Fic for dazzledfirestar: The Red Room (Part 1) | Clint Barton/Phil Coulson | NC-17

[avengersfestmod]

Title: The Red Room
Author: ladydeathfaerie
Recipient: dazzledfirestar
Rating: adult
Universe): Movie (with nods to 616 canon and also slightly AU)
Pairing/Characters: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson. Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanova, James "Bucky" Barnes, Thor, Jane Foster, Maria Hill, Pepper Potts, Bruce Banner, Nick Fury
Word Count: ~30,000
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters contained within this work of fiction. They are all owned by Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them. I am merely playing with them to amuse myself and others, as well as indulge in a bit of fun. I will return them when I'm through with them, if slightly worn. I make no money off the writing and sharing of this story. I merely bask in the few words of adoration I receive.
Summary: Phil Coulson, new to New York City, steps foot into the famed Red Room, the most exclusive BDSM club the Big Apple has ever seen. Taken there by his friend and Army buddy, Nick Fury, Phil finds himself face to face with some of the biggest names in industry and science. While it is an amazing place, he's seen it all before. Until he lays eyes on a solitary club patron. And that's when Phil knows he's found the one. Clint Barton, he's told, is off limits. That's never stopped Phil before. And his intuition has never let him down yet. Now all he has to do is prove to this man, and his overprotective friends, that he's the perfect person for Clint. How hard could that be?
Warnings: language, graphic depictions of sex, frottage, overtones of the BDSM lifestyle, as well as D/s situations, and mentions of prior abuse.
Notes: I would like to take this opportunity to state that my knowledge of the lifestyle is pretty limited. Much of what I've done here is based on what I do know, but it is not meant to accurately represent actual BDSM practices. There is likely a good amount of fantasy or hand waving involved in the creation of this story. However, I did try to show a healthy relationship, one that is based on mutual trust and communication. If I have, in any way, included any glaring inaccuracies or displayed behaviors that are not part of this lifestyle, those are through my own ignorance and nothing else. My main objective was to tell a good story while incorporating this world into the fic. My apologies if I've done anything wrong and I welcome the opportunity to learn about any of my mistakes in the form of constructive criticism and intelligent, open discussion. Also, please note that this is set in a world where there are no superheroes, thus no Avengers. I've done my best to portray all of the characters as if they were still part of Marvel's superhero world, with the same personalities that one would see in the MCU or the 616. They simply have normal lives and normal jobs. One final bit. So many thanks to S and G And to the rest of F for their undying support, even when I didn't think I'd get this done. You guys are the best and I heart you.



"Good evening, Mr. Fury," the girl at the door said with a sly smile as she checked Nick's coat and hat. He returned the look with a smile of his own and slipped her a tip. The girl's attention shifted toward Phil and she made a show of looking him over with a slow, hungry gaze. "Who's your friend? And does he like to play?"

Nick's smile widened and Phil could see a twinkle of something in his one good eye. "Now, now, Sabine. What would Mistress Tasha have to say about your hitting on the guests?"

The girl gave a smile that was even more wicked than before and let her gaze roam Phil's body one more time. "She'd say I have excellent taste."

Fury laughed, a rich sound that filled the hallway around them. Phil allowed a small smile but did nothing to encourage the girl further. Not that she wasn't his type because she was a riot of curves made more noticeable by the tightly laced waist corset she wore over a skin hugging rubber tank dress. But he'd been around long enough to know that someone like Sabine was more than a handful. And not worth his time. "Sabine, this is an old army buddy of mine. He just moved into town so I thought I'd show him the sights. Phil Coulson. Phil, this is Sabine. Watch out for her. She's nothing but trouble."

The girl blushed and gave a broad smile. "Why, Mr. Fury! You say the nicest things." She turned to Phil and flashed him that same sultry smile that said she was available if he was interested. "Welcome to our fair city, Mr. Coulson. I do hope you see something here you like."

"Thank you," he replied as he handed over his coat. Nick smiled, a grin that was big and toothy and white in the dimness of the club's entry. One of his hands slapped Phil on the back as they headed toward a pair of darkly painted doors that held back the rhythmic throbbing of the music playing on the other side of them. "You're going to like it here, Phil. You'll be glad you came."

"Double entendre does not suit you, Nick," Phil told his friend a moment before the man at his side reached out and grasped the handles of the doors. They opened wide to show Phil a large area that might at one time have been the inside of an old dive or some kind of dance club. The floor was tiled black with an occasional white diamond at the corners to break up the darkness of it. The walls were stone, large chunks of irregularly shaped grey blocks that looked to be the real thing. There were wrought iron torches and sets of manacles bolted to the wall. In one or two places, Phil saw a nearly naked body pressed to the wall, wrists bound by the manacles while others admired them by touching or tasting.

"Welcome to The Red Room, old friend," Nick said.

The Red Room was rumored to be the most exclusive BDSM club in all of New York City. The member's list was a who's who of the rich and famous and one only got past the front doors if one was accompanied with a member. It didn't matter who you were or how much money you had. Not even God would be allowed inside of he didn't know a member personally. Nick had been a member for the nearly a decade and had informed Phil that they'd be attending tonight because it was the place to be when in the market for a new toy.

It was the furniture that gave the club its name. Or perhaps the furniture had been chosen based on the name. Either way, there were bloody red sofas and chairs scattered around the floor. The tables were glossy black lacquered things that held glass-encased candles. There were a few chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, all glittering crystal that cast tiny prisms around the room. They did little to actually lighten the area. The ceiling was high, out of sight and dark as night. The speakers that poured out some song with a throbbing, pulsing beat were no doubt hidden up there. Said music was loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to discourage chatter. Or the occasional moan that cropped up from an entwined couple.

The room was decadence and sensuality made a physical thing. A bar ran along one wall, dark wood carved into intricate patterns with mirrored panels behind it to reflect everything that happened back to the club's patrons. Patrons that were as alike and as different as they could be. There were masters clad in tight leather outfits with pets on leashes. Some masters, like himself, were dressed in less conspicuous attire, a simple suit coat and trousers with a plain button down shirt. A few had even come dressed like Bela Legosi's version of Dracula, complete with the cape and medallion. There were pets clad in corsets and skirts. He saw a few wearing little more than lingerie. Tight vinyl and latex glistened in the candle's glow.

The Red Room lived up to every legend and rumor he'd ever heard about it. And then it surpassed them all.

A few hands went up at a table on the other side of the club, making waving motions toward them. Phil shared a glance with Nick, then shrugged when the man sent a questioning look his way. Nick smiled and started for the table, Phil trailing in his wake silently. A few of the pets he passed looked up at him with a look that suggested they would be willing to offer themselves to him. Either they had very lax masters or they hadn't been trained properly. Of course, he'd known a few pets in his day that didn't care what their masters thought and had done what they'd wanted. At least until they'd gotten caught at it.

The table Nick was leading him to was a large one, crowded with seven people. From what Phil saw, at least two of them were pets. There was a third that was questionable. The rest, Phil was sure, were masters. He put on his blandest smile as a man with dark hair, moustache and beard rose to offer his hand to Phil's friend. "Nick! Good to see you again. Its been a while. Everything going okay?"

"Just avoiding your annoying ass, Stark," Nick replied with humor. Several people around the table chuckled at that comment, including the man who had spoken to Nick. As soon as Nick had untangled his hand from the other man's, Nick turned to look at Phil. "This is an old buddy of mine from my Army days. Phil Coulson. Phil, this is Tony Stark. You might recognize his face and name. He's the man behind Stark Industries."

"Pleasure," Phil said, shaking Stark's hand when offered. He knew he'd seen that face somewhere before. Stark Industries was on the forefront of every major technological breakthrough in the country and that was all thanks to the brain of Tony Stark. Somehow, Phil wasn't surprised to find Stark hanging out here. Even if he wasn't into the lifestyle, it was the place to be seen. And Stark had enough of an ego to want to be seen anywhere.

Stark retook his seat and slid his arm around the big, beefy blonde sitting at his side. Nick motioned toward the man with one hand. "Steve Rogers. Tony's partner and an amazingly talented artist."

"Pleasure to meet you, Phil," Steve replied. Phil nodded at the man, silently holding back a gush of admiration for one of the best artists in the country and one of Phil's personal heroes.

"Pepper Potts, Tony's personal assistant, and her pet, Maria Hill," Nick motioned to a pair of petite women. One was a redhead, the other brunette. The only sign that Maria was Pepper's pet was the black and red collar around her throat. Both women flashed him a smile in welcome but said nothing. If the way the muscles in Maria's arm shifted were any indication, they were both preoccupied with Pepper's satisfaction.

"Jane Foster." Nick indicated the only other woman at the table. She was seated in the lap of a big blonde brut who looked more than content to have her there. He was hand feeding her grapes off a platter settled on the table before them. "And her seat is named Thor."

"Miss Foster," Phil offered her a smile. Jane Foster was one of the country's most brilliant scientific minds. As was the man sitting beside her. "And this is Bruce Banner. His work is some of the most amazing stuff I've ever had the opportunity to read."

His words made the man start just a bit. But Banner extended his hand toward Phil. He shook the scientist's hand, taking note of the slight hesitance in what was otherwise a firm grip. The man gave him a mildly sheepish look as he drew his hand back toward him. "I don't come here all the time. Just when I know I've spent far too much time in the labs and I need to get away. This is where I come so I can stop thinking about science for a few hours."

"Are you going to sit with us tonight, Nick?" Stark asked, the hand not currently residing on his partner's shoulder motioning toward the empty chairs waiting at the table's edge. Again, Phil shared a look with Nick. The question wasn't asked out loud, but Phil shrugged his shoulders and the two of them took the empty spots at the table. Almost before they were seated, a server was at their elbows to take their drink orders. While Nick ordered himself a microbrew, Phil stuck with plain water. The server slipped away silently and left them to enjoy themselves.

Conversation was not hard to come by. Stark asked a few questions about what Phil did and how he liked New York so far. The others, minus Maria and Thor, soon joined in, doing their best to drag all of Phil's dirty little secrets out of him. Nick only laughed at their efforts and casually mentioned that he'd never seen anyone keep secrets better than Phil. For his part, Phil answered some questions and let others go with a mysterious smile that only made them more determined. He could see it in the looks they gave him and the way their muscles shifted and tensed after he gave a particularly witty answer that really told them nothing.

After the initial round of questions thrown at him, once he'd established that there were things they would know about him and things he wasn't about to tell them, the group was content to float away from the topic of Phil Coulson and allowed their conversation to slide in other directions. It wasn't surprising that Stark monopolized most of the chatter. What Phil knew of him, those things he'd gathered by reading between the lines on all of the business articles and society page gossip, was that Stark had an ego but he was still as insecure as the next guy. Hell. Possibly even more so. Money and looks be damned. The man needed validation as badly as the next person. It made Phil wonder who had royally fucked Stark up.

No longer the center of attention, something Phil was more than happy with, he allowed his gaze to skim the interior of the club once more. He and Nick had arrived relatively early so the place had been only moderately full. Now, though, the main room was filling up with bodies. There were masters and Doms, pets and slaves, all clad in different clothing. Some wore leather and vinyl. Some wore silks and satins. Some had cloaked themselves in the grey of smoke and the blacks of shadows. Some were splashed in color. He saw bloody reds, molten bronzes, midnight blues, and emerald greens. He even caught a hint of pink. The club was turning into a sea of jewel tones swirling in the inky clutches of darkness.

Phil gave an inward sigh and made to turn away from the display. The tableau he saw laid out before him was the same as it had been in every other club he'd ever attended. He could pick out which pet or slave was up for grabs as easily as he could pick out the pets from the slaves. Some masters were willing to share with another, provided they could watch. Perhaps even join in. Some were terribly protective of their property. These were the couples that lived the lifestyle all the time. And that was a relationship Phil had no desire to disrupt. Nick had promised him that things were different at The Red Room, but he had yet to see any evidence of that.

This really wasn't his scene.

A splash of purple, rich and dark, caught his eye. Almost without realizing it, he found himself shifting in his seat to get a better view of what was going on. There were several platforms stationed around the club, each one raised up high enough to put any person standing on it over the height of the crowd. Each one was occupied by someone's slave or pet. Each but the one in the far corner. While people had crowded around the other platforms, no one stood near this one. This one held a man of moderate height, clad in skin hugging leather pants and a vibrant purple vest. He wore no shirt under it, leaving his arms bared. Phil saw nothing wrong with this because the man had amazing arms. The man was moving to the sultry rhythm of the music playing over the PA, a subtle invitation that no one seemed to be willing to accept.

"Maybe you should explain the situation with that one to your friend, Nick." The knowing drawl of Stark's voice brought Phil back to the table. He turned to find that everyone was staring at him and they all wore varied versions of the same look. If Phil had to hazard a guess, he'd put his money on pity.

Phil kept his face neutral. He didn't even speak, merely lifted a brow at Nick in question. Nick sighed and took a long drink off his beer. It looked as if he was bracing himself. Phil had seen him do the same exact thing back during their Army days. Curious. It left him tempted to flick his gaze back toward the lone man, but he refrained for the time being. "Guy in purple is off limits, Phil," Nick began. Phil waited for a few moments, interested to know why the guy was off limits. Apparently Nick felt that was the only explanation he needed because he didn't say another word.

"Off limits?" he finally asked, letting his curiosity echo in his words. "Why is he off limits? Is he diseased or something? Did he kill someone?"

Phil let his gaze skim the table, taking note of everyone's carefully blanked expressions. It was Rogers who sighed and leaned forward as if to project his earnestness. "He hasn't done anything that we know of. Its just that there's obviously something going on there. He used to have a Dom he came with. But something happened and Jacques has never been back. The rumor going around is that Clint is... bad news. A bad sub or something. No one goes near him. No one. That's just kind of the way things are."

"Has anyone spoken to him? Or his previous Dom? To find out what happened?"

"I tried once. I thought he'd make a good pet for Steve and I," Tony interjected, his gaze shifting over to stare at the man in question. It was obvious from the way he looked that there was some kind of attraction there. Phil thought it was possible that Tony had asked the other man more. "He told me to go fuck myself. He doesn't talk about it." There was a touch of bitterness to his words. Stark had obviously not liked being told no.

It was Banner who spoke next, before Phil could even formulate another question. "A little free advice? Stay away from Clint. There isn't a one of us in here who hasn't considered playing with him. I mean, look at him. There's something written on his skin that says he'd be a good pet. But he comes with far too many issues. He really isn't worth your time. I tried once to talk him into going to one of the backrooms with me for a short session. Before I could even put it out there, Natasha and James came out front and put a stop to it." Bruce stopped, clearly recalling the event, and finally shook his head after a minute or two of not speaking. "Just let it go. He isn't worth your time."

Phil considered that. And then let his gaze slide toward Clint one more time. Something told Phil that the other man would be more than worth his time. There was something going on there, something that no one knew about. Phil was willing to bet it was to do with Clint's old Dom. The more he considered it, the more it seemed likely. He finished off his water before pushing up out of the chair. "If you'll excuse me."

No one said anything as Phil drifted away from the table. That was a good thing because nothing they could say would change his mind about this. Phil prided himself on being someone who could figure things out, who could read people and do it well. There was something about Clint that spoke to him. Phil was sure that the other man was looking for a partner. He was also sure that Clint didn't care if that partner was a man or a woman. It was just a feeling Phil had. He was a man who knew what he wanted, knew what he liked when he saw it. And he liked the man in the purple vest who danced for everyone and no one. His inner voice said that the man would be a good pet. But he had to find a way to get to that point. Logic suggested if he wanted to know everything that had happened, he go right to the source.

He caught one of the servers on his way toward Clint's platform. "What does he drink?" he asked the man, one hand motioning toward Clint's writhing form. "His favorite drink. Bring him one. On me. I'd also like a beer. Budweiser in a bottle."

The server nodded and headed off toward the bar to fetch the requested drinks. Phil continued on his way toward the platform where the man called Clint danced for himself. He was aware of several sets of eyes turned his way as he moved into the glaringly empty floor surrounding the platform. He was also aware of the fact that Clint's gaze flashed his way for a few seconds before flicking away again. Good. He'd been seen. Step one had been accomplished. He kept his smile to himself and leaned up against the wall, settling in to watch and wait. Time to work on step two.

The waiter arrived moments later with his beer and what smelled like a rum and Coke for the other man. When he set the drink on Clint's platform, the young man stopped long enough to give the server a curious look. A head jerk in Phil's direction answered the unasked question and brought bright blue eyes his way. Despite all of his ability to read people and to just know what was going on inside of their heads, this was one time when Phil couldn't get a read on someone else. Clint stared at him without letting go a single clue as to what he could be thinking. But something passed between them as their eyes met and held, something thick and heavy and hungry that went right to Phil's groin.

Then Clint looked away and the moment was broken. He returned to dancing, his hips shifting and swaying to the beat in a blatant come fuck me way that suggested he would be well worth the time. If Phil could find a way to get close and talk to him.

~*~

The office was large and spacious, decorated with tasteful furniture that had nothing in common with the sofas, lounges, and chairs that resided in the main area of The Red Room. Here, everything was black leather and polished wood. Gleaming silver and crystal clear glass. Art prints in black and white were framed with black lacquered frames and hung against soft grey walls. The lighting was soft and inviting. The couch and chairs in one corner looked private. Even from a distance, Phil could see that they were made for comfort. The floor was covered with, of all things, plush white carpeting that pulled his feet into it when he walked across it. It was modern, far more welcoming than the public area of the club.

Phil found himself settled in large chair covered in butter soft black leather and facing a desk of heavy wood that was a rich mahogany. Instead of a print, a painting resided on the wall behind the desk that was nearly as big as the piece of furniture it framed. A woman with long, blood red hair sat behind the desk, clad in black velvet that hugged her milky skin. She was flanked by a young man with dark hair and serious eyes, who looked as if he'd seen the worst the world had to offer. He was wearing black, as well, a touch of blue in his shirt when the light hit it just right, and his gaze was sharp on Phil.

Phil didn't have to be introduced to know that he was meeting with the owners of the club. When Nick had suggested this little outing to celebrate his move to New York City, Phil had taken it upon himself to do some research. The Red Room was owned by one Natasha Romanova, known in the D/s circle as the Black Widow because she never stayed with any of her sexual partners for very long. And there had apparently been quite a few of them. James Barnes was her business partner and that was seemingly all. If they were having a sexual relationship, it was a well kept secret.

It was Barnes who had come to Phil and requested that he follow the younger man back to the office. While he hadn't said anything about his reasons for his request, Phil was fairly certain that this was because he'd paid attention to Clint. He just hadn't expected to have to talk to the owner of the club about it. He'd hoped he could hear from Clint himself what made him so unapproachable. That apparently wasn't going to happen. He watched as Natasha pinned him with a heavy stare that no doubt would make lesser men squirm in their seats. Phil was used to such stares and simply held his position, determined to make an impression on the beauty across from him.

"I understand this is your first visit to The Red Room, Mr. Coulson. You came as a guest of Nick. Any friend of Nicholas' is very welcome here. But perhaps I should explain a few things to you," the woman began, hands resting precisely on the desk before her. Her voice was soft and sultry, the kind of voice that he knew sounded good in your ear at three in the morning, begging for more while at the same time whispering the dirtiest things one could imagine in your ear.

"Clint is off limits," he replied pleasantly. His words apparently surprised her, just a bit, because her eyes widened ever so slightly. Then her smile widened a little further.

"Perhaps I have no need to explain things after all," she said. It was a coy attempt at drawing more information from him. Phil saw no reason not to oblige.

"An explanation might make me change my mind. Provided its a better one than I've gotten from some of your regulars. Things like Clint has issues that aren't worth my time. And that he's a bad sub." Phil let that sink in, gauged her face for a reaction. When he saw there was none, he realized that she was the one who had started those rumors. "He's your friend?" Phil asked without hesitation.

Her smile was sunshine and rainbows, genuine and beautiful. It lit up her face and brightened her eyes. "You're very astute, Mr. Coulson. Yes. Clint is my friend and I'm the one who saw to it that a few well placed rumors reached the ears of my regulars."

"Please. Call me Phil. And might I ask why you would do that?" He was genuinely curious.

"Very well, then. Phil," she acknowledged with a slight tilt of her head. Then she sighed and her smile slid away. He saw a faint touch of pain slide through her eyes, but it was gone and hidden behind the steel that made her an excellent business woman. "Clint is a very dear friend. And I want to see him happy. But he can be... a little hard headed about his decisions at times."

"He's stubborn as shit and thinks he knows how to best pick a Dom that suits him," Barnes interjected. Natasha reached up and laid a hand on his arm that brought him to silence. It also answered that question for Phil.

"He's been looking for love and affection most of his life, Phil. His family life was not the happiest and its jaded his views on things like healthy relationships. His last Dom was..." Her voice trailed off and her mouth turned down in displeasure.

"He hurt Clint?" Phil asked, simply because he wanted everything laid out before him clearly.

"Jacques Duquesne abused Clint in a manner no Dominant should ever abuse his submissive. As soon as I heard about it, I interceded on Clint's behalf. He wasn't pleased," Natasha told Phil and he could hear her upset in her words. "He got over it. I also put the word out in the tri-state area that Jacques Duquesne was blacklisted here. The last I heard, he'd been forced to move out of state. I do believe that his actions have followed him."

Phil nodded and considered what she'd told him so far. "You stepped in because you didn't think Clint would end things himself?"

She gave a simple nod and, again, heaved a heavy sigh. "Clint has been looking for more than simply a Dominant. He wants a home. Someone who loves him. Someone he can call family. He's not a full time submissive. He's stubborn and he has moments where he needs time to himself. He can be rash and irritating. Annoying."

"What Tasha is trying to say is that Clint's a pain in the ass most of the time," Barnes added for good measure. Phil couldn't help smiling at that. Natasha said nothing to him about his addition, but her smile suggested she agreed.

"He's your friend. You want what's best for him and you'll do what you can to see that it happens. Even if you and he have different ideas what that is," Phil said softly, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. He really did get it. He'd seen this kind of thing before. The lack of a real family when someone was younger saw them trying to find a family when they got older. And they were often too blinded by the thought of being with someone or too afraid of being alone to put an end to something that was dangerous or unhealthy. And it sounded like that was the kind of situation that Clint had found himself in. Of course, if he was as stubborn as both Natasha had made him out to be, it was no wonder that she had done what was necessary to keep him safe.

That explained why they were having a conversation right at that very minute.

Phil smiled and leveled a gaze on her. "And what have you decided about me?"

Natasha stared at him for several long moments before she let a smile slide across her face. It shattered the image of a cold, uncaring woman to show him the warmth that lived beneath the surface. It also turned a beautiful face into a stunning one. Phil knew right then and there that Natasha Romanova was a force to be reckoned with. She let him stew a couple moments longer, then tilted her head back and to the side. Her gaze found Barnes' for only a second. He nodded at her before slipping around the desk so that he could head to the door. She didn't speak until Barnes was gone and they were alone.

"I make it my business to know everything about my clients. And my clients guests," she told him briskly. Meaning she'd done some research on Phil. Either when he'd walked through the door of the club or when he'd started eyeing Clint. He inclined his head ever so slightly to let her know he understood. "While it technically isn't my place to run interference for Clint, I still do it. Because I care about him and I don't want to see him hurt so horribly that he'd never recover from it. Perhaps this makes me a busy body or a pain in the ass. I don't care. My only concern is Clint and his well-being."

She was acting as Clint's Dom until she found someone capable of doing so without hurting him. Phil nodded his head at her. "Which is why we're talking right now."

"You're very astute, Phil. I like that. It makes cutting to the chase so much easier." She fell silent, heaving a sigh as she stare at him across the expanse of her desk. There was a flicker of something in her eyes before she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. One hand motioned toward the private seating on the other side of the room. He stood and gestured in a gentlemanly manner for her to lead the way. She threw him a broad smile that said more than words ever could before crossing toward the black leather couch.

She moved like no other woman Phil had ever met in her life. She was clad in a black silk dress that hugged every single one of her curves. She wore black heels and no hose, her skin creamy and pale against the darkness of her attire. The blood red of her hair ran over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves that swayed with each of her steps. Despite her attire and the fact that it was meant to speak of sex and sensual excess, her actions were an intriguing mix of feminine wile and contained purpose. There was a certain, blatant sexuality to her movements that screamed of invitation and forbidden pleasures. It sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. If she wasn't so obviously dominant, and taken, Phil might have considered persuading her into his bed.

The knowing smile she gave him when she sat told him that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"I see in you something that I haven't seen in many people who have vied for Clint's attention. And that, Phil, is honesty. There is something disturbingly open and honest about your face. I find, perhaps against my better judgement, that I'd like to see what you have planned for Clint." She let her gaze slide over him, slowly assessing him. "This is, of course, completely subject to his approval. If he agrees, though, I will allow you the opportunity to play with him. Here. In one of our private rooms. Under my supervision."

Phil considered her offer. It was somewhat unusual. Natasha had no claim over Clint beyond that of friendship, but she monitored his encounters as if she did. He wondered, briefly, if Clint was in the habit of pushing his limits in order to push his dominant. But that didn't seem likely. If that were the case, he was fairly certain that Natasha wouldn't allow Clint to frequent her club no matter how close they were as friends. He thought he understood what was going on. He was already sure she had a very practiced eye. But he wanted to be certain. So he posed a question to her that would show her something of how his mind worked. It would also guarantee him an answer. "What good will that do, Miss Romanova. How do you know that I won't try and convince you I wouldn't hurt him, then turn around and do so once I have him alone?"

The look she leveled on him was enough to make the baddest of the badasses Phil had known in the Army shit themselves out of fear. "I'm an excellent judge of character, Phil. I've been doing this a very long time. I'll know just by watching you with him."

Phil inclined his head at her. "Fair enough."

He might have asked her more, but the door clicked open at just that moment and Barnes let Clint step into the room before him. The man shot Natasha a grin that was equal parts sarcastic and sincere. His blue eyes then flicked toward Phil and the look he put on was impassive and unreadable. Barnes entered the office and closed the door behind him, closing the four of them off in their own private little world.

Natasha rose from her seat, her actions smooth and graceful, and crossed to Clint with that mix of flirtation and intent to her walk. He gave her a smile that was much less sarcastic than the last, slipping his arms around her when she pulled him toward her in a hug. When she drew away, she turned slightly and motioned toward Phil with one hand. "Clint, I'd like you to meet Phil."

Phil rose from his chair and did his best to seem small and safe. He watched as Clint's gaze slid from his face to Natasha's, no doubt to try and get a read on what she was thinking. It was obvious just from that action that he trusted her and her judgement. It was also obvious that she had seen something in Phil that had brought them to this point. Much as he never made a habit of letting himself worry about what other people thought about him, he decided right at that moment that he needed to ensure he did nothing to destroy the fragile trust she'd placed in him.

Natasha steered Clint closer to the corner where Phil stood. Barnes remained at the door, arms crossed over his chest while he watched them without comment. Phil didn't need to be told to know that he was there to ensure nothing untoward happened. Which seemed odd because the Black Widow was rumored to be as deadly as her name. The two of them stopped before him to show that Clint was a touch shorter than he was, but what he lacked in height was made up for by the width of his shoulders and arms that reminded Phil of artillery shells. "Phil, this is Clint."

"Pleasure to meet you, Clint," Phil offered. He kept his tone level and even so that Clint knew they both occupied the same position here in this neutral place. And he waited while Clint looked him up and down again, stayed still and silent while the other man assessed and judged him. When Clint's gaze finally found his again, there was a hint of something in his eyes that Phil took as a good sign. Clint's smile was genuine, not quite as snarky as it had been earlier. He lifted a hand and held it out.

It was a test of some kind. He was sure of that. And whether or not he passed it would determine how the rest of the night went. Phil put his hand in Clint's and shook. There was no hint of dominance in his touch, simply a shake between two men who had nothing to prove to one another. When he let go, Clint flashed a grin at him and moved to sprawl lazily on the couch. Natasha took a seat beside him, leaving Phil to settle into his chair once more. He let himself take a good look at the other man, noted that the indolence of his position was nothing more than a lie. There was a hint of tension to his shoulders, a kind of anticipation that he kept hidden underneath the layer of false apathy.

"So what's up, Tasha?" Clint asked, rolling his head across the back of the couch so he could look at her. "You don't usually call me back here unless its important. I haven't done anything, have I?"

"No, Clint. You've done nothing. I simply wanted you to meet Phil. Because he's... interested," she told him softly. That saw one of Clint's brows rising up toward the unruly mess of his hair. The man turned his attention Phil's way to once again let his gaze rake up and down Phil's length. When he finished, he shifted his gaze back to Natasha in such a way that led him to believe he'd been dismissed.

"Really? This guy?"

"This guy," Natasha replied softly. She gave him a slight nod. "But whether or not you want to play is up to you. If you say no, this ends here."

Clint gave that some consideration, his eyes shifting so that he could see Phil without having to turn his head at all. After several silent moments, he looked at Natasha again. "This is you making sure that I'm not going to get hurt again, isn't it? You checked him out before you let him talk to me."

There was a touch of heat to his voice that suggested he didn't like her nosing into his private life. The tension Phil had seen earlier hitched up a notch, one of Clint's hands curling into a fist at his side as he battled with his temper. They'd said rash and stubborn. They'd obviously not lied about that. But Natasha didn't flinch in the face of Clint's disapproval and disappointment. She only gave him a pointed look, one hand reaching up to gently touch his cheek. "Only because I care about you and I don't want to see you hurt again. If I'd been paying closer attention last time..."

He cut her off with a shake of his head. "Not your fault. And you shouldn't have to be my matchmaker. I'm an adult. I can do these things for myself. And don't give me that look," he warned but she apparently gave it to him anyway because he just rolled his eyes and huffed out a soft laugh. Clint let his attention slide toward Phil again.

He could see what the other man was thinking as he let his eyes slide up and down Phil's frame one more time. He was about to do something just to be spiteful. It was obviously Clint didn't like Natasha keeping him under her wing. But it was clear that he was impulsive and that she had a perfectly good reason to mother hen him. Still, it didn't appear that Clint was going to accept Phil's offer just to spite his friend. Phil had seen the flare of interest in enough gazes over the years to recognize it this time. Clint was intrigued by what he saw, whatever that might be. He was going to say yes as much to satisfy his own curiosity as to stick it to Natasha for meddling in his life.

He let his gaze drift back to Natasha. The smile he gave her was blinding. "You're okay with the two of us playing?" He was asking her permission.

"As long as you are," she reminded him. "I want you to promise me that if you get any weird vibes off him or if things don't feel right, you are well within your rights to call it off. I don't want you to do anything that you don't like."

Clint gave his full attention back to Phil, letting him see the mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Well. This was going to be fun.

~*~

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" James asked as he moved up behind her. Natasha let him slide his arms around her, let him press his chest to her back so that he could speak directly into her ear. She brought one hand up so that she could idly stroke her fingers over the silk of his shirt sleeve. "This is Clint. You know he's probably doing this to spite you for looking out for him."

"Oh, he's definitely doing this to spite me. I was counting on it," she replied as she watched the two men on the other side of the glass. As yet, nothing had actually happened. Natasha had let James show Phil the way while she'd kept Clint with her. Just for a moment longer. So she could reiterate to him that he didn't have to do this if he didn't want to, that there was no reason to go through with it. She'd known him a long time and she knew how his mind worked. Even now, before anything happened between them, Clint had gotten his hopes up. It wasn't anything that a person could physically see, but she knew all the same.

They'd tried to be a couple. Once. A long time ago. When Natasha had first met Clint, they had both been younger. Not quite so established on the scene. Still finding where they fit in the grand scheme of life and the much smaller world of the lifestyle. There had been an instant kind of chemistry between them and, for possibly the first and last time in Natasha's life, she'd let her emotions rule her actions. She'd gone right to bed with him. And the sex had been incredible. But...

They were wrong for one another. All the greatest sex in the world didn't matter when there was nothing beyond that sexual spark. Clint was too loud, too brash, too... needy. In his own fashion. The lack of stable family life had taken its toll and he hungered for a real, loving relationship the way some people hungered for chocolate or caffeine or their next fix. It made him blind to people's flaws and the dangers he put himself into for the sake of having someone there to hold him and care about him. She'd seen all of that on him, read it in his actions and heard it in the words he did and didn't speak. She should have spoken to him about it, should have set him straight and helped him find his way. But she hadn't, and then Jacques Duquesne had happened, and she'd never be able to forgive herself for failing him that way.

Duquesne had seemingly been a godsend. At first. But it hadn't been long before he'd shown everyone his true nature. By then, it had been almost impossible to convince Clint that there was something amiss with the man. She'd never been sure if Clint had loved him or not, something that boggled her mind because she'd always been good at reading people. But Clint had been, at the very least, mesmerized by Duquesne and that level of fascination on Clint's part had allowed the other man to do whatever he liked. By the time Natasha had discovered that Duquesne was abusing Clint, she'd finally had the power to do something about it.

It had been a violation of her own personal rules not to get involved in the lives of her clients. But Clint was more than a client. And he was more than a friend. He was family, some of the only family she had. It might have been a bad move from a professional perspective, but she'd done it anyway. She was the famed Black Widow and her word was law. So she'd gotten between Clint and Duquesne. She'd split them apart and she'd sent Duquesne packing. Then she'd spread the word that he was bad news. As far as she knew, he'd been blacklisted from every club on the eastern seaboard. And Clint, despite being angry with her for nosing into his life, had forgiven her. After he'd gotten out of the hospital.

This was why she'd put the rumors out, let them spread and grow. It was the only way she knew to keep Clint safe. It was heavy-handed and wrong, but it was her way and he was her family. She'd do what was needed to protect him. Maybe, just maybe, she'd finally found someone she could trust to care for him for her.

Pushing old memories aside, ridding herself of the bitter emotions that came with them, she let her focus shift to the two men beyond the tinted window. Phil Coulson lounged negligently against the door while Clint stood on the opposite side of the room, nearest the bed, one hand absently toying with the buttons on his vest. A blatant tease meant for the other man. Natasha sighed and shook her head. Five minutes alone with the man and already Clint was pushing buttons. James shifted to take a seat beside her, his face filled with skepticism. "You're sure this--"

She silenced him with a quick, curt look. "Just watch. Phil Coulson is perfect for Clint."

Clint's vest came off and hit the floor without care. His hands moved toward the fly of his pants, intent on removing them. It was Clint's way of pushing buttons and testing. Phil Coulson was watching him with something like cool disinterest, but Natasha could see that he was actually, secretly reading the situation. Finally, as Clint was working the top button from its hole, Phil leveled a gaze on him that made the other man pause. "That's enough. You will leave your pants on."

The words were delivered quietly, in a voice that was as level and as ordinary as the one he'd used in Natasha's office. But there was an unspoken force in them, a measure of strength that said he would not be denied obedience. A suggestion that it would be in Clint's best interest to do as he was told.

And it worked.

Clint's hands stilled, his curious gaze seeking out the other man's face to see if he could read anything contrary on it. There was nothing to read beyond that same bland mask that Phil had been wearing all night. But the man's eyes told a different story, a story that Clint found himself responding to without realizing it. His hands dropped away from his waist to hang limp and loose at his sides. The action brought a bit of a smile to Phil's lips. He pushed away from his place at the door and took a couple of steps forward. "Better."

Natasha watched as Clint's gaze flicked toward the mirror, instinctively finding her eyes with his own even though she knew he couldn't see anything beyond the silvered surface. "I didn't give you permission to take your eyes off me," Phil said, again in that soft voice that was lined with a current of steel. Clint's gaze snapped back onto Phil's face and, for just a moment, Natasha saw a hint of uncertainty in his expression. But he covered it and pretended that it had never happened.

Too bad for him that Phil caught it.

"Excellent response. You know how to listen. That's good." The comment was given almost absently, as if Phil spoke only to himself. Nodding, he closed the remaining distance between the two of them until he was standing directly before Clint. He was a touch on the taller side, but far leaner than Clint. Still, as with his voice, there was a thread of steely strength hidden under his outer shell of blandness. A kernel of hope blossomed in Natasha's belly. She should have squashed it because she'd learned early that hope was not always a good thing. But, in this case, she felt she could let it grow into something more.

Phil made a show of taking a slow walk around Clint. She saw his eyes move and glide over every inch of Clint, saw the way they stopped on the scars she knew marred Clint's back. Tiny and, in some cases, not so tiny reminders of his time with Duquesne. The faint frown that marred his face spoke to just how Phil Coulson felt about the abuse of another person. He lifted a hand and let it trail over a long one that sliced across Clint's flesh, starting on his left shoulder and ending at his right hip. To his credit, Clint didn't shiver at the touch. Not until Phil's hand dipped and ghosted, ever so slightly, across the upper curve of Clint's ass.

When Phil faced Clint again, there was a serious look on his face. "You understand what's going on here, don't you?" he asked. There was something in his voice that begged that Clint be perfectly and completely honest with him. Clint heard it, because he was perceptive like that and he spotted more than people gave him credit for, and nodded his head. "Tell me," Phil ordered gently when Clint said nothing more.

"This is an interview," Clint replied carefully. "For whatever reason, you've taken an interest in me and you're auditioning me as a potential submissive. Or maybe I'm auditioning you as a potential Dominant. Either way, this is an interview."

"It is. I am auditioning you as a potential submissive," Phil told Clint. The other man made to speak, his mouth falling open, which prompted Phil to hold up a hand and bring him to a halt. "But that's only a small part of something much bigger. I'm looking for more than a submissive."

Clint frowned as he considered the information carefully. Natasha knew him well enough to know he was cycling through it, trying to read what was and wasn't there. The man had a quick, analytical mind. Which was what made it so frustrating that he was nearly hopeless where his love life was concerned. There had been a few people he'd thought he could make a go with, but none of them had ever panned out. Each disappointment saw him trying that much harder and making more mistakes.

"You're looking for a relationship. A relationship with a submissive is a bonus," Clint finally replied. Phil nodded his head, allowing a pleased smile to curl his lips up. Clint responded to that almost instantly, his expression shifting from concentration to pure pleasure. The change was automatic and unconscious, an answer to that part of Phil that was supremely pleased with Clint's intelligence. The look lasted only an instant before Clint's face took on a hint of suspicion and disbelief. "You want to pursue a relationship with me. May I ask why?"

"Because I find you intriguing," Phil replied, face honest and open. Natasha could hear the sincerity in his words, could read it in the expression he wore. Clint watched, said nothing in response to that. "I find you attractive. I even find you unique. There is something about you that I could see just by watching you dance. There's a wild, untamed passion for living. You're insanely handsome and that plays to my ego because I am well aware that most people don't see me in the same light. In fact, most people look right past me because I am good at being mundane. Normal."

It was true. Phil Coulson was excellent at projecting an air of calm, bland capability that left other people feeling as if there was excitement to be had elsewhere. And, when standing side by side with Clint, it was obvious which of the two men would be more appealing to the general population. Natasha's experience had taught her that it was nice to have the pretty boys to look at but it took more than merely a pretty face to make the relationship something worth pursuing. She didn't know Phil Coulson well, but instinct told her that he was worth the effort. Clint would be an idiot to pass that up.

"Is that all you want me for? To have something pretty hanging off your arm?" Clint asked, serious and focused.

"To some extent. But isn't that what we all want?" Phil asked. His eyes were intent and piercing as they stared into Clint's. This was the strangest session she'd ever seen, but she had a great deal of respect for Phil. Because he could have had sex with Clint, could have dominated the other man to get what he wanted. Instead, he was using honesty. He was staying away from sex. He was giving Clint the opportunity to say yes or no on his own. "I have a philosophy, Clint. Always know what you're getting yourself into. Always understand the risks involved."

"Back up plans and contingencies?" Clint asked lightly. There was a subtle shift in his posture, one he likely wasn't aware he'd made. Some of the tension had gone out of his shoulders, bringing them down from a defensive position. His head was cocked ever so slightly to the side, an unconscious display of submission. She knew Phil had seen it, knew that Clint had pretty much already given in. But he wasn't going to push the issue until they both understood what was going on here. "So is this love at first sight?"

Phil considered this, took a step back and crossed his arms as he eyed the other man. "No. Not love at first sight," he shook his head. There was, perhaps, a tiny hint of regret to be heard there. Clint, clever as he was, picked up on it and gave Phil a smile that was shy and unlike the wide grins he used with other people. "Maybe this is lust at first sight. I don't know. But I'm willing to find out what this is and if it can become something else. I would really like to find out if it could become something more. But only if that's something you'd like to explore with me."

Clint seemed surprised by that. He blinked, just once, and his position shifted yet again. The small things that marked his submission faded away into a sharp edge. The hint of a frown touched the corners of Clint's mouth. Natasha wanted to kick him for being stupid and stubborn. "How do I know this isn't some sort of trick? Or something worse?"

Okay. Maybe she wouldn't kick him for being stupid after all. That was the most sensible question she'd heard from him in a long time. Perhaps he'd actually learned something about blindly jumping into a relationship after all.

For his part, Phil seemed to approve of the question. He gave another one of his small smiles. "You don't know this isn't a trick. It isn't, but you don't know that. But you can't know that until you give my offer a try. If you decide that this isn't something you're interested in, we'll part ways here and now and you'll never see me again. However." Phil fell silent a moment and let his gaze once more skim down Clint's length before climbing back up with dizzyingly slow intent. "If you agree to this, I want you to understand that we will be a couple first, Dominant and submissive second. We'd be building something real, shooting for a life together."

Clint studied the other man for several long moments. Natasha could see the wheels turning behind his million mile stare and she understood that this was something he wanted, but he was just a little more cautious than before. He was trying to feel his way through the interview without playing all of his cards at once. "You'd want a life with me? I have issues. Lots of issues."

Phil's lips only curled up, his smile going wider. "Are you trying to scare me off?" he asked lightly.

"No. Just trying to be honest," Clint replied softly. His voice made it clear that this was something new for him, unexplored territory and he felt as if he stood on shaky ground.

"Your back speaks louder than any words could," Phil replied, his tone going sharp. Clint flinched, just a slight motion. He tried to cover it, obviously hadn't meant to do so. But Phil saw it and sighed. "Allow me to take this opportunity to tell you that I have never laid a hand on anyone in a relationship with me. And I never will. Not unless it is something we both want to do and we come to a mutual agreement about it before hand. I don't know what your former Dominant did to you. But I can see that its left scars. Both internal and external. I will do whatever I can to help soothe those memories away."

Clint nodded to acknowledge the offer. But he said nothing. He was thinking about things. Deeply. He was still listening to the other man, but he was lost in thought. That was one of those things about Clint that never failed to impress Natasha. The fact that he was capable of such intense concentration. It was something he did quite frequently and it never failed to startle people when he seemed to be a million miles away, then he would blink and come out of his trance-like state with the ability to recall with perfect clarity the conversation that had gone around him.

"There will be rules, though. If you decide that you want to put effort into being my submissive, you and I will sit down and talk about everything. You will choose a safe word and you will use it if our scene goes past your limits. And there will be limits. Nothing will happen between us until we've established limits," Phil informed Clint, watching him carefully. When Clint said nothing, Phil pressed on. "In fact, nothing will happen between us until we get to know one another. Until we build up some trust."

Clint blinked and he was just suddenly back. Natasha saw it in the way his posture shifted, the way his gaze warmed. "I understand. You're saying we're both going to work to make things safe and healthy." Those words alone told her that Clint had been remembering Duquesne and his particular brand of domination. "I can live with that."

Phil said nothing, merely studied Clint intently. Natasha wondered if he was looking for a lie in Clint's words, or if he was seeking any kind of hesitation. For his part, Clint looked as sincere as she'd ever seen him. It made her wonder, briefly, if she'd done the right thing in keeping potential Doms away from him. But she wouldn't let herself regret her actions. She could still recall how he'd looked right after Duquesne had abused him for the last time. The sound of Phil's voice breaking the silence pulled her from blood-stained memories. "So is that a yes?"

"Yes," Clint replied. And, just like that, the thin rope of tension that had been running through him since Natasha had escorted him into the room was gone. It wasn't anything most people would notice. Just a faint tightness at the corners of his eyes, the extra wide grin, the way he held himself. They were all signs Natasha knew well, had gotten used to seeing on him more often than not, that helped hide the real Clint Barton. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him relax so much. But with that single word, the shell he wore to protect himself faded away to leave him loose and relaxed.

He'd done it earlier, lowered his shoulders and tipped his head to the side in an instinctive, absent gesture of submission. But something about the act time was much deeper and more meaningful. It wasn't as if his actions were such. It was more a feeling Natasha got when looking at Clint. He'd been sincere in his submission earlier, but there had still been a part of him he'd been holding back. Some part he'd kept to himself. Apparently he wasn't holding back anymore.

Phil saw it, too, saw how Clint was willing to give himself over. It was there in the faint cant to his head and the way it left his neck exposed. The skin was pulled tight, showed the way his pulse beat hard and fast in what she suspected was a mix of anticipation and fear. It was in the way Clint's lids lowered, the way his eyes dipped toward the floor. He was willing to give himself over to this man, to this perfect stranger, and was eager to do so.

Natasha expected Phil to close the interview with some kind of reward. A kiss or a touch. Some kind of physical thing that told Clint he'd done a good job. He didn't make a move toward Clint at all. What he did do was offer Clint that same small smile as he'd offered up before. "Why don't you retrieve your vest and we'll go find some place private to chat."

It wasn't a suggestion. There was a faint touch of steel to the words. Natasha found herself holding her breath as she waited to see what Clint would do. There was a moment, perhaps two, where he didn't move. But eventually he bent to pick up his vest without complaint or any further hesitation. He slid into it and waited for Phil to give him some kind of cue. Phil waited for Clint to button his vest up, then turned for the door and started forward. The slightest motion of his hand saw Clint following after him silently, head held high.

Natasha let go the breath she'd been holding in and heaved a soft sigh. James' arm tightened around her shoulder as he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against the silken curve of her cheek. When she looked at him, he gave her a cheeky grin. "Our little boy is growing up."

She tipped her head back and let go a husky laugh. "Now if I could just figure out what to do with you."

His cheeky grin slid into something a little darker. "Oh, I could think of a few things..."

Continue on to Part 2