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A Beard Is a Sometime Thing

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Clint had never grown one before, mostly thanks to military regs but also because they were itchy. But he'd needed to blend in with the other film festival attendees in their knit caps and hipster beards, so he stopped shaving and was relieved to see that the thing grew in pretty full. Also, it was warm enough that when he was in his nest, in a tree above the slopes, he didn't need to wear one of those stupid balaclavas.

Once the mission ended he was in too much of a rush to get home to bother to shave—and how strange after years of not just avoiding going home but even having a home. But the mansion was his home now, which was pretty cool. Besides, it was cold in New York too, though no snow, which was fine with him as he'd seen plenty of it. He still had on his knit cap when he wandered into the living room where the others were watching some Matt Damon movie.

Stark saw him first. "Hey Barton, you just get in from Williamsburg?" he asked.

Clint shot him the finger from hip-level, but his eyes were on Phil as the other man turned to look at him. He had an odd, dazed expression and Clint wondered for a moment if Phil was a little drunk. "Hey," Clint said, waving.

Phil blinked. Then he stood and made a beeline for Clint and before he could react Phil had put a hand on each fuzzy cheek and was pulling him into a kiss.

Now, giving Clint anything more than a hello or goodbye peck in front of all the other Avengers was definitely not standard operating procedure for Phil. So Clint was understandably surprised and a little slow to react, though he liked to think he'd gotten into the spirit of the kiss by the time it ended.

When Phil broke the kiss Clint couldn't help but raise one eyebrow, and tried not to even glance at the rest of his team who surely were staring at them. But Phil said not a word, just led Clint out of the room. He grabbed his duffle from the hall and Phil marched him up the stairs to their room.

Once the door was firmly shut behind them, Phil focused his attention on kissing Clint while getting them both naked as quickly as possible.

"So I guess the beard isn't a turn-off?" Clint asked.

Phil looked at Clint like he was some kind of idiot, which to be honest wasn't a particularly rare occurrence, and said, "Obviously it's the opposite," before pushing Clint down onto the bed.

Clint grinned up at him. "Didn't know you were into bears, Phil," he said, watching appreciatively as Phil shed his trousers and joined him on the bed.

"Neither did I," he replied. He moved in close, rubbing his cheek against Clint's like a cat.

"You like that, babe?" Clint asked. He rolled them over so he was on top. "Where else do you want to feel it?"

"Everywhere," Phil replied, a little breathless.

Clint grinned. "I can do that," he said, and leaned in for another long, slow kiss before sliding down to Phil's neck, his shoulder, his chest. Phil was inclined to keep him there for a while, fingers sliding into Clint's hair, and he gasped as Clint laved a nipple before pulling it into his mouth.

But Clint had other, more sensitive skin in mind, so after giving the other nipple equal time he slid further down Phil's body, spreading Phil's legs open around him as he went. He licked his palm before taking Phil's cock in hand, using the bit of precome at the tip to make more of a slick slip-slide, enjoying the contrast with all the down-and-dirty hand-jobs he'd given himself over the past two weeks. Phil's cock seemed heavier than his own somehow, maybe because he didn't get the dual sensation of hand-on-cock and cock-in-hand, but that was more than made up for by watching Phil watch him, dark blue eyes fixed on Clint's hand as it moved up and down.

He was kneeling at the foot of the bed now, and with his other hand he pushed at Phil's thighs, bending his knees until his hips tipped just so. Phil was distracted enough by the hand job that he didn't anticipate Clint's next move: rubbing his whiskered cheeks along the soft skin of Phil's inner thigh.

"Jesus," Phil said, his arms flailing. He sat up slightly and hey, that was a nice view, his flat stomach muscles tensing into a crunch. "Do that some more."

"Yes, sir," Clint said, smirking, but he did as he was told, his hand continuing to stroke Phil's cock. His mouth traveled from thigh to thigh, and it was funny to do this when his tongue wasn't the main attraction. Clint rubbed his beard between Phil's legs, kissing that crease between his thigh and his ass, and the cleft between his legs. Then he did a little something for himself and sucked on Phil's balls, loving the feel of that soft, velvety skin against his tongue.

After a bit he felt them tightening and reluctantly moved away, because washing come out of his hair was not his favorite thing. But in sitting up he was rewarded with the sight of Phil's face, eyes closed, muscles slack in pleasure.

"Look at me," Clint said.

Phil did, and Clint grinned down at him while he added a little extra twist to that upward stroke and there, Phil was coming all over his stomach and Clint's hand.

Clint let go quickly--Phil was very sensitive post-orgasm--and hopped off the bed to get into the drawer in the nightstand.

"Do we need that?" Phil asked, still a little breathless.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Clint asked.


"Then unless you've made much better friends with this," he said, holding up their dildo, "while I was gone, yes, we do, because you haven't bottomed in about a month." He took the lube and a condom, left the toy, and shut the drawer.

Phil scowled. "Well, when you put it that way."

Still, Clint made as quick work as he could of getting Phil and himself slick and ready, let Phil roll the condom on and lube him up, and before long he'd sunk as far as he could into Phil's tight heat.

Clint had his forehead pressed against Phil's shoulder, trying to slow his breathing, when Phil said, "So, planning on moving anytime?"

"Thinking about it," Clint muttered.

"Doing is better than thinking," Phil replied, tapping Clint on the ass.

Clint sat up and couldn't help scowling a little, though he knew that would only amuse Phil. He moved slowly at first, not just for Phil's sake but because he hadn't done this in a while either. Phil liked it hard but not fast, steady pressure against his prostate, which was precision work but Clint was more than up for the job. Other nights he'd made Phil come without so much as looking at his cock, but tonight wasn't about that. It was about easy, soft, wet kisses and and staring into each other's eyes and murmuring "I missed you" and all that love stuff that Clint makes fun of when they're not together like this.

"Don't hold back, lovely," Phil said, and Clint didn't, the orgasm pouring out of him slow like honey, and he collapsed on top of Phil.

It was cozy, with his head nestled against Phil's shoulder, and Clint felt warm and loved and glad to be home.



"You can't fall asleep like this."

With great effort Clint picked up his head and opened his eyes, blinking. He hummed again, then eased himself out of Phil and rolled over onto his back, the exhaustion from two weeks of tree-sitting and a long flight catching up to him.

Phil chuckled, and Clint could sense him getting up and wandering into the bathroom. Phil came back to clean them both off, then got them both under the covers and hit the light.

"So I know you like the beard but it's kinda itchy," Clint said.

"That's okay," Phil replied. "I'll shave it off you tomorrow."

Clint grinned. "Kinky."

"I try," Phil replied.

The next morning Phil very carefully extricated himself from Clint's grasp—Clint clung when he slept, even more so if he'd been away for a while—and headed to the bathroom. Suddenly he felt burning in places that really shouldn't be burning, and checking in the mirror he saw patches of reddened, irritated skin across his chest and yes, on his thighs.

Maybe shaving off that beard wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

Phil got his newest and softest sweats and his oldest and most-worn t-shirt from the bureau and headed downstairs in search of coffee, hoping that it was early enough that he'd be able to avoid at least Stark, if not Natasha. He was relieved to find only Steve in the kitchen, pouring some sort of thick purple substance into a glass.

"Good morning Phil," he said.


"Would you like a smoothie?" he asked. "Acai berry, bunch of other stuff, some protein powder. Really boosts your energy."

Phil peered at it and it did seem awfully healthy, but it smelled fruity and he could do with a non-caffeinated boost. "Sure, why not?" he said, and eased himself gingerly onto one of the kitchen stools.

"Noxema works best for that," Steve said. "Old trick of my mother's."

"For what?" Phil asked, because he couldn't imagine wanting to put eucalyptus into a smoothie.

"The chafing," Steve said, handing him his smoothie, bendy straw at the ready. "When I was a kid my clothes sometimes didn't quite fit."

Phil's eyes went wide and he reached up to his neck.

"Oh it doesn't show," Steve said, smiling warmly. "I just kinda know the signs."

"Oh my god." He could feel the blood rushing to his face, so he put his head down on the counter.

"And if he keeps the beard, you get used to it. I don't get it anymore now."

"He's not keeping it," Phil said, restraining himself with great effort from beating his head against the countertop.

Steve walked around the island and put a hand on Phil's back. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Phil looked up into that concerned face and realized that ridicule may come, but not from Steve. "Noxema, you said?"

Steve smiled again. "Let's get you fixed up," he said.

He followed Steve upstairs wondering when, exactly, he'd put himself in a position to get useful advice about beard burn from Captain America, but since it was probably when he'd put himself in a position to get beard burn from Hawkeye in the first place, he decided to let it go. It all balanced out and anyway, it was a family thing.