"It's not that weird," Phil says. He's sprawled out on their bed, propped up on a small pile of pillows that would be a lot higher if Clint didn't consider everything in their apartment as potential targets. (Phil's still finding downy feathers stuck under the dresser and wedged between the books on his nightstand.) He scratches his stomach idly and glances at the en suite door.
"It's totally that weird," Clint says, raising his voice to be heard over the running sink.
"People do this sort of thing all the time, Clint." He turns the bedside lamp on, frowns at how bright that makes the room, and turns it back off. "It's perfectly healthy."
"Usually those people don't actually know the other people in question," Clint points out as he walks back into the bedroom. His hair is slicked back with water and he's completely naked, his questionable modesty only preserved by the red, white, and blue shield strategically positioned in front of him. "I don't know how you expect either of us to look Steve in the eye tomorrow."
Phil swallows thickly and rolls over so that he can knee walk to the edge of the mattress and reach out to grab a hold of Clint's wrist. "Oh, I'm sure we'll manage somehow," he murmurs as he pulls Clint down for a kiss. "Captain."