but we love him anyways

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    Clint Barton's To Do list
    1. Buy more undies.
    2. 'Pizza is my second favorite thing to eat in bed.' Try line out on Phil.
    3. Look for other sock. Maybe left in bodega.
    4. 'Your eyes are like spanners. Whenever I see them, my nuts tighten.' Tony = hilarious. Try on Phil.
    5. Feed dog.
    6. 'I'm no weatherman, but you should expect eight inches tonight.' Don't try on Phil yet.
    7. Measure dick. Use ruler this time instead of fruit.
    8. Throw out the yogurt container in the fridge. Do not open first.

    Phil Coulson's To Do list:
    1. Request new psych eval for Barton.
    2. Buy butter.


    08 Sep 2015

    Bookmarker's Tags:
    Bookmarker's Notes

    There’s a process to eating M&M’s. Red first, then orange, then yellow, green, and blue. The lack of purple is a serious flaw in an otherwise perfect candy. He pokes through them while he listens in on the date, methodically decimating the colors in order.
    From time to time, Clint thinks back to those bad first months and regrets the shit he put Phil through. He doesn’t blame his younger self, because that poor asshole didn’t have any reason to know better. He had no way of knowing that this balding, Dudley Do-Right of a guy would end up being one of the best and closest friends he could ever have. Younger Clint wouldn’t have known a friend if it shot him in the face.

    Younger Clint actually had had friends who tried to shoot him in the face. Younger Clint had no baseline for measurement when it came to friends, just a resigned awareness that he was really shitty at choosing them.
    Phil, though. Phil’s famous for choosing people. Choosing the right people is Phil’s superpower. And Phil chose him.
    Clint grins. “Baby, if you were a tropical fruit, you’d be a Fine-apple.”

    “It’s finally happened,” Phil sighs. “You’ve turned into a super villain. Funny. I always thought Stark would be the first to go bad.”
    Tasha is making an awful noise. The entire canteen is pretending not to notice that the Black Widow sounds like a horking drunk mule when she’s laughing for real.

    “You’re a terrible friend,” he says sadly.
    “‘Nick, I notice I’ve been assigned the op to terminate Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye. Thank you for thinking of me.’” Phil slides his other hand across Clint’s collarbone, following its line to the hollow of his throat.

    It’s sensual, having Phil’s hands on him like this, Phil’s voice in his ear. It’s just— the words. He wishes Phil was using different words. Words that didn’t involve Phil making a plan to kill him. Words like, ‘Do you like that.’ Or, ‘I’m going to fuck you now.’

    “Phil,” he says plaintively. Phil is really bad at sex talk.

    Warm lips follow the path Phil’s hand took, soothing against Clint’s skin. He arches helplessly into it. “‘Unfortunately, I must decline, with my sincere regret for your early dementia.’”

    Clint feels like a confused cat, being petted in just the right way but seeing a toddler lurching towards him with peanut butter hands. Phil’s memos are famous for their brevity and weird humor, but this is bizarre, even for him. “What?”

    Love sucks.

    Clint could swear he’s been in love before. Or at least— No, maybe not. It was all just happy infatuation in the past, apparently, because this, whatever this is, love, whatever, it sucks balls. It’s a cannonball lodged in his chest, permanent heartburn with a side of rib-distending pain that makes his entire body heavy and his lungs feel tight. Even his arms and legs feel heavier.