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The Wind Blows The Night Time My Way

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“Ma’am,” Clint mumbles against Phil’s mouth when they break for air. He moves closer toward her across the couch, discarded takeout containers falling to the floor. He puts an uncertain hand on her shoulder, palm warm through the thin layer of her blouse.

This is a mistake, Phil should say. You’re my subordinate. You’re too young. You look too much like my fantasy of Steve Rogers.

“Do you want this?” Phil asks instead.

“Um.” Clint licks his lips. They’re pink and puffy, even though they haven’t been kissing for that long. “Yes?” He ducks his head, his chin brushing her chest until he jerks back, clearly embarrassed.

He’s far too charming. Which she suspects he knows, but that doesn’t stop it being true.

Phil still has one foot on the floor; the other is on the couch, leg bent at the knee to give Clint space to fit between her legs. It’s moving fast, but Phil has never been ashamed of wanting sex. She will be ashamed if Clint feels in any way pressured into this, though.

“You understand that this is your choice?” she asks. SHIELD doesn’t give the impression of offering a lot of choices - especially not to newer agents like Barton - but fraternisation is never an order. “The mission is over. If you don’t want me, it won’t affect my report or my recommendation for your promotion.”

“Promotion?” Clint’s head snaps up.

Phil smiles, watching the little flicker of pride in his eyes. She’s glad she already made this decision or she’d be second guessing her impartiality. “Yes, to level four.”

“But I’m level two,” Clint says, frowning.

“And level three is boring. It’s all escorting low level diplomats and learning state secrets that you can’t share.” She looks at him steadily. “Of course, if level four’s not what you want…?”

“I want it,” Clint interrupts. He grins at her, wide and hopeful. “I want all of it.”

Phil’s heart jumps once against her sternum, before she gets it under control. She’s not going to become ridiculous just because a beautiful, twenty-something-year-old boy is looking at her like she’s all he wants in the world.

“We have two hours until evac,” she tells him.

Clint laughs. “Coulson, I’m going to be done way faster than that.”

“Exactly what I want to hear,” Phil says, but she leans forward when he does, meeting him kiss for kiss.

Clint’s hand settles more firmly on Phil’s shoulder, less tentative now. Phil follows the movement and falls back onto her elbows.

She’s not about to sink into the couch cushions and let him have his way with her; that’s not her style, but she likes the way the muscles in his biceps bunch when he leans forward over her.

“Do you want to make out or do you want to go to bed?” Phil asks. She’s careful to make it sound like what it is: a question, not a challenge. Clint’s never turned down a challenge that she knows of.

“Whatever you want,” Clint says promptly.

Phil won’t roll her eyes - she likes that he has manners - but it’s not a helpful answer. “I want to pin you to the bed and ride you. What do you want?”

Clint’s eyes flare and a little moan falls out of his mouth when it drops open. “I’m, um, yeah. I’m good with that.”

Phil thought he might be. He isn’t one of those alpha male recruits who Nick sometimes sends her out with to knock down a peg; he hasn’t once blinked at taking orders from a short, non-descript woman.

“Come to bed, then.” Phil slides her leg up Clint’s side, then kicks him in the hip to get him going.

He moves so fast to obey that he almost falls off the couch.

“Be naked before you hit the bedroom,” Phil says, stepping over him.

She’s just turned on enough that her panties feel uncomfortable as she walks. She’d love to be the sort of woman who could shed her clothes in a seductive trail from living room to bedroom, but she’s military through and through. The extra time that that would add to clearing the apartment in an emergency makes her recoil inside.

So Phil waits until she’s in the bedroom before she unbuttons her white blouse and black suit pants. She took off her jacket and shoes as soon as they reached the safe house. It’s a hot day, too hot for the full Agent Coulson uniform, and she’d only planned on dinner and unwinding with Clint before evac.

Not this specific kind of unwinding.

“I thought you said naked, ma’am,” Clint says, just behind her.

Phil turns to look at him and pauses. Well, he’s certainly naked. Very naked. His clothes are piled in his arms until he lays them down beside hers on the carpet.

Phil lets herself look at his ridiculously well-defined chest and shoulders, at his arms, the cut of his hips and the width of his thighs, at his cock, which is fat and swollen red.

“So I did,” she says mildly, while her pulse pounds with want between her legs. She reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, then drops it to the floor, underwear following.

“Wow,” Clint breathes.

Phil smiles. She knows she has a good body, but her chest, which Clint is staring at, is nothing spectacular. It’s a fact she’s forever grateful for when she sees the kind of bras that some of the other agents have to wear in the field.

“On the bed, Agent,” she says.

Clint does as she says, scrambling up backwards until his head’s on the pillows. He tucks one arm behind his head and drops the other to his groin, stroking himself slowly.

He looks cocky. He’s not going to look like that for long.

Phil joins him on the bed and immediately leans down for a kiss. His mouth opens under hers and he puts his hands on her back, wide and firm, but only resting there, not trying to guide her to be anywhere or do anything else.

She straddles his hips, leaning back far enough for his cock to brush her ass. He curls upward, chasing her mouth, so she murmurs, “Shh,” against his lips and puts her hands on his chest, pushing him back down.

His chest feels fantastic under her hands, rock hard, his sweaty skin mostly smooth when Phil slides her hands across it. His hands twitch and his fingernails brush her spine as though he’s clenched his fingers.

“You can touch me, too,” Phil says, which is apparently what he was waiting for, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, one on her chest, the other sliding restlessly from her ass to the back of her knee and up again.

Phil doesn’t usually have time to get naked when she takes someone to bed. It’s usually fast, physically satisfying sex in the back of a surveillance van or a tiny office in one of the SHIELD bases around the globe. It’s never with someone she’s going to see regularly afterwards, and it never involves this degree of touching.

She likes this version at least as much. It’s flattering how desperate Clint’s hands are; it makes her feel powerful.

Phil drops one hand down and wraps it around Clint’s cock, squeezing slowly, just to get a feel for it.

Clint swears and bucks upwards, but he stills his hips when she shushes him.

“Barton,” Phil says, biting his bottom lip.

He makes a quiet noise into her mouth but doesn’t seem interested in stopping the kiss.

“Clint.” She’s never called him that before; it seems to penetrate at last, because he blinks open his eyes and looks up at her hazily.

“Phil?” His voice is uneven, breathlessly.

“Coulson,” she corrects. She needs to keep some kind of barrier between them. They have to go back to being colleagues after this.

She catches his nipples between her fingers and tugs lightly, making sure she has his attention. “Do you have a condom?”

Clint frowns. She watches him try to wrap his brain around things that aren’t immediately about sex. It would be sweet, if she hadn’t suddenly realised they were about to hit a stumbling block.

“Aren’t you on the pill?” he asks. “I thought SHIELD - ?”

“Even so, we still need a condom.” She doesn’t sleep with anyone she’s not dating without using protection, not even Clint. She’s lost count of the number of oops-I-accidentally-had-sex-with-that-mark forms he’s handed her.

Clint’s hand clenches around Phil’s ass as though he thinks she’s about to rip herself away from him. “But I don’t… shit, I don’t have one. You don’t have one?”

Phil winces. “No.” Usually, she would have one; she doesn’t rely on other people for her contraception. But this was an in-and-out mission; she didn’t pack for an overnight stay, let alone a booty call.

“I could go down on you?” Clint offers. “I swear I’m good at it.”

Phil shivers. “Maybe,” she agrees. “Later.” She leans down and kisses him, shifting forward so that she’s sitting next to him rather than on his hips. She isn’t going to fuck him without protection, but the temptation is worse the closer she is to his cock.

“Ma’am. Coulson,” Clint complains, rolling after her. “Shit, I’m going to carry a condom with me always now.”

“That’s a good plan for life, anyway,” Phil says. She puts her hand on his shoulder. “Lie on your back. I’ll take care of you.”

Clint flops backwards, breath huffing out of his lungs. Phil watches him breathe for a minute, taking in the flush that runs almost to his hips.

Phil twists until she’s sitting facing him and puts her hand back on his cock. “Close your eyes,” she says.

Clint’s gaze darts to her. “Ma’am?”

“Eyes, Barton.” She puts just enough of an order into it to ensure he knows she’s serious.

His eyes close, squinting open just once as though he wants to check that she isn’t about to prank him. She smiles, and he visibly relaxes, eyes closing completely.

Clint’s cock feels heavy in her hand. She hasn’t jerked a man off to completion in a long time; hasn’t liked any man enough to do it. It isn’t a difficult skill, but it feels good to focus her attention on the slip-slide of delicate skin and the rock solid flesh underneath it.

“That’s… yeah,” Clint mutters, legs bending at the knee and his heels digging into the bed so he can push his hips up toward her.

She smacks him on the thigh, deciding on instinct that he’ll respond well to that. “Keep still,” she says. “I told you, I’m taking care of you.”

Clint drops his legs back down, then turns his head toward her, eyes still closed. She wishes he responded to orders this well in the field.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, lips turning up into a smile that’s almost cheeky enough to be a smirk.

Phil squeezes his cock, then lets go completely, smiling when he whines. She cups his balls, which are tightening, and covered in a soft layer of blond hair, squeezing them just hard enough to make him catch his breath.

“Is there anything in particular that you like, Clint?” Phil asks, rolling his balls across her palm while she waits.

“Hard,” he says. “But like, also, I just like, you know…”

“Sex?” Phil asks.

Anything,” he finishes.

The flush in his cheeks is getting darker, and his cock is starting to pearl up with precome at the tip. She’d put him in her mouth, if they’d been doing this longer, or if she had a damn condom.

“How about this?” Phil asks, putting her hand back on his cock. “You tell me how you like it and if you keep very, very still, I’ll do it.”

“Seems... seems fair,” Clint agrees. “Tighter? Shorter strokes?”

Phil does as he asks, squeezing until she’d worry about hurting him if it weren’t for the happy flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks and the puff of breath from his parted lips.

Clint’s thigh twitches, but he manages to stay still, knee just brushing Phil’s, while she keeps up the pace he asked for, fascinated by the way he’s falling apart from something as simple as a handjob.

“Shit,” Clint says, voice deeper than it usually is. “That’s incredible. You’re amazing.”

“It’s a handjob,” Phil says, smiling even as she shakes her head at him.

“You’re amazing, anyway,” Clint says.

“Be quiet and focus on your orgasm,” Phil tells him.

Clint laughs, ending on a gasp when she presses her thumb to the leaking head of his cock. “Can you - ?” he starts, then stops.

“Can I what?” Phil asks. She takes her hand away, letting him get his breath, in case that’s the problem.

“Use your nails?” Clint asks in a rush.

“Where?” Phil asks, fingertips tingling with interest.

“Everywhere, anywhere.” Clint’s eyelids squeezer tighter shut as though fighting against opening. “Can I look at you?”

“Not yet,” Phil says. She drags her fingernails carefully along the dark vein running up his cock, watching him for a flicker of anything other than pleasure.

His mouth drops open and his head tips back; she thinks it's safe to assume he is definitely not in pain.

“Yeah, okay, I wanna come,” Clint says, close enough to asking that Phil decides to give him what he wants. She’d be interested to hear him begging, but that’s probably a little much to expect from a one-time, ill-advised hook up in the field.

Now that Phil knows exactly what Clint likes, it doesn’t take much to bring him off. In fact, she could have been even quicker about it, but she really likes the way he twists and whines, clearly fighting to keep as still as he can, to play along with her game.

“Fuck,” he chokes, when he finally comes all over her hand. It’s better than him shouting her name, but deep down, it’s not as satisfying. He sucks in a shaky breath, then another, before turning and blinking hazy blue eyes at her. “Fuck,” he says again, quieter. “Phil.”

“Coulson,” she reminds him. She’d quite like to keep holding his cock, but it would give the wrong impression, so she makes herself let go.

“Coulson.” Clint’s hand curls around her thigh. She only shaves her legs for ops that require it, and this one didn’t, but he doesn’t even blink at the scratchy, dark hair under his palm. “Can I get you off?”

She wants that; she really does. She wants to push him backwards and straddle his face, feel his tongue inside her.

“I’m fine,” she says, making sure it’s soft, not dismissive. She doesn’t want to offend him or bring him down from his own orgasm high. “You should clean up before the plane gets here.”

May’s going to know what Phil did - she always does - but there’s no point making it obvious.

“No, wait,” Clint starts to sit up, frowning. “I’d really like to.”

“No, Barton,” Phil says, firmer. She wants to kiss him. She wants to take his hand and guide his fingers into her cunt. This was probably a much worse idea than she realised. She smiles, then smacks him on the arm. “Go shower.”

“Yeah, sure.” Clint’s shoulders hunch slightly before he resolutely pulls them back down. His grin is wide and almost definitely faked. “Thanks for that, you rock at handjobs, ma’am.”

“Standard SHIELD training,” Phil says, deadpan, and lets herself laugh out loud when he does a double take.

***

It’s a seven hour flight back to base, and Clint spends the whole time either napping, bugging May in the cockpit, or poking his toes into Phil’s leg, trying to get her to talk to him.

Essentially, he acts exactly as he always has, and Phil is nothing but relieved. She wouldn’t have done anything with him if she hadn’t been fairly certain they could both remain professional afterwards, but there’s always a risk.

“Nice going,” May says under her breath, when they land in New York and disembark.

“I don’t know what you mean?” Phil asks blandly, widening her eyes.

May just shakes her head and turns right when Phil turns left. Clint catches up with her almost immediately, falling into step beside her.

“Debrief, ma’am?” he asks.

She glances at him sideways, but he doesn’t seem to be making a pun, just asking a question. “It’s late,” she says. “The Director wants to see us at 0800 tomorrow. You’re free to go for the night.”

“Awesome.” Clint nods and swings his arms. “What are… Are you sticking around?”

“I’m going to hit the showers,” she says. She didn’t at the safehouse, but she should have. She’s been uncomfortable for hours. “I’ll probably crash here.”

Phil wishes she hadn’t added that last line. It sounded like an invitation, even though it hadn’t been.

“Cool.” Clint nods again. They’ve reached the door to the locker room, so Phil stops and he stops with her. “That’s… Yeah.” Clint rubs the back of his neck.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Barton,” Phil says. He isn’t crowding her or blocking the door, but she’s still far too aware of him.

“Okay. Sure.” Clint walks away, then he stops and turns back. Embarrassed to have been caught watching, Phil straightens up. Clint looks at her for a long minute, then shakes his head. “No,” he says, “never mind.”

Phil makes herself push open the door to the locker room before she does something stupid like call him back.

***

The shower wakes her up, but also reminds her that she never got off. She thinks about doing something about that while warm water and soap suds roll down her skin, but her mind goes immediately to Barton and that feels wrong.

“No,” she says firmly. “He’s off limits.”

Resolutely not thinking about arms and abs and a very pleasing cock, she shuts off the water, grabs her towel and steps out of the shower. She pulls on a t-shirt and scrubs her hair dry as she heads to her locker.

And immediately walks into Clint Barton.

“Barton,” she says, when she wants to say fuck.

“Fuck,” Clint says, saying it for her. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to catch you like… I mean, I wanted to see you, but I didn’t mean to walk in on you when you were half-naked. That’s so skeevy; I’m so sorry.”

Phil shakes her head and wraps the towel around herself as though she’s completely unflustered.

“It’s fine, Barton. What did you need?”

Clint looks at her for a long minute then sighs. “It sounded like a good idea,” he says. He says that to her a lot, but usually after missions that have gone sideways. “But now that I’m here, it’s probably not.”

“What did?” Phil asks. She puts her hand on his arm and squeezes. She hopes it comes across and professional and concerned. “Is everything all right?”

“I found a condom,” Clint says, then groans. “See, that sounded terrible, didn’t it? So bad.”

Phil bites her lip so she doesn’t laugh, and ignores the sudden heat in her… well, everything. All of her body is suddenly very interested.

“It was a one-off, Clint,” she says, as kindly as she can.

“I know, I know,” he says quickly. “I get that. But you wanted to fuck and we didn’t get to and you didn’t even get to come.” His eyes widen. “Not that you need me for that, obviously. Maybe you jerked off while I was in the shower or… Fuck.” He bites his lip. “Did you jerk off while I was in the shower, ma’am?”

Damn. Why is Phil attracted to him? No, scratch that, why is Phil so attracted to him?

“No, I didn’t,” she says, when she shouldn’t be encouraging him. She thinks her options through. She shouldn’t do this; she wants to do this. “You found a condom?”

“Borrowed,” Clint says. His smile falters. “Stole. I stole it from medical. Don’t tell?”

“I definitely won’t tell,” Phil says. “Don’t steal from medical.”

Clint shakes his head quickly. “No, ma’am. Just. Okay. Should I slink away and pretend this never happened?”

Phil glances up at the clock. It’s after midnight; they won’t be interrupted. “Lock the door,” she says. Clint’s face lights up so brightly that she can’t regret her decision, however stupid it probably is.

How Clint locks the door, Phil isn’t sure, since neither of them has a key to the locker rooms, but he does something then tugs on the door handle, showing Phil that it won’t open, so she supposes that’s good enough.

“We will be able to get out again, right?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Clint says confidently. Phil probably wasn’t supposed to hear the way he adds, “Probably,” under his breath.

Phil thinks about dropping her towel, while Clint’s making his way back to her, but he’s fully dressed and she’s not sure she wants to put herself at that much of a disadvantage.

Instead, she reaches for him as soon as he’s in range, reeling him in. He’s changed into a thin purple t-shirt and jeans, so he’s softer and warmer against her than he was before. He folds around her, lowering his head to kiss her.

Phil’s tired and too frustrated to beat around the bush. She opens his fly with two swift movements and pulls his cock out.

Of course he isn’t wearing underwear.

“Just like old times, huh?” Clint says, ending on a grunt when she squeezes him.

“Don’t start getting used to it,” Phil says. She means it to be teasing, but Clint’s mouth tightens, his eyes sliding away from hers, down to her hands.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am,” Clint says. He reaches into his back pocket and hands her a condom. Then another. Then, with a crooked grin, a third.

“Feeling a little ambitious?” Phil asks, raising her eyebrows.

Clint wrinkles his nose. “Didn’t want to take any chances,” he says, dragging his hands up her thighs and cupping her ass under the towel.

If Phil were taller, she’d wrap her legs around his waist and get him to fuck her into the wall. Letting him pick her up puts this too far out of her control, though, so she shoves him backwards instead.

“Benches,” she says, when he hesitates.

Clint glances back over his shoulder at the long line of wooden benches running down the centre of the room, then grins and sits down.

“Gonna ride me like you promised?” he asks.

“That’s the plan,” Phil agrees, and rips open the condom packet.

They both sigh when Phil rolls it all the way down Clint’s cock. Phil waits for him to lie back, before swinging one of her legs over the bench. She feels a little ridiculous with her legs spread by the width of the bench, her towel riding up her thighs, but Clint touches her thigh as soon as she’s close enough, expression riveted.

Fuck it, Phil thinks and drops the towel.

“Stop getting hotter,” Clint complains, then curses when she grabs him by the cock, holding it in place while she lowers herself down.

He’s thick and long. Phil feels full and well-stretched before she’s even fully seated. When she finally settles down on his hips, his balls against her ass, they’re both gasping for breath.

“Holy,” Clint groans, then seems to forget to say anything else. He grabs her by the hips, blunt fingernails digging in. “Can I move? Coulson, fuck, tell me when I can move.”

Phil drops her head forward and rolls her hips, feeling him move inside her, just glancing off her g-spot.

She braces her hands on his chest and leans forward. “You can move,” she says against his mouth.

Half of Phil expects Clint to lose control and fuck her, just like that. She likes it fast and hard so she wouldn’t object, but while he does thrust up once, it’s only once.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, helplessly, then again, “sorry.”

“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” Phil promises. She pushes her hands under Clint’s t-shirt and braces her weight on the balls of her feet, lifting up slowly before sinking down.

Clint whines. He drops his feet down to either side of the bench, shoes close to her bare feet and pushes himself up next time she moves down toward him.

It feels fantastic. They’re both making too much noise.

“We need to be quieter,” Phil warns. Nick will turn a blind eye if he can, but he won’t be able to if someone comes to him, tells him Agent Coulson is fucking assets in the women’s locker room.

“Kind of hard, ma’am,” he says then sniggers at his own pun.

“Barton,” Phil says, but her censure is probably not as convincing as it would otherwise be when she can’t stop circling her hips, grinding down on his cock.

Clint makes a sound like a swallowed moan and scrabbles at her skin, rolling up into her in a long, breathless thrust. Phil drags one hand down to her clit, scratching her nails over Clint’s belly on the way, and curls forward over Clint, mouth against his while they both race to bring themselves off.

“Shit,” Clint mutters. It isn’t loud, but Phil covers his mouth with hers anyway, licking his teeth and the roof of his mouth, just wanting to taste him everywhere.

She’s close to coming, her fingers soaked where they’re working her clit, and she can’t hold her head up any longer, leaning her forehead against Clint’s collarbone and trying to remember that it would be unprofessional to bite him.

“Sorry, ma’am, gonna be loud,” Clint says, all on one long breath. He lifts a hand from her ribs and shoves it into his mouth to muffle his groans as he comes.

Phil doesn’t know what’s hotter, the perfect white marks of his teeth sinking into the back of his hand or the juddering jerk of his cock inside her. She rubs her fingers frantically over her clit, pressing down, down, and panting into Clint’s sweaty skin until something inside her snaps and she comes with long, shuddering groans of her own.

“Phil,” Clint mumbles into her hair and, for once, Phil’s too content to correct him. She presses an absent kiss to his throat, then sits up, letting his softening cock slip out of her, and gets slowly to her feet.

Her muscles are aching pleasantly and she’s exhausted. She wants to stretch and head to bed. Instead, she looks down at Clint who’s staring up at her with lost, half-closed eyes.

“Okay?” Phil asks, touching his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Clint says, soft and sleepy.

Phil kneels down on the cold floor at his head, putting her hand on his cheek. “Okay?” she repeats.

Clint turns into her and rests his head on her shoulder, even though it must stretch his neck at a painful angle. “Thanks,” he says.

Usually, people thanking her after sex makes Phil uncomfortable, but he says it so simply that she can’t get annoyed. “Come here,” she says gently, and noses his cheek until he lifts his head high enough to kiss her.

This kiss is different. It’s as sweet as all his kisses seem to be, but it’s quiet too, gentle, full of more potential than Phil wants to admit is there.

She lets Clint be the one to break the kiss, then smiles at him. “I need another shower,” she says, rocking back on her heels, “and you need to get out of the women’s locker room.”

“Or we could shower together?” Clint suggests, eyes following every move she makes.

Barton,” Phil says, but makes sure he can tell from her tone that she’s not actually annoyed.

He grins and sits up with a groan. “Fuck, gonna be feeling that tomorrow,” he says, turning to glare at the hard slats he was lying on.

Phil stands up and picks her towel back up from the floor. She looks at it, then throws it back on the floor. It's a little late to conserve her modesty, and besides, who knows what could be growing down there?

“Good night, Barton,” she says, once he’s standing, too.

Clint reaches out like he wants to touch her arm, then lets his hand drop. “Night, ma’am,” he says, turning toward the door.

Don’t call him back, don’t call him back, she tells herself firmly. “Clint,” she says as he’s fiddling around to undo whatever he did with the lock.

Clint looks at her over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows.

“Bring me coffee in the morning,” she says. “Before we meet Fury.”

Clint smiles slowly. “It’s a date,” he says, and salutes her with three fingers before slipping out of the locker room.

Phil waits until she’s sure he’s gone before lifting her hand to her face and groaning silently into her palm. This is going to bring trouble, she’s sure of it.

The problem though, is that she might not care.

/End