Their pace accelerated, and the heat rose higher and higher until neither could take it any longer. Phil’s hand quickened its pace on Clint’s cock and brought him to climax; his spasms triggered Phil’s orgasm, and he dropped shakily down to rest atop his lover.
*********
“Tell you something embarrassing?” Clint asked sometime later, as they relaxed in the afterglow.
“Jesus. We’re not passed ‘embarrassing’ yet?” Clint laughed and ducked his head.
“I miss the cat.” Coulson’s eyebrows raised. “I mean, I’m so happy to have the real you back you wouldn’t believe - especially after tonight. But…I miss having the little fuzzball following me around all the time. He made me feel - I don’t know - like someone was watching over me.”
“Someone was,” Phil murmured, stroking Clint’s hair.
“I even went down to the animal shelter today and had a look around the cat room -”
Phil’s look of dismay was comical. “You’ve been seeing other cats?!”
“No! I mean -” Clint kissed him softly. “I tried to. Hung out a while talking to the cats there, held a couple. But it wasn’t the same. With them I didn’t feel like I felt when I was with Cat. I didn’t feel - loved - the same way.”
“I should certainly hope not.” Coulson’s arms tightened around him. “No reason you can’t have a pet here, you know.”
Clint shook his head. “I’m away too much. Couldn’t take proper care of it, couldn’t take it with me on missions and such.”
“Not without help. Some of us don’t go racing into action as much as you do these days,” Phil pointed out. “I could help with the day-to-day for short-term absences, and there’s always kennels for long-term.”
“I’ll think about it,” Clint said, and kissed him gently. “Still wouldn’t be the same, though.”
*********
Both men slept, more soundly than they had in days. Clint woke alone in bed to the smell of fresh coffee brewing. He stumbled out to the kitchen and found Phil already drinking a cup. “Timezit?”
“8:30. I really, really don’t want to go -”
“Then don’t.” Clint wound his arms around Phil’s waist and nuzzled at his neck and jaw, working up to nibble his earlobe.
“- except that I’ve got furniture being delivered this morning, and I need to be there to let them in.” He turned his head to steal a kiss. “Come with me?”
Clint sighed. “So much for bed rest. Gimme 10 to get dressed and I’ll drive us. Kinda looking forward to it, now I think about it.”
“Trust me, my taste in furniture is not that exciting.”
“Not the furniture.” He gave Phil a deep, searching kiss. “My turn, in your bed.”
*********
Phil had a travel mug of coffee ready for Clint when he emerged in fresh clothes (“Promise not to spill this one,” he said ruefully, and made Clint smile), and they headed to Coulson’s bungalow, arriving a half-hour ahead of the delivery truck. Clint took his coffee into the bedroom and waited while Coulson supervised the delivery men in the setup.
Once the heavy lifting was done, he went into the bedroom and found Clint staring at a piece of framed art on one wall. “Is that…?”
He sat down beside Clint on the bed. “Yep. A genuine World War II USO revue poster, starring Captain America. The General saved one as a keepsake.”
“The General?”
“My grandfather. He served on the German front, was a colonel during the war. Retired after Korea as a general.”
Clint nodded and looked at the poster again. “Does Cap know about this?”
“Erm. No. No he doesn’t.” The discomfort in Coulson’s voice made Clint look back at him again. “Please don’t tell him. It just leads from me having it to the General giving it to me to him using Captain America as a sort of parable for me when I was growing up and being bullied - about the little guy with the heart of a lion, the one who stood up no matter how many times he got knocked down. I never could break Principle One enough to show deterrent aggression, but he taught me to fight. He turned me into a wolf in stalking lamb’s clothing.” Coulson blushed. “Please, promise me you won’t tell Capt. Rogers.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Not even for payback? For the whole cat thing?” he asked, and Clint shrugged.
“I don’t want - payback - not exactly. Not from you, anyway.” He answered the question on Coulson’s face before he could ask. “I don’t know from who, if not you. Fate maybe.” He shrugged. “I don’t remember ever hearing or reading about a Gen. Coulson.”
“Oh, no, Mom went by Coulson. Claimed she married my father, though I’m not sure about that. I went to my grandparents after she died, but she named me for them, and Phillips Phillips just sounds ridiculous. Or Phil Phillips, even.”
Whoa, whoa. Wait. Your grandfather’s General Phillips?” Coulson nodded. “General Chester Phillips? Like, one of the founders of SHIELD Gen. Phillips?”
Coulson nodded again. “Also one of the leaders on the Super-Soldier Project. So you see where it could get embarrassing if Capt. Rogers found out…” he gestured toward the poster.
“Yeah. Yeah, I see that.” He shifted around, swung a leg over Coulson’s to straddle his lap, and kissed him hard and hot. “You’ll just have to make it worth my while to keep quiet.”
Coulson grinned and lay back on the bed, pulling Clint down with him.
FIN