It was bound to happen at some point.
“Shit,” Phil murmured under his breath, flexing his right hand. His skin felt too hot, a low thrum deep in his gut that quickly spread out through his nerves, pulsing with heat. Shit.
“You okay?” Maria asked as she raised an eyebrow at him. Clean-up was almost complete, the city block nearly back to normal, or as close to it as they could get.
The threat had been contained. The alien-of-the-week had been taken down, and there were zero casualties. Everything had gone rather smoothly, if Phil did say so himself.
Save the part where he apparently had inadvertently gotten tagged by the alien’s heat gun.
And by heat, they didn’t just mean temperature.
“Yes, fine. I think we’re about finished here.” He failed his hand rather inelegantly at the last of the SHIELD agents packing up; his vision had a strange soft blur around the edges, and he desperately needed to get out of his clothes. Logically, Phil knew he needed to head straight back to the medics at HQ and get a physical, but unfortunately the thought of locking his office door and coming a few dozen times sounded much more appealing.
Maria didn’t look convinced. “Coulson, you’re flushed. Are you sure you’re not—”
“Take over from here. I’ll follow up back at HQ.” Phil didn’t look back as he all but sprinted to his car, where he would not beat off in the driver’s seat. Absolutely not. He might be under some alien control, but he still had his pride.
He made it as far as a gas station two miles from his office. As calmly as one can with a raging hard-on and alien sex pollen pulsing in their veins, Phil barricaded himself in the dingy bathroom and took a long, deep breath. Then he frantically tore into his pants, one hand braced against the wall to keep himself from sinking to his knees.
He came the second his fingers wrapped around the head of his cock.
“Jesus Christ,” Phil gasped, sweating as he stared in dismay at the mess on his hands. He didn’t feel any less sated. If anything, he needed more.
The clerk at the front desk eyed Phil suspiciously as he gave back the bathroom key. Phil’s tie was crooked, and his shirt was rumpled. At least the come stains were hidden.
So much for saving his pride.
Phil had been shot three times in Bulgaria, hung by his ankles for eleven hours in Panama City, and electrocuted in Valencia. He knew all about torture, had survived things most people could only envision in their nightmares. He could withstand just about anything.
And he could sure as fuck beat an alien heat cycle.
He’d snuck down to the hospital ward late that evening, after coming in his hand for the third time that evening. Phil had managed to hide in his office without drawing much attention to the fact that he was shivering with need, his cheeks bright pink, eyes dilated.
“You’re sure the others are perfectly fine?” he’d asked Rogers on the phone, biting his lip at how fantastic his hand felt just splayed over his thigh.
“Yeah, everyone’s A-Okay,” Rogers had replied. “Uh, sir, are you all right? You sound, um...a little tense.”
Phil had hung up on him, because he’d been dangerously close to moaning.
After that, he decided maybe getting checked out by a doctor was probably warranted.
“Your heart rate is unnaturally high,” the doctor said, frowning thoughtfully, like having a grown man sweating bullets and sporting wood a high school senior would be proud of was just an odd occurrence. “And I’d wager your hormone levels have spiked drastically.”
No shit, Phil wanted to say, but instead swallowed tightly and replied, “What do you suggest?”
“If you got hit with alien tech, there’s no way to tell how long it will last. I could give you a few sedatives for the night, if you’d like. Otherwise, you may have to just let the heat run its course.”
“That’s—that’s not really an option.”
The doctor shrugged. “Sorry, Agent. I wish I had better news.”
Phil tried not to sulk, or scream. He took his time getting dressed, since every slide of his clothes against his over-heated skin made him gasp and shudder. Thankfully, the doctor had enough sense to leave Phil alone with what was left of his dignity.
Phil didn’t usually regret living in a giant mansion with a group of unruly superheroes, but Phil also didn’t usually suffer from alien heat. He didn’t know why the thought of the others finding out about his condition made embarrassment clench in his chest. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Phil Coulson, SHIELD Agent was now being reduced to Phil Coulson, Sexual Amoeba. They’d never seen Phil out of control of himself, even when Natasha and Maria dragged him out for happy hour.
Thankfully, he had a set of rooms to himself on the far west side of Stark Towers, i.e. completely removed from the rest of the Avengers. It was the middle of the night by the time Phil got off the elevator in front of his door, palms still sweating, dick still aching in his pants. He thought about stripping off all his clothes, climbing into bed, and maybe just coming hard enough to knock himself out for the night.
Fuck, this was getting of hand.
“Is this is what a Viagra overdose is like?” Phil muttered to himself as he dug out his key card.
“A what overdose?”
Phil was too strung out and frayed not to startled at Barton’s voice coming out of nowhere. He bit the inside of his lip and turned to find him slumped lazily against the hallway wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans like he didn’t have a care in the world.
With all the effort he could muster, Phil asked in an even voice, “And to what do I owe your lurking, Hawkeye?”
“Thought I’d check in. Steve said you sounded...weird.” Barton cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowed. “You’re twitchy.” It wasn’t a question.
At any other time, Phil would have smoothly told Barton his concern wasn’t warranted and ignored the familiar, unwanted bloom of pleasure. But apparently the heat trapped inside Phil translated Barton’s polite concern into something else entirely; suddenly Phil wanted nothing more than grab hold of him and drag him inside his apartment and beg.
“I’m...” Phil ducked his head as he closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing under control. “It’s nothing. I just need some sleep.”
“No. I’ve seen you sleep-deprived, Coulson, and this isn’t it.” He could hear Barton taking steps closer, and Phil thought frantically, Just don’t touch me.
“I said I’m fine,” Phil said, only it came out breathless, wrecked, please stuck at the back of his throat. His hands were shaking.
He made the mistake of opening his eyes to find Barton standing a few bare inches from him. Barton’s eyes flared as Phil licked his mouth. “Jesus, you’re—what the hell happened to you?” Barton whispered, and then he lifted his hand and laid two fingers against Phil’s cheek.
Phil moaned, and there was no helping him after that.
“Oh, God, I—I need—” The tiny, tiny rational part of Phil’s brain that still existed was horrified as he melted into Barton, clinging to him tightly as he all but attacked Barton’s mouth, kissing him hard, fast, too wet, too much, yet he couldn’t stop. It felt perfect, like water after long hours spent in the blinding sun, and he wrapped himself around Barton, buried his hands in Barton’s hair, panting yes, yes over and over.
Barton suddenly jerked back, hands flat against Phil’s shoulders. His mouth looked slick-shiny, swollen, eyes impossibly wide. Phil wanted him.
“Let’s get you inside,” Barton said in a rough voice, one hand sliding up the side of Phil’s neck. He took Phil’s key card, got the door open, and he started to say more, only Phil pushed back into him, pulling at Barton’s shirt as he sucked at his bottom lip.
“Coulson—Phil, c’mon, you’re not—you’re fucked up, man, you don’t want—”
“I swear to fucking God, if I don’t get you inside me soon I’ll die, because I’m dying right now, okay, I am, I need this, Barton, just, just, don’t talk about it, don’t.” They’d been through a lot together over the years, and Phil had asked him for a lot of favors, but this...he prayed the humiliation when the heat cleared wouldn’t end up killing him after all.
Barton’s t-shirt hit the back of the sofa, along with Phil’s tie and jacket. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until Barton took over, pushed the sides open when the last button was free and spread his hands over Phil’s chest, his stomach. He backed Phil up against the wall by the bedroom door.
“Fuck,” Barton breathed, “please tell me you’ll speak to me again when this all over.” And then he shoved the shirt down Phil’s arms and kissed him, hard and fierce, pushing his thigh in between Phil’s legs and letting him grind against it shamelessly. Phil arched his neck, crying out, and just as Barton sunk his teeth into the skin of Phil’s collarbone, Phil came.
Barton’s head snapped up. “Holy shit,” he said, blinking.
“‘s okay, trust me, there’s more where that came from,” Phil gasped, too far gone to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
He didn’t expect Barton to growl loudly and start pawing at Phil’s pants. “You’re real, right?” he bit out, kicking Phil’s ruined boxers aside as he palmed Phil’s ass. “I’m not just trapped in random wet dream of mine, am I?”
“Unfortunately this is very real,” Phil said as he rubbed against Barton’s flank, already hard again. Hazily, he thought, Barton fantasizes about me. But any thoughts following that disappeared the second Barton got him into the bedroom and pinned him flat on his back on the bed.
The sensations were almost too much; Phil couldn’t get enough of Barton’s bare skin, the warmth of it, sliding over him, sinking into him. He felt as if he’d never get close enough, and he dug his fingers into Barton’s solid back, moaning as he lifted into him, his ankles locking around Barton’s waist. He could feel the head of Barton’s cock sliding against the seam of his ass, making him shudder.
“Wait, wait, fuck—please tell me you’ve got some shit around here,” Barton said with a shaky laugh, holding Phil’s hips still.
Phil squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think past the blurry, all-consuming haze of arousal. “Bathroom, top shelf,” he managed to say. The condoms were probably ancient, but they’d do. “There’s—there’s lube in the drawer of my nightstand.”
Barton groaned. “Okay, so, that’s an image that’s gonna stick with me for a while,” he murmured, kissing Phil sloppily before rolling off the bed to run for the bathroom. Phil whimpered at the loss of heat, but he pulled himself together enough to make himself useful and grab the lube.
Just holding the bottle in his hands made Phil’s cock leak everywhere.
When Barton got back to the bed, he’d already put a condom on. He took the bottle from Phil with a little smirk, but it bled away a second later when Phil spread his legs and pushed a wet thumb against his hole.
“God,” Barton whispered. “D’you even—fuck, I wish you could see yourself.”
“Just fuck me,” Phil moaned, not giving a shit about how wanton he sounded, how very un-Phil-like it was. But thank God it was Barton; if it had to be anyone in the mansion to see him like this, Phil would always be glad it was Barton.
He waited for Barton to take him hard, throw his legs over his shoulders and fuck into him with quick, graceless thrusts. Instead, Barton climbed up to the head of the bed and sat with his back against the headboard. Then he pulled Phil into his lap.
Phil was dizzy with the heat, thoughts scattered, but he frowned at Barton. “What—”
“Lettin’ you drive, sir,” Barton said in a soft voice, one that was out of place for what they were about to do. “Take what you need, okay? Anything you want.”
Phil started to saying something, maybe argue that this wasn’t what he wanted at all, only Barton’s fat cock bumped against his opening, insistent and hot, and suddenly all Phil could think was, Yes.
He braced both hands on Barton’s shoulders as he sunk down onto him, crying out as Barton filled him up. It had been a while, sure, but it shouldn’t have felt this good, this perfect, even as a slow ache pulsed through Phil, reminding him that his body needed to adjust.
Barton hissed, “Tight,” through clenched teeth, hands clenched at Phil’s hips. Phil gave a jerk of his head, tried to smile, but Barton arched into him slightly, pulling Phil closer, and just like that, they fell into a rhythm. Phil controlled it mostly, but Barton was right there with him, pounding into him, his eyes dark and watching Phil’s face with a frightening intensity.
Phil couldn’t help kissing Barton; he needed to be feeling every inch of him. It felt like a supernova building inside him, heat blooming like a slow motion starburst, skittering over his nerves and whiting out his vision.
He came with a shout, one hand flat against the headboard, the other buried in Barton’s hair, his forehead pressed to Barton’s as he shook, coming all over his stomach and Barton’s chest. Unlike the others, this orgasm felt like it went on forever, wringing Phil dry until he collapsed against Barton with a whimper, his nose tucked into the curve of Barton’s jaw.
He felt Barton shaking inside him, desperate to come. Phil kissed his cheek and whispered, “Do it,” and Barton grabbed Phil’s ass with both hands and gave one last hard thrust before going boneless.
Phil was utterly wrecked, destroyed, but he’d never felt more sated, or happy. He burrowed closer and yawned, already sinking into unconsciousness.
Barton laughed, a low, gorgeous rumble. “Gonna pass out on me, sir?” he whispered, one hand trailing down Phil’s back.
Phil meant to respond, but he fell asleep before the words could come.
Three days later, Phil sat across from Fury’s desk, hands folded neatly in his lap.
“So everything checked out?” Fury asked without looking up from the report. “No more alien aphrodisiacs?”
Phil absolutely did not blush, especially in front of his boss. “No, sir. My...hormone levels are back to normal.”
Fury made a noncommittal humming sound. “I’m surprised the others didn’t get affected, too, but I guess we’d know by now.”
“Yes, we would. And since the heat weapon has been destroyed, I think that threat is now officially a non-issue.”
“It would seem that way. All right, that’s all for now, Coulson. Go enjoy not being horny as shit.”
Phil cleared his throat, ignoring Fury’s smirk. “Yes, sir.”
He was more than ready for life to go back to normal, which meant trying his damndest to act like the last several days hadn’t happened. Phil was okay with that. He really, really was.
Only it was easier said than done when he found Barton waiting inside Fury’s office.
“Can this wait, Agent?” Phil asked briskly, pretending to shuffle through the file in his hands.
“You could’ve told me,” Barton said. His hands were folded behind his back, his stance almost painfully formal, but there was a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes.
Phil sighed. “We...didn’t fully understand the effects of what was happening until yesterday. There was nothing to discuss.” He started walking in the direction of his office. Unfortunately, Barton immediately fell into step beside him.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Barton replied under his breath, close enough so only Phil heard.
It was true that Phil had been extremely busy in the last three days. So busy, in fact, he’d managed to stay out of Barton’s space until now. As to how intentional it was, well. Phil would plead the fifth. “Your help was greatly appreciated,” Phil said, his throat going a bit tight.
Barton didn’t say anything. When Phil glanced over, he was staring straight ahead, his mouth in a tight line.
But once they were in Phil’s office, Barton shut the door quietly and then abruptly backed Phil into his desk.
“My help?” he hissed, jamming a finger into Phil’s chest. “That wasn’t me stitching a bullet hole in Tanzania, Coulson.”
“I realize this,” Phil said, and God, did he know it. It was why he couldn’t quite meet Barton’s eyes anymore. “And there’s no appropriate way for me to thank you. You went above and beyond your duties, and I—I shouldn’t have let you.”
Barton huffed loudly, and his shoulders slumped. “You didn’t let me do anything.”
“The second I saw you outside my door I should’ve—I’d managed to keep it together until that point, and I snapped.” I’m sorry, he wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to do so.
Barton shook his head, then to Phil’s surprise, he leaned forward and cupped Phil’s cheek in his hand, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. To Phil’s chagrin, he shivered at the touch, as if there was still residual alien heat still left in his blood.
“D’you ever wonder about that?” Barton whispered. “I mean, why it was me who made you snap?”
“You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. The heat was too much—”
“No. You snapped because you wanted to. Because you wanted me.” He kissed Phil softly, a careful swipe of his lips over Phil’s. “The heat just amplified it.”
Phil tried to lean away, but it was half-hearted at best. He’d thought about this far too much over the past few days, could still remember how Barton tasted. “I was desperate. I took advantage of you, of our—our working relationship.”
“I know you don’t always want to believe this? But I am, in fact, a grown-ass adult who can make my own decisions. You didn’t do shit to me that I didn’t already want from you. That I’ve wanted for years.” He nosed at Phil’s jaw, his other hand pushing gently into Phil’s suit jacket to splay over his hip.
It was growing more and more difficult to argue with Barton’s logic. “You’re certain the heat didn’t get you, too, Agent?” Phil joked weakly, hands still gripping the edge of his desk, though he was dangerously close to kissing Barton back.
“I don’t need alien sex pollen to admit I’m kind of in love with you, sir,” he breathed against Phil’s mouth.
Kissing was sort of the only option after that.
“Don’t expect me to be that—that vocal again,” Phil gasped later, his arms having found their way around Barton’s neck, one leg hooked around his thigh.
“Is that a challenge?” Barton purred, smirking deviously.
Phil rolled his eyes and barely managed to resist smirking back as he yanked Barton’s mouth back down to his.