Phil is, without a doubt, the glue that holds all of them together.
Natasha and Clint are all broken edges and sharp points- they are the same, cut from the same cloth, but that means they cut and stab each other without meaning to. Phil eases between like a balm, joins them together, keeps all three of them functioning. He is their handler, their touch-stone, their base; he’s the one who offers them a contact of humanity. He’s what they fight for, what the need to stay human.
In turn, they are his life. Even before they became Clint-Natasha-and-Phil, he was running their ops, managing their training, feeding them and sparring with them and holding them when an op goes so shitfaced Clint and Natasha have nightmares for weeks. He is his job- and his job, he would tell you, are two agents.
They are a team- ruthless and efficient, but close and un-yielding in terms of love. They are reliant on all their skills, on all their good points and bad. They run like a battered clock- steady and resilient and soldiering on, because without each other there is nothing they would have worth fighting for.
And maybe it took years to get to the point they were- maybe it was only weeks, days. It didn’t matter, doesn’t; they are fitted together to the point where nothing could come between them.
The relationship, they knew, would be the hardest thing. Work was easy compared to that- orders and stakeouts and assassinations were routine. Remembering birthdays and keeping a level head during arguments and cooperating to make dinners that weren’t take out or oven pizzas; not so much.
-But, it was all worth it. To be able to come home to two people who loved you; fall asleep in a packed bed, warm and safe. Wake up the morning to a shower running and the smell of coffee. Go to work in the same car, at the same time, even one or two of them don’t need to be in till hours later.
To know that at least two people out there in this hell hole of a world cared if you lived or died. To know that two people out there would remember you- not Agent or Specialist or Avenger, but Clint, Phil and Natasha.
For all that, they would weather through the shit. They’d been through just about everything, anyway- and any of them would tell that for those reasons, it was worth it.
-And the sex, of course. The sex was amazing.
“Fuck,” Natasha forces through clenched teeth, and Phil himself moans around her as she pulls his hair.
“Feels good?” Clint asks, going for smug but unable to really pull it off- the rhythm he has going with Phil leaves him breathless and panting, hips thrusting to meet his lover in steady intervals. Neither of them answer- Natasha never speaks during sex expect for a curse or and order. Phil is the same, expect it’s so easy to get him to make noises- a groan, a whimper, a scream, each as satisfying as the next. Both Clint and Natasha love it, can’t get enough of it; the normally stoic agent losing all abandon during their intimate moments.
(They may or may not have a competition between them, on who can make Phil loudest.)
Phil hands- Phil’s gorgeous, gorgeous hands- keep their own time, disappearing into her while he eats her out with total abandon. She has one hand clenched on his head, giving not-so gentle direction; her other hand clenches her tit and nipple. Clint would say that seeing them like this is one of his favorite sights in the world.
Phil’s un-occupied hand reaches down to stroke himself, but the archer intercepts with his own.
“I got you baby,” Clint manages to whisper, and begins to pump. Phil’s groan of appreciation, muffled by Natasha’s pussy and echoed by her own growl, is the hottest thing Clint has heard in his entire life, and within seconds he’s coming harder than he could imagine.
Phil’s making these tiny, insistent noises then, as Clint steadily empties himself, and Natasha’s legs go stiff as her own orgasm hits her. Clint pulls out almost the same time she yanks Phil’s head off of her, pulling his into a brutal kiss and wrapping her legs around his waist to draw him closer.
Phil slips into her with a wet sound, and takes only a few thrusts to set him off. He’s red in the face, covered in all three of their fluids, and Clint wishes suddenly he was a teenager again because he; want to fuck him all over again. Natasha hair is mused beyond all recognition, and when she pulls Clint down for a kiss he can’t help but muse it more.
Phil’s voice is like gravel when he manages to speak. “We need to clean off.”
Natasha growls something in Russian, so Clint flops himself on her side and gives Phil a (tired, satisfied) grin.
“Afterglow. Ten minutes, then we take showers, ok?”
Phil makes a put upon expression, but he obviously isn’t too miffed because he lays down on Tasha’s other side. She pulls them closer and warps her arms around each of them, entirely too pleased.
“I wished I still smoked.” She says, and Clint places kisses on all her skin next to him. “Also, I wish our shower was bigger.”
“Stark has some pretty big tubs, you know.” Clint suggests, and Phil makes a sound that manages to convey just how much he does want to use Tony Stark’s anything in regards to their sex life.
Yes, this right here manages to make up for all the other shit they go though.