Give it all (if only for a moment) - Coulson/Barton - R
So, this is it, my first foray in this fandom, and it's Phil/Clint because sirona_gs mentioned them and suddenly it was like 'OH, YES, THIS'. So, yeah. I hope you like! *bites nail*
Thanks go to somehowunbroken for the beta ♥.
Phil clenches his jaw when his fingers press against the bruise at the joint of his hip, his eyes flicking back up to the mirror. He shouldn’t let this happen, he’s perfectly aware of the fact, but he resigned himself a long time ago now that it would be the best he could do, that it was better than most agents had, even.
He gets dressed slowly, covering the bruise with layers of expensive suit, still his best armor to this day. The thought makes him smile to himself, a little bitter; he deals with costumed superheroes all day, and the best he has is a suit. An expensive, well-tailored one, but compared to Stark-engineered armor, it’s laughable.
It works for him, whatever it is. And whatever he has in his life, it works for him, too. It’s secret and hidden away, but that’s just how everything has been for him since he joined SHIELD, so it’s not much of a stretch for him to keep everything separate, little boxes in his head.
Even if nowadays Clint is straddling two boxes in Phil’s head.
;;;
Clint didn’t use to sleep over.
But now he does, and Phil doesn’t remember when it happened, he realizes as he pushes sizzling bacon around a pan, the coffee maker gurgling merrily at his side. And to be fair, Phil doesn’t really care about the when, and he’s not interested in the implications of the why, either. He’s too busy taking a second to allow warmth to spread in his gut when Clint shuffles in the kitchen wearing clothes that aren’t his own, presses his nose against Phil’s shoulder for a second before turning to the coffee maker.
He only starts talking after two mouthfuls of coffee, as Phil is sliding the bacon from the pan to a plate.
“If coffee tasted that good in the office, people would quit less often.”
“I am not making you coffee at work, Clint.”
Clint smirks from over his mug, leaning against the fridge and crossing his legs at the ankles. He’s looking way too devious and awake this early in the morning. “I didn’t ask.”
Phil sighs. “You can use my travel mug.”
;;;
There’s a small gym in the SHIELD complex that nobody uses, because there’s only two treadmills, a bench, and a punching bag. It’s not enough for the soldiers they have on base and it’s too empty for the suits. It’s perfect for Phil.
It’s not that he’s a prude, or that he doesn’t want to work out around other people. He just likes the quiet, and he likes the view.
He’s bench pressing one evening when a hand curls around the bar, helping to put it back on the holds. Phil knows this hand, recognizes the scratch over the middle knuckle of the index finger. Clint moves closer, fully coming into view, his smile looking strange and scary upside down.
Clint moves slowly, allowing Phil to follow him with his eyes the whole way, until he’s hovering above Phil, eyes roaming over his chest. A callused finger slides along Phil’s ribs, just under the long slash of a scar he’s sporting there.
“How did you get this one?”
“Machete. Long time ago.” Phil feels a little breathless, the heady smell of leather making him flex his hands over the weights bar that he’s still holding onto.
“Damn.” Clint leans down, licks along the scar, and Phil’s breath catches in his throat. He’s about to either push Clint away or grab a handful of his hair when Clint’s phone starts to ring. He groans and bites into Phil’s ribs for an instant before straightening up. He’s gone a second later.
;;;
Clint gets injured during a mission. When Phil visits him at the infirmary, Clint smiles, looking a bit high, dark bags under his eyes contrasting against his pale face.
"It's just a flesh wound."
"Your movie references are deeply disturbing, Clint.”
“Aw, come on, you like that movie. We watched it together once, and I think you almost smiled.”
Phil almost smiles then, and Clint grins bigger, pushing himself up on the bed. Phil takes a step forward, closer to the bed, fingers brushing Clint’s bare wrist.
“I -” Phil stops himself, not knowing how to go on from here. He wants to say I was worried, but he’s so used to not saying these things that the words stick to his throat, making it hard to swallow.
“What? Phil.” Clint is not about to let it go, his focus zeroing on everything Phil is not saying.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” It’s not what he wants to say but it has to do, and Clint nods, lips a thin white line as he looks away. Not good enough.
“Okay. Think I’m going to get some more sleep, now.”
;;;
For their next missions, Phil is sent to Asia and Clint is sent to Toronto, and they don’t speak for three weeks until Phil cracks and calls Clint.
It’s not something they do, it’s not something they’re supposed to do, but he does it anyway. For a moment, he just wants to hear Clint’s voice.
”Agent Coulson. This is a surprise.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. How’s it going?”
”Fine. I spent four hours in a tree under the rain today. Mindblowing.”
“I wrote a 40-page long field report.”
”Oh, kinky.”
Phil lets out a chuckle, rolling his eyes at the same time. He’s missed this, and it’s saying a lot, and at the same time it’s not really surprising at all.
”So, why are you calling? Want me to help you sleep?”
Phil closes his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes.”
;;;
Phil opens his eyes as he comes, looking up at the ceiling as the feeling of Clint’s mouth swallowing around his cock makes him lose his mind, brain cells exploding one after the other in rapid succession until he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to talk again.
Clint’s mouth leaves him with a wet, obscene sound, moving to his chest, nose and lips pressed into sweaty, tacky skin. He’s soon panting against Phil’s collarbone, allowing Phil to grab a hold of his hair, pull him up, kiss him hard and sloppy. Clint moans in Phil’s mouth, wanton and desperate, and he wrenches his mouth away, forehead pushed against Phil’s.
“Please. Phil.”
Phil can only comply, looking into Clint’s eyes. His hand wraps around Clint’s cock and he’s quick and efficient in bringing him off with hard, quick strokes, the way he knows Clint likes it when he wants to come, and come now.
The rhythm is almost punishing, the angles all wrong, but at least they’re in a bed this time and their phones are turned off for the moment, if only just for this moment. And Clint keens, closing his eyes as he drives his hips into Phil’s hand one last time and then comes, shaking for a few beats before he collapses on top of Phil. Phil extracts his hand from between their bodies to run his fingertips along the length of Clint’s spine, feeling Clint sigh against his neck, a warm gust of breath.
“If you fall asleep on me, there will be consequences,” Phil says in a slightly broken whisper, not really meaning it.
Clint smiles into Phil’s skin. “Bring it.”
;;;
Clint moves in with Phil after he sets his own place on fire.
“I still don’t believe you didn’t do it on purpose. You do everything you do on purpose.”
“What would be said purpose, then?” Clint is pushing, and Phil is tired of not admitting it. He shrugs his suit jacket off his shoulders, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair.
“You could have just said something. That you wanted this.”
“Yeah, because you’d have reacted so well to that. You like to think you’re so unreadable and cold and blank, Phil, but you’re really not.”
Not to you, is what Phil thinks, but he doesn’t say it. He takes the cuffs off his shirt in precise, quick movements, putting his thoughts together.
“Well, for the record, I don’t mind this.”
“This what?”
Clint is picking at his nails with one of Phil’s cooking knives, which is wrong and lethal in so many ways Phil almost takes a step back.
“You, living here. With me.”
Clint looks up from his fingers. “How hard was it for you to say that?”
Phil smiles - unreserved, for once. He’s too tired of holding himself together even in private, and he’s starting to understand how much he can let go around Clint. There are things he’s absolutely not ready to say, even if he thinks about them and knows them as fact, things about feelings he’s not felt in years, but there are some things he wants to shake loose.
“Pretty hard,” he answers, taking the knife from Clint’s hand and pulling him closer, trapping himself between Clint and the kitchen wall at his back. “But I’m trying, here.”
Clint nods, smiles, something soft in the expression. “I know. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t you start taking advantage of it.”
“I would never.”
It’s a big fat lie, but Phil doesn’t even care.
Thanks go to somehowunbroken for the beta ♥.
Phil clenches his jaw when his fingers press against the bruise at the joint of his hip, his eyes flicking back up to the mirror. He shouldn’t let this happen, he’s perfectly aware of the fact, but he resigned himself a long time ago now that it would be the best he could do, that it was better than most agents had, even.
He gets dressed slowly, covering the bruise with layers of expensive suit, still his best armor to this day. The thought makes him smile to himself, a little bitter; he deals with costumed superheroes all day, and the best he has is a suit. An expensive, well-tailored one, but compared to Stark-engineered armor, it’s laughable.
It works for him, whatever it is. And whatever he has in his life, it works for him, too. It’s secret and hidden away, but that’s just how everything has been for him since he joined SHIELD, so it’s not much of a stretch for him to keep everything separate, little boxes in his head.
Even if nowadays Clint is straddling two boxes in Phil’s head.
;;;
Clint didn’t use to sleep over.
But now he does, and Phil doesn’t remember when it happened, he realizes as he pushes sizzling bacon around a pan, the coffee maker gurgling merrily at his side. And to be fair, Phil doesn’t really care about the when, and he’s not interested in the implications of the why, either. He’s too busy taking a second to allow warmth to spread in his gut when Clint shuffles in the kitchen wearing clothes that aren’t his own, presses his nose against Phil’s shoulder for a second before turning to the coffee maker.
He only starts talking after two mouthfuls of coffee, as Phil is sliding the bacon from the pan to a plate.
“If coffee tasted that good in the office, people would quit less often.”
“I am not making you coffee at work, Clint.”
Clint smirks from over his mug, leaning against the fridge and crossing his legs at the ankles. He’s looking way too devious and awake this early in the morning. “I didn’t ask.”
Phil sighs. “You can use my travel mug.”
;;;
There’s a small gym in the SHIELD complex that nobody uses, because there’s only two treadmills, a bench, and a punching bag. It’s not enough for the soldiers they have on base and it’s too empty for the suits. It’s perfect for Phil.
It’s not that he’s a prude, or that he doesn’t want to work out around other people. He just likes the quiet, and he likes the view.
He’s bench pressing one evening when a hand curls around the bar, helping to put it back on the holds. Phil knows this hand, recognizes the scratch over the middle knuckle of the index finger. Clint moves closer, fully coming into view, his smile looking strange and scary upside down.
Clint moves slowly, allowing Phil to follow him with his eyes the whole way, until he’s hovering above Phil, eyes roaming over his chest. A callused finger slides along Phil’s ribs, just under the long slash of a scar he’s sporting there.
“How did you get this one?”
“Machete. Long time ago.” Phil feels a little breathless, the heady smell of leather making him flex his hands over the weights bar that he’s still holding onto.
“Damn.” Clint leans down, licks along the scar, and Phil’s breath catches in his throat. He’s about to either push Clint away or grab a handful of his hair when Clint’s phone starts to ring. He groans and bites into Phil’s ribs for an instant before straightening up. He’s gone a second later.
;;;
Clint gets injured during a mission. When Phil visits him at the infirmary, Clint smiles, looking a bit high, dark bags under his eyes contrasting against his pale face.
"It's just a flesh wound."
"Your movie references are deeply disturbing, Clint.”
“Aw, come on, you like that movie. We watched it together once, and I think you almost smiled.”
Phil almost smiles then, and Clint grins bigger, pushing himself up on the bed. Phil takes a step forward, closer to the bed, fingers brushing Clint’s bare wrist.
“I -” Phil stops himself, not knowing how to go on from here. He wants to say I was worried, but he’s so used to not saying these things that the words stick to his throat, making it hard to swallow.
“What? Phil.” Clint is not about to let it go, his focus zeroing on everything Phil is not saying.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” It’s not what he wants to say but it has to do, and Clint nods, lips a thin white line as he looks away. Not good enough.
“Okay. Think I’m going to get some more sleep, now.”
;;;
For their next missions, Phil is sent to Asia and Clint is sent to Toronto, and they don’t speak for three weeks until Phil cracks and calls Clint.
It’s not something they do, it’s not something they’re supposed to do, but he does it anyway. For a moment, he just wants to hear Clint’s voice.
”Agent Coulson. This is a surprise.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. How’s it going?”
”Fine. I spent four hours in a tree under the rain today. Mindblowing.”
“I wrote a 40-page long field report.”
”Oh, kinky.”
Phil lets out a chuckle, rolling his eyes at the same time. He’s missed this, and it’s saying a lot, and at the same time it’s not really surprising at all.
”So, why are you calling? Want me to help you sleep?”
Phil closes his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes.”
;;;
Phil opens his eyes as he comes, looking up at the ceiling as the feeling of Clint’s mouth swallowing around his cock makes him lose his mind, brain cells exploding one after the other in rapid succession until he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to talk again.
Clint’s mouth leaves him with a wet, obscene sound, moving to his chest, nose and lips pressed into sweaty, tacky skin. He’s soon panting against Phil’s collarbone, allowing Phil to grab a hold of his hair, pull him up, kiss him hard and sloppy. Clint moans in Phil’s mouth, wanton and desperate, and he wrenches his mouth away, forehead pushed against Phil’s.
“Please. Phil.”
Phil can only comply, looking into Clint’s eyes. His hand wraps around Clint’s cock and he’s quick and efficient in bringing him off with hard, quick strokes, the way he knows Clint likes it when he wants to come, and come now.
The rhythm is almost punishing, the angles all wrong, but at least they’re in a bed this time and their phones are turned off for the moment, if only just for this moment. And Clint keens, closing his eyes as he drives his hips into Phil’s hand one last time and then comes, shaking for a few beats before he collapses on top of Phil. Phil extracts his hand from between their bodies to run his fingertips along the length of Clint’s spine, feeling Clint sigh against his neck, a warm gust of breath.
“If you fall asleep on me, there will be consequences,” Phil says in a slightly broken whisper, not really meaning it.
Clint smiles into Phil’s skin. “Bring it.”
;;;
Clint moves in with Phil after he sets his own place on fire.
“I still don’t believe you didn’t do it on purpose. You do everything you do on purpose.”
“What would be said purpose, then?” Clint is pushing, and Phil is tired of not admitting it. He shrugs his suit jacket off his shoulders, draping it over the back of a kitchen chair.
“You could have just said something. That you wanted this.”
“Yeah, because you’d have reacted so well to that. You like to think you’re so unreadable and cold and blank, Phil, but you’re really not.”
Not to you, is what Phil thinks, but he doesn’t say it. He takes the cuffs off his shirt in precise, quick movements, putting his thoughts together.
“Well, for the record, I don’t mind this.”
“This what?”
Clint is picking at his nails with one of Phil’s cooking knives, which is wrong and lethal in so many ways Phil almost takes a step back.
“You, living here. With me.”
Clint looks up from his fingers. “How hard was it for you to say that?”
Phil smiles - unreserved, for once. He’s too tired of holding himself together even in private, and he’s starting to understand how much he can let go around Clint. There are things he’s absolutely not ready to say, even if he thinks about them and knows them as fact, things about feelings he’s not felt in years, but there are some things he wants to shake loose.
“Pretty hard,” he answers, taking the knife from Clint’s hand and pulling him closer, trapping himself between Clint and the kitchen wall at his back. “But I’m trying, here.”
Clint nods, smiles, something soft in the expression. “I know. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t you start taking advantage of it.”
“I would never.”
It’s a big fat lie, but Phil doesn’t even care.