Fic: The Avengers, "The Best Gifts Aren't Bought In a Store" (Clint/Coulson)
Title: The Best Gifts Aren't Bought In a Store
Fandom: Marvel's Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: R (language, sexual situations)
Word Count: 1567
Summary: It's Phil's birthday and Clint is nervous about the present he got him.
A/N: Sexiness and fluff written for cruelest_month who had a bad day yesterday and needed some. Am sadly a little late for Coulson's actually birthday which was Sunday.
It was Phil's birthday, and Clint was nervous. It was the first birthday since Clint and Phil had gotten together, and the first time Clint had to actually come up with an idea for a present. Before, there had been years Clint wanted to get his handler something, but he would talk himself out of it, convinced it was stupid and so fucking middle school.
And of course there was that one year that Phil came back from a business meeting with the CEO of Stark Industries, smiling like an idiot. Turned out Pepper had gotten him an early present in the form of the rarest, most expensive Captain America card in existence. After that, Clint was convinced of two things. One, that anything Clint would ever come-up with for a present would never be as awesome as that. And two, that those business meetings were more like "business meetings" and Phil was Pepper Pott's bit on the side.
Clint had spent the next month pretending he wasn't sulking. Natasha, sick of Clint coming over just to lie on her couch and whine, finally devised a way to force the issue. Her plan involved getting him and Coulson alone in a elevator, sabotaging said elevator, and taking several hours before she rescued them. It was a terrible, sitcom cliché, but it had worked. "Name your first born after me," she had said as she dropped in from the cab's ceiling and noted the rumpled clothes and flushed faces.
Clint was sitting in Phil's apartment, a poorly wrapped box in his lap, leg jiggling in impatience. He checked the clock again. He knew Phil was going to be out late, but had no idea how late. It was tradition for Fury and Hill to take Phil out for drinks on his birthday, after work (as long as they were not in the middle of a mission, crisis, or intergalactic war).
"I'd invite you to come with," Phil said, apologetically, locking-up his office. "But I'm afraid you would be exposed to certain things that are above your security clearance."
"What, you mean knowing what Director Fury and Hill are like completely shit-faced?"
Phil smiled, closed-lipped and amused. "Precisely."
Yeah, it sucked. Clint felt he ought to be the one taking his boyfriend out for birthday drinks. At the same time, he also knew Phil and Fury were Spy Bros long before Clint even ever heard of SHIELD, and deserved to keep their own traditions.
Clint sighed and looked at his phone, both confirming the time again and checking for any messages. Clint itched to call, find out what Phil's ETA was. But they'd been together for less than year and Clint didn't want to be that boyfriend, the paranoid, nagging kind.
He was in the middle of composing a text when the front door opened and Phil took a few uneven steps into the apartment before closing the door behind him and leaned against it. His jacket was off, and hanging loosely from his fingers. His tie was undone, but still draped around his neck. He looked debauched, and it needled Clint not be the cause of it.
Clint got up from the couch. "Party hard?" He asked, coming forward.
Phil looked at him from under half-closed eyelids. "Don't get in a drinking contest with Maria Hill. Constitution of an ox."
Clint grinned. "Sounds like Natasha. Next time, we should get them together and find out who the champion really is."
Phil chuckled, completely relaxed and warm. He levered himself away from the wall to lean into Clint, head on his archer's broad shoulder. He made a contented grunt, burrowing his nose into Clint's neck.
"Well, at least you had fun."
"More fun with you," Phil mumbled, lips pressed against Clint's skin.
Clint brought a hand up to the back of Phil's head as the other man continued to press a trail of wet, uncoordinated kisses up his neck and along his jaw. Clint turned and captured the wandering mouth with his own. Phil certainly tasted like he had fun, the flavor of several different liquors mingling in his mouth. Clint was sure he was getting his own buzz from it, but that was probably more to do with electric feeling he still got whenever he and Phil were pressed together, kissing like neither could survive without breathing the others breath.
Phil got one thigh between Clint's legs and rubbed. Clint gasped, breaking the kiss. He huffed out a breathy laugh. "Even drunk, you're still a sneaky bastard."
"Not that drunk now," Phil protested, running his fingers through Clint's hair, slow and massaging.
He was far more bright-eyed and alert than he had been when he first came home. Clint shifted his weight and moved his hips away from Phil's intrusive thigh to align himself along his front and gave another testing push. Oh yeah, definitely more alert.
Phil growled and jerked Clint's head forward for more hungry kisses. Phil's hands slid from his hair, down his neck, kneaded his shoulders briefly, then continued skimming their way down Clint's sides before settling on his waist. Phil tugged, and without parting, started guiding Clint to the bedroom.
Clint grunted, and pulled away, suddenly remembering something. "Hey, if we do this now, you won't open your present before midnight."
"I thought this was my present." Phil untucked Clint's shirt from his jeans and palmed at the hot skin underneath.
As good as that felt, Clint couldn't help laughing again. "Seriously?"
Phil frowned. "I'm drunk."
"I thought you weren't that drunk."
"Drunk enough to not be held responsible for any cliché lines I may spout."
Clint craned his neck to look back at the abandoned gift sitting forlornly in the middle of the coffee table. Phil's hand turned him back again. "Hey, the quicker we start fucking, the sooner I'll get to your other present."
"You make a sound argument."
"That's why I'm your boss." Phil grabbed Clint by the collar of his shirt and dragged him down the hall.
Clint happily let him. "Yes, sir."
The booze and sex had Phil asleep practically the instant he collapsed forward onto Clint's chest. Clint chuckled, fondly petting down the tufts of hair on Phil's head that had become disarrayed in the throes of passion. He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was past midnight. Phil's birthday was over and his gift was still unopened.
It was hard to be disappointed though, not after yet another amazing orgasm courtesy of Philip J. Coulson. And despite the sweat starting to cool, and the other stickiness between them, Clint only rearranged them enough so that he could breathe a little easier, not wanting to lose the comforting weight above him entirely.
Yeah, that had to be what it meant to be in love.
When Phil woke up the next morning (hangover free, because there were certain things that just didn't happen to Agent Coulson), Clint was already up. He had only his boxers on, and sitting cross-legged on the bed, grinning like an idiot, holding a wrapped box in his lap.
Phil sat up and blinked at it. "After all the fuss, it better not be a dick in a box."
Clint was offended. "I never give the same gift twice!" It had been an awesome Christmas. Clint shoved the package at Phil. "Happy day-after-your-birthday."
"Thanks." Phil tore into the paper to discover a shoe box. Clint started getting nervous again, now that the moment of truth was upon them. For a mad moment he wanted to rip the box from his hands and throw it out the window. Phil opened the box, and still had a layer of tissue paper to dig through before he was finally looking at his gift. "Did you... Make these?" He asked, staring in astonishment.
Clint blushed. "Yeah."
"But... Since when do you knit?"
Clint cleared his throat. "That's crochet, actually."
"It's not in your file."
Clint scoffed. "Neither is that thing I do with my tongue, but it's still a talent." There was a moment of silence when Phil still hadn't taken his present from the box. "Don't you like them?"
Phil shook his head and grinned, finally looking back up at Clint. "I love them!" He pulled out and immediately put on the pair of fingerless gloves. They covered his wrists with red and white stripes, and his hands were encased in solid blue with a white star on the back. "They're perfect. How did you even come up with this?" He wiggled his exposed fingers at Clint.
Clint laughed, overwhelmed with relief. "I tried to think of something Captain America-related you didn't already own, and was actually in my price range. But after that card Pepper gave you last year... Then I found this pattern online and thought, maybe something handmade would be, ah, even more... Special." He blushed again, ducking his head.
"They are. Very special," Phil said softly. He moved over to Clint's side, put his hands up, framing Clint's face and kissed him.
Clint wrapped his fingers around Phil's wrists and pulled his hands away. "One rule: We're not having sex while you wear them."
Phil looked devastated. "But, it's my birthday."
"Not anymore it is," Clint reminded him, pulling the gloves off and tossing them aside before pushing Phil back down on the mattress and rolling on top of him.
Clint got the idea and pattern from here
Fandom: Marvel's Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: R (language, sexual situations)
Word Count: 1567
Summary: It's Phil's birthday and Clint is nervous about the present he got him.
A/N: Sexiness and fluff written for cruelest_month who had a bad day yesterday and needed some. Am sadly a little late for Coulson's actually birthday which was Sunday.
It was Phil's birthday, and Clint was nervous. It was the first birthday since Clint and Phil had gotten together, and the first time Clint had to actually come up with an idea for a present. Before, there had been years Clint wanted to get his handler something, but he would talk himself out of it, convinced it was stupid and so fucking middle school.
And of course there was that one year that Phil came back from a business meeting with the CEO of Stark Industries, smiling like an idiot. Turned out Pepper had gotten him an early present in the form of the rarest, most expensive Captain America card in existence. After that, Clint was convinced of two things. One, that anything Clint would ever come-up with for a present would never be as awesome as that. And two, that those business meetings were more like "business meetings" and Phil was Pepper Pott's bit on the side.
Clint had spent the next month pretending he wasn't sulking. Natasha, sick of Clint coming over just to lie on her couch and whine, finally devised a way to force the issue. Her plan involved getting him and Coulson alone in a elevator, sabotaging said elevator, and taking several hours before she rescued them. It was a terrible, sitcom cliché, but it had worked. "Name your first born after me," she had said as she dropped in from the cab's ceiling and noted the rumpled clothes and flushed faces.
Clint was sitting in Phil's apartment, a poorly wrapped box in his lap, leg jiggling in impatience. He checked the clock again. He knew Phil was going to be out late, but had no idea how late. It was tradition for Fury and Hill to take Phil out for drinks on his birthday, after work (as long as they were not in the middle of a mission, crisis, or intergalactic war).
"I'd invite you to come with," Phil said, apologetically, locking-up his office. "But I'm afraid you would be exposed to certain things that are above your security clearance."
"What, you mean knowing what Director Fury and Hill are like completely shit-faced?"
Phil smiled, closed-lipped and amused. "Precisely."
Yeah, it sucked. Clint felt he ought to be the one taking his boyfriend out for birthday drinks. At the same time, he also knew Phil and Fury were Spy Bros long before Clint even ever heard of SHIELD, and deserved to keep their own traditions.
Clint sighed and looked at his phone, both confirming the time again and checking for any messages. Clint itched to call, find out what Phil's ETA was. But they'd been together for less than year and Clint didn't want to be that boyfriend, the paranoid, nagging kind.
He was in the middle of composing a text when the front door opened and Phil took a few uneven steps into the apartment before closing the door behind him and leaned against it. His jacket was off, and hanging loosely from his fingers. His tie was undone, but still draped around his neck. He looked debauched, and it needled Clint not be the cause of it.
Clint got up from the couch. "Party hard?" He asked, coming forward.
Phil looked at him from under half-closed eyelids. "Don't get in a drinking contest with Maria Hill. Constitution of an ox."
Clint grinned. "Sounds like Natasha. Next time, we should get them together and find out who the champion really is."
Phil chuckled, completely relaxed and warm. He levered himself away from the wall to lean into Clint, head on his archer's broad shoulder. He made a contented grunt, burrowing his nose into Clint's neck.
"Well, at least you had fun."
"More fun with you," Phil mumbled, lips pressed against Clint's skin.
Clint brought a hand up to the back of Phil's head as the other man continued to press a trail of wet, uncoordinated kisses up his neck and along his jaw. Clint turned and captured the wandering mouth with his own. Phil certainly tasted like he had fun, the flavor of several different liquors mingling in his mouth. Clint was sure he was getting his own buzz from it, but that was probably more to do with electric feeling he still got whenever he and Phil were pressed together, kissing like neither could survive without breathing the others breath.
Phil got one thigh between Clint's legs and rubbed. Clint gasped, breaking the kiss. He huffed out a breathy laugh. "Even drunk, you're still a sneaky bastard."
"Not that drunk now," Phil protested, running his fingers through Clint's hair, slow and massaging.
He was far more bright-eyed and alert than he had been when he first came home. Clint shifted his weight and moved his hips away from Phil's intrusive thigh to align himself along his front and gave another testing push. Oh yeah, definitely more alert.
Phil growled and jerked Clint's head forward for more hungry kisses. Phil's hands slid from his hair, down his neck, kneaded his shoulders briefly, then continued skimming their way down Clint's sides before settling on his waist. Phil tugged, and without parting, started guiding Clint to the bedroom.
Clint grunted, and pulled away, suddenly remembering something. "Hey, if we do this now, you won't open your present before midnight."
"I thought this was my present." Phil untucked Clint's shirt from his jeans and palmed at the hot skin underneath.
As good as that felt, Clint couldn't help laughing again. "Seriously?"
Phil frowned. "I'm drunk."
"I thought you weren't that drunk."
"Drunk enough to not be held responsible for any cliché lines I may spout."
Clint craned his neck to look back at the abandoned gift sitting forlornly in the middle of the coffee table. Phil's hand turned him back again. "Hey, the quicker we start fucking, the sooner I'll get to your other present."
"You make a sound argument."
"That's why I'm your boss." Phil grabbed Clint by the collar of his shirt and dragged him down the hall.
Clint happily let him. "Yes, sir."
The booze and sex had Phil asleep practically the instant he collapsed forward onto Clint's chest. Clint chuckled, fondly petting down the tufts of hair on Phil's head that had become disarrayed in the throes of passion. He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. It was past midnight. Phil's birthday was over and his gift was still unopened.
It was hard to be disappointed though, not after yet another amazing orgasm courtesy of Philip J. Coulson. And despite the sweat starting to cool, and the other stickiness between them, Clint only rearranged them enough so that he could breathe a little easier, not wanting to lose the comforting weight above him entirely.
Yeah, that had to be what it meant to be in love.
When Phil woke up the next morning (hangover free, because there were certain things that just didn't happen to Agent Coulson), Clint was already up. He had only his boxers on, and sitting cross-legged on the bed, grinning like an idiot, holding a wrapped box in his lap.
Phil sat up and blinked at it. "After all the fuss, it better not be a dick in a box."
Clint was offended. "I never give the same gift twice!" It had been an awesome Christmas. Clint shoved the package at Phil. "Happy day-after-your-birthday."
"Thanks." Phil tore into the paper to discover a shoe box. Clint started getting nervous again, now that the moment of truth was upon them. For a mad moment he wanted to rip the box from his hands and throw it out the window. Phil opened the box, and still had a layer of tissue paper to dig through before he was finally looking at his gift. "Did you... Make these?" He asked, staring in astonishment.
Clint blushed. "Yeah."
"But... Since when do you knit?"
Clint cleared his throat. "That's crochet, actually."
"It's not in your file."
Clint scoffed. "Neither is that thing I do with my tongue, but it's still a talent." There was a moment of silence when Phil still hadn't taken his present from the box. "Don't you like them?"
Phil shook his head and grinned, finally looking back up at Clint. "I love them!" He pulled out and immediately put on the pair of fingerless gloves. They covered his wrists with red and white stripes, and his hands were encased in solid blue with a white star on the back. "They're perfect. How did you even come up with this?" He wiggled his exposed fingers at Clint.
Clint laughed, overwhelmed with relief. "I tried to think of something Captain America-related you didn't already own, and was actually in my price range. But after that card Pepper gave you last year... Then I found this pattern online and thought, maybe something handmade would be, ah, even more... Special." He blushed again, ducking his head.
"They are. Very special," Phil said softly. He moved over to Clint's side, put his hands up, framing Clint's face and kissed him.
Clint wrapped his fingers around Phil's wrists and pulled his hands away. "One rule: We're not having sex while you wear them."
Phil looked devastated. "But, it's my birthday."
"Not anymore it is," Clint reminded him, pulling the gloves off and tossing them aside before pushing Phil back down on the mattress and rolling on top of him.
Clint got the idea and pattern from here