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After the first time, Clint didn't know what to think. It was the best sex of his life, the biggest cock he'd ever seen, and suddenly, he realised he was maybe a little bit in love with Agent Coulson.

 

Sure, that cock was a work of art. He loved the thing. He got a thrill just watching Coulson go about his day in his little everyman suit, with his everyman face, knowing that underneath that everyman mask there was a really big dick right THERE, and no one knew about it but him. 

 

Clint had never been much of a size-queen before, didn't have a thing for penises especially. He liked them just fine but wasn't obsessed with them. But then Phil had been all weird about it and then he found out why, and since then: Forget about it. 

 

The first time had been pretty amazing. The second time had been incredible. The third, fourth and fifth times had been mind blowing, and they'd only gotten better from there. Somehow Phil knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it, which was usually 'his giant cock' and 'in Clint's ass'. And it got so any time they were sent off-base to a mission that required an overnight stay, Clint would get to it, falling to his knees as soon as they were alone and all but tearing Phil's trousers off. He liked feeling it get hard, liked sucking it, loved swallowing it, needed it inside him like it was an emergency organ transplant, which in a way, it kind of was. 

 

In short, it was his new favourite toy, and he wanted nothing more than to play with it all day long.

 

Phil, of course, was a total pill about it. "Not right now, Clint." "You have paperwork to finish." "I'm in a meeting." It was almost like he didn't want Clint to swallow him whole. But he usually relented in the end. Sometimes in the office and always on overnights. It got so Clint got hard at the very sight of a hotel keycard and the salacious promises it held. 

 

But it wasn't only the sex. Clint had started to... like him. As more than just a colleague. He couldn't put a finger on it exactly, but he knew that he really wanted to be near Coulson as much as he could, even if they weren't fucking. And as amazing as the sex was, it was afterwards, when they'd lay there kissing and cuddling like teenagers making out, that he liked maybe just a little bit more. 

 

But then... they'd awkwardly retire to their rooms and go to sleep, or Clint would leave Phil's office and they'd pretend like nothing had happened when they got back to work the next day. They were still barely able to have a full conversation before it either petered out or turned into one of them promising the myriad things they wanted to do to the other. Clint got the sense that Phil preferred them not to really talk, and that was fine. Clint was happy enough getting doses of Phil's dick as and when he could to worry about... whatever. If Phil seemed anxious to get him to leave when they were done, that was fine too. It wasn't like he wanted a relationship.

 

He started to wonder though, about what Phil's life outside of SHIELD was like. He knew a few details from dribs and drabs he'd picked up: Phil had a collection of cactuses in his office. Phil liked Hostess cake products. Phil didn't like bacon (he would give his motel diner breakfast bacon to Clint) (also, what kind of freak doesn't like bacon? An Agent Coulson type of freak). Phil loved Captain America. Phil liked Clint's cock, often said it was beautiful. Said Clint was beautiful too, when they were having sex, though they both said a lot of things when they were having sex, it didn't make any of them all together true. Clint didn't really imagine that Phil could fill him with cum like he pleaded him to every time, but he pleaded all the same. 

 

That was something of a sticking point actually: Clint hadn't had sex with anyone else since that first time in Phil's office, and Phil knew he was clean since he had access to his records: the SHIELD physical included full STI testing. Clint had perused Phil's medical file during one of his nothing-better-to-do-with-my-time sneaking around sessions, and found nothing untoward hiding in there either, but Phil refused to fuck without one of his special giant condoms. The rare occasion they did fuck without one, regardless of Clint's pleading, Phil simply would not come inside him. The second time they'd done it was the closest he'd managed to get, and Phil was too wary after that. He didn't want to pick at it too much, felt like Phil was this close to pulling away as it was, but it stuck in his craw just a tiny bit. He probably thinks I'm sleeping around, Clint figured. That was what everyone tended to assume. He didn't even know why he wanted it really, just knew he wanted as much of Phil as he could get before the man inevitably found someone else and moved on. People didn't tend to stick around too long in Clint's life. 

 

Now that he knew Phil's big secret, Clint wondered how many more secrets were hidden underneath the layers of his suit. Maybe if he found enough, they'd be like keys to let him unlock Phil properly, showing him all the things that made him who he was and give him tiny cracks to hold on to. Maybe. But Phil was Phil, he wasn't interested in having him know all his secrets. Not dumbass wisecracking Clint Barton, the hick kid from the circus. Phil probably had about five doctorates like everyone else at SHIELD who wore a suit. No, Phil was on the same page as him: it was just about sex and nothing more. And the sex was amazing, so who cares? It was fine. Yep. Fine. Not like Clint had feelings for him or anything.

 

_____________________

 

Everything got completely fucked up on the next mission.

 

Clint had been rifling through the pockets of the clothes he was about to wash, making sure no change or important crap had been forgotten in them. He was doing laundry in the laundromat that was inside Stark Tower and for the exclusive use of the Avenger team. No one trusted a laundry service not to be infiltrated by one of the many enemies of SHIELD, so each Avenger - even Tony - were required to do their own washing, albeit in perhaps the fanciest laundromat in the world, complete with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Manhattan skyline.

 

A pocket crinkled; he reached in and pulled out a torn square of foil. It was one of Phil's condom wrappers. Clint turned it over in his hand. On one side, printed over and over again in a pattern, were the words 'LongDongz.com'. Clint smirked to himself as he imagined Agent Coulson logging onto that website and ordering these. Gotta make sure you don't catch something. He thought, suddenly bitter. He scrunched up the wrapper and tossed it at the trash, where of course, it landed perfectly. Phil had even had some of them sent to the tower, which Clint thought rather heavy handed. I get it. You don't want to come in my ass. Fine. I won't keep asking, knowing for sure that he would when they were fucking. When they fucked he had no control over what he said.

 

At that moment, his phone rang. It was Phil, as if he'd been listening in on Clint's thoughts. But he was all business.

 

"Agent Barton, report to SHIELD HQ. There's a situation developing in Oregon. We need you on the helicarrier incase we need to deploy. Steve and Tony will meet you there."

"Roger that." He paused. Might as well ask.

"Will you be coming?"

"... Yes."

Phil put the phone down; Clint bit his lip and smiled to himself. At that point, Natasha apparated on the other side of the room. She'd seen it. She looked shocked.

"You like Coulson!"

Clint knew he was trapped, knew she wouldn't believe him, but denied it anyway.

"Psh. No I don't." 

Natasha just looked at him, in that way she had. 

"Right. I came to get you, let's go." She nodded towards the door. Clint left his washing - it wasn't going anywhere - and followed her. He was relieved she'd dropped the subject so easily, but knew that wouldn't be the end of this conversation. He stopped off at his room to change. He found the box of condoms and put one in one of the twelve or so pockets on his combat trousers thinking, there might be an overnight stay. 

 

_________________________

 

Phil greeted them off the quinjet alongside Steve, who seemed to have taken quite a shine to Natasha, which she was all too happy to encourage. Clint figured she liked being treated like an old school 'dame'. She linked arms with Steve and had him escort her to the bridge. Clint rolled his eyes at Coulson, but his eyes were trained on Steve. Of course they were. He had the biggest boner for that guy after all.

 

"So, you're gonna stick me somewhere high up and tell me what to shoot at?" 

"Well, there's slightly more to it than that but... basically yes." Phil admitted.

Clint snorted. He was glad to have a moment alone with Phil, the last time he'd seen him they'd just fucked in his office and he'd been sprawled on the floor until Phil had asked him to leave with a polite, "I have some work to get on with..." Clint sighed to himself.

"Something the matter, Barton?"

"Eh, I prefer assignments with hotel rooms attached." He looked Coulson up and down and bit his bottom lip, playing it up since no one was there and it made Phil get flustered when he did that. Phil looked embarrassed. Well, to an idle observer he looked the same as he always did, but Clint saw the tell tale signs that he'd grown so familiar with. God, he could undo Phil Coulson so easily. 

"We may be required to stay in Portland a few days, depending on how it goes today." Phil said, oh so casually. Clint sidled up to him before coyly looking up through his eyelashes at Phil. "Maybe you can help me fill out that big stack of paperwork I've been meaning to do." Phil looked down at him, unflinching. "I'd be happy to help you with whatever you need, Agent."

Clint just raised an eyebrow and grinned before stalking off to the bridge. 

 

After briefing - and Clint was right: he was going to be up high and shooting at stuff - he piloted a quinjet down to the lake in question, landing in a clearing nearby. There was a low building next to the lake, and up close it was clear that something untoward was going on with the water. It was slightly oily looking, like petrol on a rain puddle, and a sweet smell that wasn't entirely unpleasant permeated the air around it. Tony flew Clint up into a tree across from the building, on the edge of the lake, leaving him there before flying back down to join the rest of the team to investigate. 

 

There had been reports of people acting strangely around this area, and it had to either be the lake or something in the building. Fury figured the building led to an underground bunker or something, so they were going in to see what was down there. Once they were done there, they'd take samples of the water back to the lab to investigate. Clint was their eye in the sky, ready to catch any suspicious looking people with one of the netting arrows Tony had recently invented for him, or failing that, an exploding one. 

 

Once the commotion of the quinjet landing and Iron Man flying around had died down, the sounds of the forest started to pipe up, birds singing and creatures rustling. Clint smiled when he caught sight of a hawk, high above. These moments felt precious to Clint, being part of the team but always so remote; watching from the sidelines, noticing the little details the more involved members might miss. It was rather pleasant, being up high, his bow in hand, the forest and warm air around him. Knowing Phil was on the other end of a comm link perhaps made it slightly nicer still.

 

"Report, Barton." Phil said in his ear. He was still on the jet so he could run intel on anything the team turned up.

"Nothing happening up here. What's the story with the others?"

"They haven't found anything suspicious as yet."

"Too bad, I was looking forward to having to stay over in Portland. We could catch a movie, have dinner."

Phil sounded like he always did whenever Clint tried to steer him towards maybe going on a date. Deadpan and uninterested, as if Clint was joking. "Sure." Clint frowned. Always the blow off.

 

As Clint was about to say he wished he'd brought a picnic, Steve and Natasha came running out of the building, yelling into their earpieces and ducking for cover. Clint couldn't make out what they were saying because the building suddenly exploded, Iron Man flying out of it as it did so. The ground shook, the tree Clint was in swayed. A series of further explosions shook the ground around the lake, including right below him, tipping the tree enough that it slowly started to fall towards the water. 

 

Clint tried to swing onto the side of the tree and run along it, but it was too tall and there were too many branches in the way to do anything but hold on as the tree sank sideways into the oily water. It was thick, cloying, seeping under his clothes. Clint tried to move down the tree to get back to shore, but the water was slowing him down and he felt so tired all of a sudden. The others were yelling at him from the shore, but he couldn't make out their voices as everything felt and sounded so hazy and far away. He heard Coulson's voice softly saying "Clint, Clint" into his ear as he let himself sink under the surface.

 

The next thing Clint was aware of was being slapped around the face by Natasha, thought it was a soft slap, somehow, like he was still underwater. "-but Tony pulled you out! Clint! Can you hear me?" Steve was saying. "There was nothing in there, we just set off a booby trap. Are you ok?" Tony was talking now, or maybe it was Steve, or Natasha. Clint couldn't make sense of what was happening, just wanted to go to sleep and carry on the dream he'd been having. He'd been having a picnic right here, with Phil. Someone slapped him again. Clint tried to keep his eyelids open. 

"Where's Phil?" He said, groggy. 

"I'm right here." Phil said in his ear. 

"Heh, s'like you live in my head." Clint slurred. "Are there any sandwiches left?"

"We need to get him to a hospital." Someone said above him. "Let's get back to the jet."

He fell asleep.

 

___________________________________

 

Somehow, Clint had gotten submerged in that lake of god knows what, and now he was acting like a drunk teenager. Natasha piloted the quinjet and dropped Phil and Clint at the Providence Medical Center, Phil checking him in and waiting by his side as he drifted in and out of consciousness and doctors and nurses ran a full gamut of tests. Nothing seemed to be wrong with him, he hadn't hit his head and he wasn't inured, so it was a mystery as to what the problem was exactly. It had to be that water, but more tests had to be done on that, so to be on the safe side they were running every other test they could think of. There weren't really any symptoms other than Clint acting drunk and being sleepy and clingy. He'd already tried to climb into Phil's lap twice.

 

A doctor gave a report to Phil, "Doesn't seem to be physically injured, blood work came back as normal, just seems to be some residual effects from whatever that water was he fell into. We'll know more when the samples come back from the lab."

Clint was beaming at Phil, he'd not let go of his hand since they'd got there, conscious or no.

"Let's go to a hotel!" Clint suddenly blurted. Phil looked away, to the doctor who had moved to the end of the bed to hang Clint's notes there.

"Well, there doesn't seem to be anything actually wrong with him, so you're welcome to discharge him, the results of the other tests will hopefully be ready by tomorrow. If you think he'd be more comfortable in a hotel?" Phil looked back to Clint, then back to the doctor. Then back at Clint again. He didn't know what to do, Phil hated hospitals, and they didn't seem to need to be there, and it wasn't like Phil would actually take advantage of an agent in this state, no matter what hotels had come to mean the last few weeks. 

 

He looked at Clint, who was pleading with his eyes. And his mouth.

"Pleeeeaase?" He squeezed Phil's hand.

"Can you even walk?" 

"Sure I can, bud-dee" Clint made a little gun salute with his fingers and then sat up and swung his legs off of the bed in a single swift movement. Phil moved to steady him, but he was actually remarkably steady on his feet, standing up and walking in a straight line down the room, putting his index finger to his nose as if he were undergoing a sobriety test. 

"Let'sss go." He was still slurring. Phil frowned, but nodded to the doctor.

"Alright. Ok Clint, but stop that!"

Clint was trying to sit in Phil's lap again.

 

Once Phil had managed to sign Clint out and hail a cab, they arrived at a hotel where Phil handed over the SHIELD credit card, explained that Clint wasn't feeling well, and made their way up to their room. 

"One room hmmmm?" Clint breathed into Phil's neck in the elevator. 

"You're going to sleep, Barton." Phil tried to bat Clint's hands away. As much as he wanted this, loved being in a hotel with Clint, this really was too much like taking advantage. 

They exited the elevator and Clint draped himself over Phil as they walked down the corridor to the room.

"I love key cards!" Clint exclaimed as Phil unlocked the door and shushed him.

 

When they finally got in the room, Clint sloppily turned and tried to pin Coulson against the door, but was too out of it, Phil manhandling him further into the room and stripping him out of his clothes.

"You're so forward, sir" Clint babbled, limbs floppy and unhelpful. 

"We need to get that lake water off you, Clint." Phil had to focus, be professional. It didn't matter that on any other mission, this would be the point where Clint would be sucking him off right now. He was compromised and Phil needed to fix him. It was already bad enough, if there's one thing he was well aware of, it's that Clint hated having to rely on anyone, and after this was all straightened out, he'd be mortified.

 

Clint was kissing his neck and making little noises. As nice as that was, Phil tried to ignore him. He needed to get him cleaned up and hopefully it would lessen the effects of the water. He managed to wrestle Clint's clothes off down to his underpants, and did the same himself, there was no way he'd manage to wash Clint without ruining his own suit. 

 

Of course, once he was out of his clothes, Clint pounced on him, tumbling them to the floor.

"I like your nipples, Mr Coulson sir." He pushed a finger into one and said, "boop!"

This was just weird, and cute. It was weird to see Barton being cute

"We need to get you clean, Agent." He tried to be serious, maybe the water was affecting him too, but it was hard to be stern when the guy you've been secretly in love with for years is trying to suck your toes. He laughed despite himself, which made Clint beam. 

"I love your laugh." Clint said, still smiling. Phil looked away so as not to react. Clint was doused with some kind of crazy-juice from the lake. This meant nothing.

"Let's get you in the shower." 

 

Clint complied, not without running his hands over Phil on the way, trying to steal kisses when he could, Phil eventually leading him into the tub with the lure of his own lips. He shifted them around so he could wash Clint. 

"Unwrap this." He handed him the tiny hotel soap. Along with the complimentary shower gel and shampoo, it would hopefully be enough to get that stuff off of him. Clint took the soap and threw it over his shoulder where it clattered into the bottom of the bath. 

"Phil. I dropped the soap." He said, making a show of turning around and bending over to fetch it, pushing his ass into Phil's crotch as he did so. Phil looked away and tried not to get hard. He was only semi-successful, his cock twitching as it always did when Barton did something provocative. Clint straightened up and lunged for Phil's pants again. 

"No! Clint!" He laughed, both nervous and embarrassed. 

 

"Turn around." He said, before Clint could lunge for his dick again. He manhandled him to stand facing away and started the water. He took the soap from Clint's hand to open it himself. Clint's arms reached behind him to clumsily touch Phil as he lathered the various soaps over Clint's back. He was making sweet appreciative sounds which made Phil have to focus hard on breathing steadily. Something about Clint being so vulnerable felt at once amazing and at the same time beyond wrong. Two men in a small bathtub was ungainly as it was, let alone when one of them was drunk on lake water and trying to grab the other's cock every chance he had. He willed his arousal away with every shred of his considerable self control.

 

"Turn around." Phil ordered again, once his erection had subsided to a not too obvious level. Clint looked so sheepishly happy and content as Phil lathered up his arms (which he tried not to focus on beyond cleaning them: definitely didn't rub his hands over them a few more times than necessary), and his chest. Phil tried to avoid his gaze, Clint's warm eyes so affectionate that he could hardly stand to be under their gaze.

 

Clint started to lather Phil up, too, his hands on Coulson's skin, rubbing over his chest and his sides, up to his neck. 

"Can I kiss you?" Clint asked, plaintive.

Might as well, thought Phil. This was beyond fucked up as it was. Just feeling Clint's hands on him had made his pants tighten again.

"Um, sure." He sighed. Giving in. 

 

Clint kissed him, and it was slow and deliberate and perfect. A heartbreaker. Full of want and promises that Coulson knew weren't to be kept. Once Clint wasn't under the influence anymore, he'd be back to his philandering, flippant, laughing-at-Phil ways. The promises that kisses like this made weren't meant for Phil. When Clint pulled away, Phil's eyes were half-lidded. Clint was beaming at him again, the shower still beating down on his shoulders.

"I love kissing you. Let's kiss every day."

Phil tried to ignore him. He tried to ignore Clint's half-hard cock. Tried to ignore the way his eyes felt hot and wet.

 

"Ok Clint. I think you're as clean as you're gonna get," Phil announced eventually, once every inch of Clint's body had been scrubbed clean, even between his toes. Phil got out of the bath to get a towel to dry Clint off. Clint watched Phil as he studiously dried him, removing his pants and letting his cock air dry. Phil removed his own wet pants and put a hotel bathrobe on. Phil unmade the bed so Clint could climb in, naked since there weren't any spare clothes to wear. Once Clint was tucked in, Phil moved to go to the desk to maybe try and do some work, salvage something out of this fucked up day. But Clint grabbed his wrist. 

"Phil." 

"Clint, I-"

"You have to look after me." 

Clint's eyes were like saucers, pleading and so earnest. Not like Clint Barton at all, who hid everything behind at least one layer of irony unless he'd had more than a few drinks and conversation turned to a dark place. But his face right now was the polar opposite of that Clint: open and honest and hopeful. Phil swallowed and crawled in beside him. This was going to break his heart.

 

Clint immediately cuddled up next to him so tightly that Phil could barely move, kissing the side of his neck. He was fully hard now, his erection pressed into the back of Phil's thigh through the toweling of the bathrobe. He started to gently hump him. A hand was suddenly on Phil's cock, stroking. 

"Clint, no."

"Why not?" He whined.

"It's not appropriate."

"But you said! You said you were going to help me with my big stack of paperwork. That meant have sex, you know."

"That was before you got doused with pond water. C'mon, go to sleep." Phil couldn't look at him.

Clint wrapped his legs further around Phil, so he really couldn't move, the hand on his cock started pumping in earnest. Despite himself, Phil was getting rock hard. A naked Clint Barton pressed against him, rubbing his cock just so, kissing his neck... he couldn't think straight. He suddenly thought of a perfect excuse.

 

"I don't have a condom."

"Oh I do! In my pants!" Clint leapt out of bed and rifled through his trouser pockets. Where the hell had he gotten one of those from? Phil wondered, rather touched that Clint would have gone to the trouble, especially since he hated the things. Clint bounced back onto the bed, kneeling beside Phil, his cock jutting up between his legs. He pulled the sheets back and immediately started sucking on Phil's dick, grabbing Phil's resisting hands and working them into his own hair. Soon enough he was hard enough for Clint's satisfaction, and he rolled the condom on. Clint spat into his own hand and started working himself open, not for long though, and Phil was worried that - if they really were going to do this - that Clint might get hurt. 

 

What was he thinking, they couldn't possibly do this, he'd be completely taking advantage of Clint in this state, he'd already taken advantage of him half a dozen times in the last few weeks, but this was wrong on a whole other level. He tried to resist, but the words wouldn't come, and Clint was persistent, undoing the bathrobe and kneeling over Phil, holding his dick so he could sit slowly down on it. It clearly hurt, Clint's face was screwed up in concentrated pain. Phil reflexively leaned up to kiss it, try to ease out the wrinkles in his forehead. 

 

"Clint, we don't have to do this, you need to go to sleep, I-"

"No! I want to! Shh!"

Phil could do little more than lay there, Clint was far stronger than he was, and even with the effects of the water weakening him, he still weighed a good deal more, mostly muscle. If he wanted this to happen, Phil wasn't the one to be able to stop him at this stage. 

Clint worked himself all the way down til he was sitting flush with Coulson's hips. 

"Ohh yeah." Clint looked more at peace than Phil thought he'd ever seen him, including the various times he'd seen him sleep. 

"Are you alright, Clint?" 

Clint nodded, eyes blissfully closed. 

"Yeah. I love you."

Phil froze. He doesn't mean it. It's just the lake. Clint's eyes were still closed, nothing on his face to say he'd just said something as big of a deal as I love you was. He just didn't know what he was saying. Whacked out on pond water. As soon as he was back to normal this would definitely be over for good. Clint would be mortified, and angry with Phil for letting this happen. And then it would never happen again. 

 

Clint started to move, lifting himself up and down, rocking his hips and making those little sounds which turned Phil's bones into jelly. Phil didn't know what to do. Watching Clint so blissed out, riding his cock, broke Phil's heart and made him so happy that this was even happening at the same time. And it all made him want to run away, which was impossible right now because Clint Barton was currently flush against him and saying,

"I fucking love you, Phil."

 

Phil lay there, trying to process. This was definitely bad, he thought. Was it? Yes. Bad. But also good. Clint started fucking himself on Phil's cock with gusto, drawing all the way up and then slamming back down onto Phil's hips, both of them crying out each time. 

"I love watching you when you're with other people," Clint was saying, hands on Phil's chest to steady himself. "You're so stern and cold, and they're all so scared of you, but I know the real you. And I fucking love it. Love how you don't even know how hot you are. And you're so smart, and you look after me even though I'm a jackass." 

 

He started to move his hands and check off the things he 'loved'. "I love the hair on your chest, and the way you smell," He leaned down to draw in an eyes-closed breath by Phil's armpit before kissing it and then licking up to Phil's mouth and kissing that before sitting up again and resuming his movement. "I love your hands," he reached for one and kissed the knuckles. "I like how you always get a pen stain right... here." He showed Phil the place where he did always get pen marks, on his thumb, before bringing that to his mouth and sucking it. Phil moaned. He was losing it. He took his thumb from Clint's mouth and ran his hand down his body. His perfect chest and exquisite cock. "I love how you look at me like I'm something special, and you always say I'm beautiful." A flash of sadness passed over Clint's face as he said that, even as he was still fucking himself with Phil's cock. 

 

He was quiet then, picking up his pace and fucking harder and faster, saying over and over again how he loved Phil, wanted Phil, dreamed of Phil. Phil could feel himself building to orgasm despite the overwhelming need to stop this. Make those words, those lies, shut off. He tried to look away but Clint held him there, cupping Phil's face until he came, riding out the orgasm as he folded down onto Phil's chest. 

 

"I wish you loved me." He said quietly. Phil looked down at the man's shoulders: all that he could see from where he was pinned. He wrapped his arms around Clint. 

"You are beautiful, Clint. And I... do love you." If this was the last time, might as well really smash it to pieces. Lay it all out before the wind took it away.

"You don't have to say it. It's ok." Clint sounded sleepy, words starting to slur again.

"What are you talking about?" This was not the time or the place to be having such a conversation, but then again where else would they have it, when they'd managed to keep their sexual and personal lives so separate for as long as they had? 

"Clint, I've loved you for years."

But Clint was already asleep. 

 

Phil rolled them over so he could gently withdraw from Clint, who whimpered in his sleep as he was left empty. Phil walked to the bathroom and quietly finished himself off, full of self loathing and shame, replaying "I love you" in his mind as he came. By the time he was done, he was crying. 

 

He wanted to get out and away from Clint, but couldn't leave him since he quite clearly wasn't over whatever the hell was wrong with him. He splashed cold water in his face and wetted a facecloth to wipe himself down, rinsing it before taking it out to Clint. He gently wiped the cum from Clint's stomach and hands, carefully trying not to wake him. As Phil turned to go rinse out the cloth again, Clint's hand wrapped around his leg. "Don't go." He said, eyes still closed. 

 

Phil tried not to sigh as he threw the cloth towards the bathroom and climbed in beside Clint once more. He was just going to have to lay here all night trying not to cry whilst holding on to the guy he was in love with, who would probably (because who knew what that fucking water would do) wake up and not remember any of it. Or say he didn't mean any of it. Or request a transfer. Definitely request a transfer. 

 

Clint settled around Phil, an arm slung over his chest, faces inches apart. He looked so peaceful. Phil tried to work that image into his mind, to think back on when all this was over. His heart felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. 

 

___________________________

 

Clint woke up in a hotel room, arm around a sleeping Coulson, who looked like he was having bad dreams. His head felt like it was full of cotton wool. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened last night, his last clear memory was falling into the lake. But he'd ended up here with Phil Coulson, who'd stayed the night, so it can't be all bad, he thought. They'd definitely had sex, and he was naked, but other than that it was very hazy. He realised he desperately needed to pee and gently got up, careful to not wake Phil.

 

He went to the bathroom and a glance at the shower brought back a memory: Phil laughing at him for putting his hair in shampoo spikes. They must have washed off the lake water together. He remembered the desire he'd felt, same as always but tempered slightly with something else. He'd definitely felt happy. Why had Phil seemed so sad? Clint couldn't have done or said anything so terrible that would have made him leave, since he was still here. 

 

He washed his face and came back out. Coulson was still sleeping. Another memory came swimming back to Clint: him riding Coulson and talking a lot. Clint's face fell when he remembered. He'd said he was in love with him. Shit. 

 

Clint started to panic. He was definitely getting transferred now. Can't have your agent being pathetically pining away for you. Fuck. Shit fuck shit. He started to pace, try to figure out where all his stuff was so he could get dressed and leave. But then Coulson stirred and woke up, and looked directly at him. Seeing his eyes instantly brought back another memory; Phil had said he loved him too. 

 

Clint gaped at Phil, who for some reason was looking ashamed. Clint pointed a finger. "You love me!" Phil just looked pained. "Look, you didn't know what you were saying, it's fine. I'll put in the paperwork to have you reassigned." 

He started getting up from the bed so Clint jumped onto it and pulled him back down. 

"You said you love me." Clint said again. Phil just shrugged and looked away. Clint tipped Phil's head with a hand so he had to look at him. "Do you?" Phil nodded, that sad look still in his eyes. Clint kissed him, slowly. Phil hesitantly kissed back. "Why do you look so damn sad?" Clint asked. "I love you too." He shrugged his shoulders as if it was obvious.

Phil looked at him skeptically. "You don't need to make fun of me." 

"I'm not! Are you fucking kidding me? I didn't wanna say anything cause I figured you just wanted me for a quick fuck and then you'd be off with some opera singer or conductor or some shit." 

Phil shook his head and reached out a hand to touch Clint's face, drawing back before he touched. "No. There's only you. For me anyway." 

 

Clint bent down to kiss him again, laying next to him. Phil still seemed sad, even though it had just been mutually agreed that they were in love with one another. What was the problem? Clint was confused. 

"So what's the problem? You like fucking me, you're in love with me, so... what? What's wrong?"

"C'mon, Clint. If it wasn't for my cock would you even look at me twice?"

"Your cock? I don't care- well... ok, I do love your cock, but I like- love you. The whole thing."

"What about all the other people you've been with?"

"I haven't even looked at another person since we... hooked up the first time. Not anyone."

 

Phil looked at him with disbelieving hope. "Honestly?"

"Yes, honestly, you asshole. You know half the crap I say in the cafeteria is bullshit. You know that! You've been on most of those missions with me."

Phil seemed to be coming round to the idea, albeit slowly. "Aren't you mad about what happened in my office? I really thought I was gonna lose my job."

"You mean when I practically raped you?"

"You? More like-" He cut himself off. "Jesus we are a mess."

Clint laughed. "We are. But we have the greatest sex. Epic poem sex. I mean, do you like the sex?"

"God yes. It's incredible."

Clint nodded, proud to have won this small victory, because this was like a battle of wills, despite them both wanting the same thing.

 

Phil smiled before looking resigned to certain future disappointment once more. "Do you actually... want to do this then? With me?"

"I keep asking you out and you always say no."

"What? When?"

"On comms! All the time! Just before the lake thing I asked you to dinner and a movie and you turned me down."

"I thought you were joking."

Clint was incredulous. "No."

 

"I'm sorry. I just... couldn't believe you'd want me, can't believe it. I mean you're so..." He gestured to Clint, "And I'm just..." He did the same vague wave at his own body.

"Perfect?" Clint said, pressing down for a kiss. "Handsome? A fucking ninja in a suit? What do you want with me anyway? You're a member of Mensa for crying out loud. I'm just a dumb kid from the circus."

"You aren't dumb. God, you really are not dumb, Clint." Phil's turn to kiss Clint, pushing back and over so Clint was on his back with Phil straddling him. "I want you so much. However you want. I'd do anything for you."

"I'd do anything for you." Clint said, realising as he said it that he meant it. Phil kissed him long and slow, Clint kissing back and starting to buck up against him. They were both slightly hard and only got more so from the languid kissing and their still naked limbs entwining. Clint pulled at the bathrobe which was still hanging onto Phil's arm and threw it on the floor before he moved down the bed to lick at Clint's cock. 

"So beautiful. You don't even know, Clint. You can fuck me if you ever want to. I don't usually but I don't mind."

Clint smiled and hauled Phil up the bed. "No, I want you right here. I'm still pretty loose from last night. Will you fuck me, Phil?" Clint said it like a favour, a polite request, not the fervent demand that it had been every other time. Phil nodded and they kissed as Phil lined up and gently pushed in, using Clint's spit as lube. 

 

This time it was slow, peppered with lazy kisses. Their hands entwined. After a little while, now Phil on top with Clint's knees pressed against his shoulders, Clint realised: "Wait, what about a condom?" Phil bit his lip and frowned. "Do you mind?" Clint grinned and shook his head. "Don't you mind?" He asked. 

"No, I just... didn't know if you were..." 

"Clean. Cause you thought I was fucking around." 

"Sorry." 

Clint grinned again. "You loved thinking I was a slut, don't lie. Turned you on thinking I was fucking half of SHIELD." Phil had the decency to blush. 

"It turned me on to know that you were fucking me when you could have been fucking half of SHIELD." He replied in a small voice. Clint pulled him down into a kiss, gasping slightly as it shifted Phil inside him. "I'm all yours now. If you want me." 

"God, I want you. Ever since the first time, you're all I can think about. All I want." Phil fucked slowly into Clint, kissing him every chance he had. 

"Do you really want me?"

Clint was sweetly exasperated. "Yes! I'm gonna have to make you believe that over and over again, aren't I?" Phil straightened up and shrugged apologetically. Can't blame him for being skeptical. This kind of shit didn't happen to Phil Coulson. 

 

Clint touched his cheek. "I love seeing you like this. When you're all undone. When you're all dressed up in your suits I just wanna mess you up like this. Ravage you." And he was ravaging him, even though it was always Phil doing the fucking, it was Clint who was in charge. Phil reached down to jerk Clint's cock, the sight of which turned him on almost as much as the sight of his own cock vanishing into Clint's ass. That perfect ass that maybe could be his for a while longer. 

 

Eventually, after some fervent "I love yous" being traded between them, Phil felt the warm heat building up behind his cock and knew he was close. "I'm gonna come, Clint." 

Clint nodded frantically. "Yeah, yes! Do it, come inside me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! God dammit." He pulled his arms around Phil so he wouldn't be able to pull away if he tried, and kissed him as he came, pumping his cum deep inside him. Clint came a moment after, warm and wet between them.

They lay like that for a little while, neither wanting to move first, softly kissing and sighing into each others mouths.. Clint tried to give Phil a love bite, which made him pull away. 

 

"Do you have any idea what Fury would do if he saw us coming back from a mission - which we already fucked up - with a hickey?" He was laughing. 

"He'd just be jealous." Clint said smugly, smugness turning into a gasp as Phil withdrew. Cum leaked out as he pulled away, Clint's cock twitching despite itself at the sensation. 

"You finally got what you wanted." Phil said, his own cock showing an interest too at the obscene sight of his own release slowly oozing out of Clint's hole. "You look so debauched, Clint Barton." Clint grinned up at him and bit his lip. "I'll get some tissue." Phil said, gently getting off the bed, returning with a handful of toilet paper. He started to soak up their cum with it, Clint watching him as he did so. 

 

They lay there, kissing and expounding on one another's good points, unveiling their own thoughts on what they'd done previously, revealing what they'd both really been thinking, for an hour or so, all thoughts of the mission far from their minds. They eventually got up and showered, this time less heart rending for Phil and with a lot more kissing. Then they dressed in their clothes from the day before, Clint taking great care in tying Phil's tie for him. They headed out to catch a cab to the airport. The rest of the team had passed the lake off to local police to close off, pending further investigation, and had returned to New York the previous night. 

 

Phil's phone rang. It was the hospital. He spoke only with yesses and okays, before saying goodbye and turning to Clint.

"They said it was the lake water." 

"Wow no shit." 

 

_____________________

EPILOGUE

 

"So no more condoms?" Clint asked, while they were still lazing in bed.

"I guess not. If you don't want."

"Well you know I hate them."

"How come you bought some anyway?" Phil had wondered that since last night. 

"I didn't. You sent them to the tower."

Phil paused, bunched up a wad of tissue and made to throw it into the bin, Clint taking it from him and throwing it himself. 

"No I didn't."

"Yeah, you sent a box of like, a dozen to the tower. I recognised the website."

Phil shook his head. "That wasn't me. I would have ordered the right size, that one last night was actually kind of small on me."

They looked at each other.

"Maybe you're not the only one shopping at LongDongz.com." 

"Maybe not."

"Then who-"

"Please don't obsess about this."

"I wasn't!"

Phil leveled a Coulson-stare at him. 

"Well it's natural to wonder." 

Phil leaned over Clint. "You're ridiculous." He said, before leaning down to kiss him.