Tony Stark is the busiest person Clint knows. He’s an Avenger, he’s kinda-sorta the CEO of Stark Enterprises, he sluts it up at glitzy millionaire parties on a regular basis, and somehow he still manages to find time in his schedule to troll Steve with weird 21st Century pop-culture. So it’s a bit of a surprise when Clint gets a call from him at seven o’clock on a weeknight.
‘How’re you holding up, Hawkeye?’ There are various whirring and drilling noises in the background: Tony must be on speakerphone from the lab.
‘Well, no one’s said hi to me by throwing a magic hammer at my head in like four days, so it already beats the Mansion.’ He transfers the phone to his other ear so he can keep chopping vegetables. ‘Tony,’ he mouths at Phil, across the kitchen counter.
‘Hey, if you need me to airlift you out of there, just say the word,’ says Tony.
Clint rolls his eyes. ‘I don’t need rescuing. This is practically a vacation.’ A non-Avengers-related field mission where he gets to stay with Phil, and not on the down-low? Hell, it is a vacation.
‘Clint, put the knife down before you lose a finger,’ says Phil, reaching across the counter.
‘Is that Coulson? And a knife? Are you sure you’re not being held against your will?’ Tony only sounds like he’s about 50% joking.
‘Yeah, it’s a real torture,’ says Clint. ‘I’m making dinner, Tony. I pinky-swear that Coulson isn’t about to gut me.’
‘How am I supposed to know what you SHIELD guys get up to on your top-secret ops?’
Clint grins. ‘You want to know what we get up to, huh?’
At once, Phil leans across and grabs the phone out of his hand. ‘Sorry, Stark. I can't let Hawkeye reveal information regarding classified SHIELD missions over an unsecured line.’ When he hands the phone back, the screen reads Call Ended.
‘You know, if you moved into the Avengers Mansion you wouldn’t have to worry about shit like this,’ Clint points out.
Phil raises his eyebrows. ‘You mean, I wouldn’t have to worry about Tony Stark calling to pry into our personal lives because... I’d be living in the same building as him so he’d be able to do it firsthand?’
Thoughtfully, Clint pops a slice of carrot into his mouth. ‘Have I mentioned recently how much I hate your law degree?’
‘Basic reasoning skills have nothing to do with legal training,’ says Phil, but he softens it by coming round to Clint’s side of the counter and resting his chin on Clint's shoulder.
Clint’s noticed that Phil always likes to watch him cook, maybe because Phil’s so fucking useless at it himself. Phil Coulson may be in his forties and have survival training up the wazoo, but Clint’s seen him eat one of those marshmallow-sandwich-in-a-can things with every sign of enjoyment. Another good reason why Phil should totally move into the the Mansion. Clint doesn’t want to become that guy who makes packed lunches for his boyfriend; Tony would never let him hear the end of it. You know, if Tony ever actually works out that Clint and Phil are together, which if today’s phone call is anything to go by, may genuinely never happen.
‘You’ll come round,’ says Clint. ‘Eventually you’ll realise that you’re missing out on allll this,’ he adds, waving a hand up and down his abs.
‘“All this”, huh?’ Phil asks, voice bone-dry. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘Yeah, you better,’ says Clint, grinning, and turns to let Phil crowd him against the counter, hands coming to rest on Clint’s belt-loops as Clint tilts his face up to meet Phil's mouth.