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They're Playing Our Song Next

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It's very late--or rather, very early--by the time Phil finally gets home. It has been a long and annoying couple of weeks, and he feels tired down to his bones. He's achy in places he'd forgotten he had and he's so exhausted he's having issues seeing straight. Phil doesn't bother with finesse, just drops his suit jacket and bag by the door and toes off his shoes. Tidying up can wait until whenever he wakes up again. Right now, his only priority is to sleep until he no longer feels like his eyes are about to fall out of his head.

The apartment is quiet and dark, and he heads straight into the bedroom--then stops in the doorway at the sight that greets him, an unexpected burst of fondness spreading in his belly.

Clint's sprawled out on his stomach on Phil's bed on top of the covers, clad in nothing but his boxer briefs and snoring softly.

Smiling, he walks over and lies down next to Clint; puts his face near his and an arm on his back, hand stroking the skin there.

"Clint?"

Clint snuffles a bit in his sleep, then slowly blinks his eyes open, and Phil marvels at how comfortable he is, to not come out of sleep tense and swinging, but instead loose-limbed and relaxed like this. Phil feels inexplicably lucky.

"Phil?" Clint asks, voice rough with sleep and still waking up.

"It's me. Hi."

Clint smiles then and shifts closer. Phil's not even sure he knows he's doing it, almost as if his body drawn to Phil's. "Glad you're home." Clint closes his eyes again and Phil rolls onto his back so Clint can tuck his head under his chin and throw a leg over his.

"I'm glad I'm home too," Phil says. "Though I have to admit, I didn't expect to find you here. Good surprise though," he hurries to add, so Clint won't get the wrong impression.

"Missed you," Clint admits, and one of his hands reaches up, playing with Phil's shirt. Phil already removed his tie in the car on the way home, his collar's undone, and Clint's nimble fingers are flicking at the next button down. "Just--missed you."

Phil smiles into Clint's hair and then looks around as his eyes adjust fully to the darkened room. He can see Clint's clothes in a pile in the corner, and behind the door, he can glimpse the edge of his bow case. Clint's boots and socks are in a heap in the middle of the floor, and it's a wonder Phil didn't trip over them on his way to bed. Normally he might say something about it, but right now he's just too content with being home, and having his arms around Clint again.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what are you doing here? I thought you were still grounded?"

Clint lifts his head then, to look at Phil. His grin is sleepy and dopey, but his eyes are as clear and sharp as ever. "Nope. Director Fury cleared me for active duty again while you were gone."

"Yeah?" Phil can't contain his own smile. "And you came here instead of going home?"

"Your bed is more comfy," Clint grouses.

Phil pets his head a little. "If you're cleared for active duty again, does that mean I get my asset back?"

Clint's smile turns wry. "If you want me, sir."

Phil considers only for a moment--not for the reason Clint might think, but rather because he knows the consequences for what he's about to say--before cupping his face with both hands and saying, very seriously, "I always want you, Clint, any way I can have you."

Clint laughs then and kisses Phil, lips warm and soft. "That's a quarter in the jar, Phil," he says into the kiss.

Phil thinks about their I Had An Emotion jar on his kitchen counter that's half full of quarters, and moves against Clint. Through the material of his suit pants and Clint's boxer briefs, he can feel that Clint's half hard against his thigh, and he smiles and says back, "Worth it."

Clint deftly unbuttons the rest of Phil's buttons and pushes the rumpled material off his shoulders, sitting up briefly so Phil can do the same and get his shirt off. Clint then grabs for his belt and fly, and Phil lies back, lifts his hips a little to help, and watches the expression on Clint's face as he pulls Phil's pants down and off, before reaching up and doing the same with his underwear.

Phil wears his suits like armor; they make him feel comfortable in a way that no other clothing since his Ranger uniform has done. Yet under Clint's sharp gaze, his nudity feels more right than anything else in his life and he doesn't touch himself as he grows hard, letting Clint look. In the dim light, Clint sits back on his heels, sucks in a sharp breath, and his abs clench as he watches Phil. He always gets like this, as if he experiences wonder every time he undresses Phil, even though he's done it hundreds of times before. It makes something in Phil's gut tickle and twist in the most exhilarating way.

Phil looks down at Clint's boxer briefs, where the material is tented and straining upwards. "Your turn," he says and finds his voice has gone deep and hoarse.

Shifting on the bed, Clint shimmies out of his underwear and then throws it across the room. It catches on the doorknob, and Phil can't help but laugh, just a little. Clint smiles wider, clearly pleased that he made Phil laugh, before he leans forward again and covers Phil's body with his own. He leans on his elbows, not quite putting weight on Phil, as he presses kisses to Phil's collarbone, his neck, his shoulder. Phil twitches a little as their cocks brush without really pressing together. "How are you feeling?" Clint asks, and Phil hears the What are you up for? in his question.

"I'm pretty sore," Phil admits. "There were... incidents."

Clint shifts his weight onto one arm, and uses his other hand to run up Phil's side, easing the pressure as he ghosts over what's promising to be an impressive bruise around his ribs. "I can see that," he murmurs. "Everyone ok?"

Phil will never stop being touched at how Clint worries, not only about his safety but about everyone he works with as well. He cradles Clint's face and kisses the bridge of his nose. "Everyone's fine," he promises. "I'm just a little worse for wear. Give me a couple of days, I'll be right as rain."

Clint pulls back a little and grins down at him then, lazy and filthy. "I'll just have to do the work then, sir," he says cheekily, and Phil's dick jumps between them. Clint knows he gets a little thrill when he calls him sir in the bedroom.

Pulling him in for a deep kiss, Phil lifts his hips again and grinds their cocks together, making a satisfied hum in the back of his throat at the sensation. "Phil," Clint gasps, but Phil's not letting him go, licking into his mouth and running both hands down his muscular arms. He raises one hand to drag his fingers through Clint's hair, pulling at the messy strands ever so slightly, before settling at the nape of his neck, pushing, but not quite controlling the kiss.

When Clint finally pulls away, gasping lightly for air, Phil smiles in satisfaction. Sitting up to straddle Phil, Clint leans over and rummages through the nightstand, quickly coming up with condoms and lube, while Phil strains upwards to keep pressure on his cock. "Patience, sir," Clint says, still grinning, and Phil's cock starts drooling.

Putting his hands on Clint's hips, he holds him loosely in place as Clint lubes up his fingers and then reaches behind himself. Phil's starting to get so hard it's bordering on uncomfortable, and he focuses on the feel of Clint's skin under his fingers, the grooves of his hipbones that he can press his thumbs so perfectly into, the soft hair on his thighs that he can feel against his arms.

Above him, Clint shudders and his eyes slip shut as he breaches his own body, and Phil has to bite his lip. Doesn't matter how many times they do this, he'll never get tired of seeing Clint prepare himself. Leaning up slightly and snaking one hand over the curve of Clint's ass, he finds the place where his fingers disappear, and rubs lightly with the pad of his index finger. Clint shudders again and gasps, noisily and open mouthed.

"Missed you too," Phil murmurs, sitting up further so he can put his lips to the bare skin of Clint's chest. "So good to come home to you. So good."

Eyes opening again, Clint looks down at Phil and kisses his forehead. "Missed this," he says, hips moving against Phil's. The muscles in his forearm shift as he moves his fingers, and Phil kisses his shoulders, his chest, and draws another gasp from Clint when he licks over a dusky nipple. His one hand is still at Clint's entrance, rubbing over the rim of the stretched muscle, feeling Clint's fingers, but he brings the other hand down between their bodies to grasp Clint's cock. Clint moans as Phil slowly drags his hand over the hard shaft, thumb swiping at the moisture at the head.

Phil keeps touching Clint, closes his eyes and listens to their ragged breathing, and before long Clint pulls his fingers out of his body and says, "I'm good, I'm good."

Phil feels for the puffy edge of Clint's hole and briefly dips his index finger in, finding him loose and pliant and yielding easily, and Clint jerks a little. "I'm so good."

Together they get the condom onto Phil's dick. Then Clint shifts, lifts onto his knees, and holding Phil steady with one hand, lowers himself onto Phil's hard cock. Phil feels all the air rush out of him as Clint sinks down onto him, both his hands back on Clint's hips and holding on for dear life.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes out as he bottoms out and Clint's fully seated in his lap, hands wrapped around Phil and locked behind his neck.

"I love it when you talk dirty to me, sir," Clint says into his ear, and Phil can't help the aborted, little thrust he makes upwards. "Nuh-uh," Clint reminds him, using his weight to push Phil's hips back down. "I'm doing all the work, remember?"

Phil's got bruised ribs, bruised kidneys, a bruised back, bruised shoulders and a solid bump on his head, but he thinks it'd still be worth it to just be able to flip Clint over and fuck him, piston in and out of his body like he wants to. Clint seems to read his mind, because he grabs Phil's shoulders and lifts up, clenching hungrily around Phil's cock, and Phil groans, long and low.

"That what you needed, sir?" Phil's cock twitches in Clint's body--it's like an automatic, unconscious response to that word, God--and Clint shivers and his eyelids flutter.

Phil breathes deeply and evenly, kisses Clint's jawline and nods against his skin, and Clint chuckles, warm and tender, and starts moving in earnest.

The slick drag of his cock in Clint's body, the warmth of their chests pressed together--it makes Phil lightheaded. He lifts his hand and flicks a finger over one of Clint's nipples, and loves the way it makes Clint tense up and tighten around him, and they groan together. As Clint's movements increase in speed and urgency, Phil presses himself closer, giving Clint friction for the hard cock trapped between them. Fingers scrambling for purchase on sweaty skin, Clint grasps at Phil's shoulders and pants into his ear, breathy little Uh Uhs on each downstroke, and it's so hot! Phil can feel his balls tightening as his orgasm builds, and he can't decide if he wants to chase it or hold off to make this last.

"Clint," he tries to warn, "Clint," but what comes out instead is, "I love you, Clint."

Clint, to his credit doesn't stop moving, even as Phil's heart shoots into his throat when he realizes what he just said. "Phil," Clint says, pulling back just enough that Phil can see the smile on his face.

"I think that's more than a quarter in the emotion jar," Clint breathes out, voice shaky, but he's smiling all the while. Phil breathes again and kisses Clint, tongues tangling together and one hand squeezing the nape of his neck again. It's not reciprocation, but it's not rejection or freaking out either, and he thrusts up, he has to, pushes himself deeply into Clint's body. "That's at least a bill," Clint gasps. "Fifty dollars. Maybe a hundred."

"I don't care," Phil mumbles back, "love you. Love you." Now that it's out there, now that he's said it, he's addicted.

Clint shudders again then, a full-body shudder that spreads all the way to where his fingers are pressed into the bruises on Phil's shoulders, and then his entire body tenses and freezes as he comes between them with a deep groan that Phil can feel where their chests are pressed together.

"Clint," Phil gasps. Between them, Clint's come is running down past his balls and into Phil's pubic hair, and their bodies make wet, sloppy sounds as Phil grasps Clint's hips and starts thrusting upwards. When he comes, he comes so hard he loses the ability to think for a while, and when the euphoria finally fades, he falls backwards onto the bed, pulling Clint with him.

They lie in silence for a while, breathing quieting down in sync, before Clint eventually gets up and pulls off Phil's dick. Phil's already fading fast at that point, post-mission, post-sex and ready for sleep. He dimly registers Clint cleaning him up before crawling back into bed with him, and then he's out like a light.

*

It's still dark--or more likely, dark again--when Phil wakes up. He's alone in bed, so he gets out and walks into the living room, not bothering to put on any clothes. Clint's barefoot in jeans and a purple t-shirt and is curled up on the couch with a bowl of cereal, watching "Here Comes Honey Boo Boo" off Phil's DVR.

"You started without me?" Phil frowns, thinking about all the episodes he missed while he was gone, and Clint gives him a grin full of Lucky Charms marshmallows. "That's gross," Phil informs him.

"Yeah," Clint says, feet bouncing excitedly, "but you love me anyway."

Phil rolls his eyes. "I'm going to regret telling you that," he says, and absolutely doesn't mean it.

"Hundred bucks in the emotion jar, Phil!" Clint reminds him as he turns to take a shower.

In the bathroom, Phil stretches under the hot spray and once he's clean and shaved, he's started to feel both more awake and more human, despite the fact that a lot of his muscles had time to stiffen up while he slept. When he gets out, he dries off before wrapping the towel around his waist, when he suddenly notices an extra toothbrush and razor on the shelf in front of his bathroom mirror. Frowning, Phil mentally rewinds the last minutes before he entered the bathroom, going over everything he saw. He then pokes his head out and looks through the door into his bedroom, and then back into the living room with the open kitchen area to confirm. Yep.

Clint's boots on his floor. Clint's bow case behind his bedroom door. Clint's leather jacket on the coat hanger by the front door, Clint's Lucky Charms on his kitchen counter, Clint's favorite mug on the coffee table in front of Clint himself. In the bedroom, Phil finds more of Clint's clothes when he gets dressed in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Clint's worn jeans and field uniforms are tucked into Phil's drawers, and when he checks, he finds several of Clint's emergency weapons hidden around the bed.

"Hey," Phil says when he enters the living room again. "Did you move in while I was gone?"

Clint swallows and looks at Phil. "Um, surprise?"

Happiness settles in Phil's chest and he goes to the kitchen counter to pour his own bowl of cereal.

"You don't mind?" Clint asks from the couch.

"No." Phil shakes his head and is so happy he feels dizzy with it. "I don't mind."

Without a word, Clint slides up behind him and carefully pulls a hundred dollar bill from his own wallet and stuffs it into their I Had An Emotion jar.

Phil's smile grows.

End.