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Decontamination

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"You know," Clint says as he drops down into the chair opposite Coulson's desk, "I never thought the first time we got naked together would be in a decontamination shower."

"So you thought about other situations in which we would end up naked?" Coulson asks, his eyes never leaving his computer screen.

"It's my job to be prepared for any situation."

"Except decontamination showers." Coulson replies dryly, the corner of his mouth quirking up into what Clint likes to believe is a smile.

"Touche." Clint laces his hands behind his head, kicks his feet onto the edge of Coulson's desk, and waits. Finally, after the other man spends twenty minutes reading what Clint can only assume is the most fascinating mission report ever written, Coulson looks up.

"Is there a reason you're down here bothering me, instead of doing something useful with your time? Like practicing?"

"Maybe I missed your charming company?"

Coulson raises an eyebrow, "Pull the other one."

Clint's feet drop back to the floor and he leans forward, hands braced on his knees.

"Maybe I was wondering if you'd want to get naked together without worrying about acid burning through our skin?"

"What makes you think I'd want to do that?"

Clint shrugs his shoulder, "I'm not the only one who looked while we were in there."

Coulson looks away and makes a big show of shuffling around the papers on his desk. Clint's disappointed, but not surprised.

"Go back to work Barton."

Clint nods sharply and wastes no time getting out of the chair and making his way towards the door. It's already been a long, bad day, it just got worse, and all he wants to do is spend the next few hours on the range shredding everything in sight.

"Echo-Victor-3-7-Yankee-Romeo." Clint's hand pauses on the doorknob at the sound of Coulson's voice. He turns around, but Coulson's still looking down.

"Sir?"

"The pass code to my apartment. It would probably be better than trying to break in through my window again."

"That was one time." Clint tries to protest, but it's weak, because he can't stop the wide, goofy grin from taking over his face. Even Coulson (Phil? Is he allowed to call him that now?) looks ten percent less stoic than usual, which for him, is practically giddy.

"Now stop procrastinating and finish your incident report. I'll expect it delivered by ten o'clock tonight."

"Right...ten o'clock. Can't wait." Clint takes one last, long look before leaving and barely resists the urge to fist-pump until he's in the (relative) privacy of his temporary quarters.

'Thank god for acid-spitting aliens.' He thinks as he actually sits down to write out his report.