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Clint holds up his glass of Sprite, looking at it critically. "This tastes funny."

Phil looks over at him; that's the opener in this game, Clint's favorite. "Tastes fine to me," Phil says, the code phrase that says he's into it, that this is a good time to play.

Clint sets his glass down. "I dunno, it just seems off. Maybe the glass wasn't clean or something." He goes to stand up, but he stumbles a little, catching himself on the arm of the couch.

Phil goes to him, helping him stand up. "Are you okay?"

Clint shakes his head. "I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine," Phil says. He puts Clint's arm over his shoulders. "Come on, you should lay down."

"I'm fine," Clint insists, but Phil doesn't listen. He walks Clint into the bedroom, sitting him down at the edge of the bed.

Phil puts his hand on Clint's forehead. "You're burning up," he lies. "Here, let's get your shirt off."

"What the hell, Coulson?" Clint says, but his voice is getting weaker. He's sometimes scarily good at acting his part in this game; he doesn't fight back or help when Phil unbuttons his shirt and pushes it down his shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"Now just lie back," Phil says, pushing him down, turning him so he's lying properly on the bed.

Clint struggles for a moment, but then he collapses back against the bed. "You need to call SHIELD," he says. "Something's wrong."

"Everything is fine," Phil assures him.

"It's not fine," Clint says, and now his words are starting to slur. "I can't move. You have to call somebody."

"You'll be alright," Phil says, pulling his shirt over his head.

Clint's eyes widen. "You put something in my drink. You- you fucking drugged me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Phil says, reaching for Clint's fly; by now Clint doesn't fight him for it, the toxin he's supposedly ingested having taken its desired effect. He unfastens Clint's jeans and pulls them off, folding them up just so Clint has more time to sweat.

"This isn't funny," Clint says. "Leave me alone."

"I can't do that," Phil says, running his hand up Clint's leg. "You're under the influence of potentially dangerous drugs." He palms the bulge that's growing in Clint's boxers. "And you don't really want me to leave this alone."

"Yes, I do," Clint insists, despite the fact that his voice is getting soft now. "Go away."

"Can't," Phil tells him again; he pulls Clint's boxers down, getting his hand around Clint's dick and stroking it, a little twist just like he likes.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Clint asks, his breath coming heavy.

"I'm only giving you what you need," Phil tells him, and it's only easy to say because it's true. Clint loves that he can give it up like this, and more than once Phil's wondered if it's a test, a way for him to prove that Clint's trust isn't misplaced. He doesn't even mind; Clint is worth it.

He watches Clint's face as he plays with him, teasing more than anything else, not nearly enough to get him close to coming. Clint has his eyes shut, his mouth open, and he's panting, grimacing like he really doesn't want this. It's convincing enough that it gives Phil pause. "Maybe I should give you the antidote," he says, checking in.

"Go to hell, you sick bastard," Clint responds; everything is still fine, thankfully.

"That's not a nice thing to say," Phil chides, unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants; he pushes them and his underwear down, picking them up and draping them over the chair.

"Fuck you," Clint says, and Phil doesn't go for the obvious pun. He reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out the lube and a condom and putting them on the bed. Clint doesn't resist when Phil shoves his legs open, climbing onto the bed in between them. Phil bends down and kisses him; Clint's bad at faking this part, but Phil's not complaining, not when it's so comforting to feel Clint kissing him back fervently.

Phil pulls away and picks up the lube, pouring it onto his fingers. He opens Clint slowly, more teasing, deliberately avoiding his prostate. "Don't," Clint murmurs, but Phil doesn't listen. He tears open the condom and rolls it onto his cock, wanting badly to get inside him. "Please don't," Clint says again, but he's subtly spreading his legs wider, asking for it, helping it along.

"Everything will be fine," Phil says, rubbing this head of his cock over Clint's entrance for a moment before he starts pushing inside, nice and smooth and slow, until he's all the way in, Clint's tight heat all around him. "Just take it for me. You can take it, Clint. You want to take it."

"I don't," he protests, and his grip on the game is starting to get a little fuzzy; now he's wrapping his legs around Phil's waist, keeping him close.

After all that teasing, it's not a surprise that Clint's ready to go off pretty soon. "Stop," he moans, rocking his hips for more. "Let me go, just let me go, Phil."

"No," Phil tells him. "Not until I'm done with you." He wraps his hand around Clint's cock, giving him some friction. "Why don't you just relax and enjoy it? That is, if you can feel it."

"Please," Clint breathes, his eyes drifting shut, and he's so close now. "Stop it, stop, please, don't-" he pants, and anything after that is swallowed up by his moans as he comes hard. Phil has to bite his lip to keep from following him; his job's not done yet.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Phil says soothingly, still fucking him.

"Yes, it was," Clint tells him.

"If you really hated it, you wouldn't have gotten off," Phil tells him; this part is harder to say, all these excuses. "You wanted me to do it. You should be happy."

"Let me go," Clint says.

"I told you," Phil replies, hiking Clint's legs up and pounding into him. "Not until I'm done."

This is the last piece of Clint's fantasy, the part where it's not about him at all, the part where Phil proves he's been lying, that all he wants is to use him like a blow-up doll, just a hole to fuck. Phil has mixed feelings about this part in theory, but in practice he's so keyed up by the whole thing that all he's thinking about is coming. Clint's not talking now, resigned to his fate, and Phil's got to admit that it's hot, the way Clint just takes it, lets him have what he wants.

Phil shuts his eyes when he comes, groaning, thrusting raggedly. His fingers tighten on Clint's strong thighs, and he won't be surprised if Clint's got marks there later; that'll be okay, even- especially- if Clint wants him to kiss them better. He takes a long moment to enjoy it, opening his eyes again and looking down at Clint. All the worry has gone out of his face, nothing left there but a satisfied smile, and Phil leans in and kisses him. Clint takes him by surprise, grabbing him by his waist and pulling him down, flush against him.

"Will you at least let me clean up first?" Phil says, amused.

"No," Clint says, unapologetically, but he does let Phil up long enough to get rid of the condom. After that, though, it's right back to Clint's octopus impression, clinging to Phil with all four limbs- only because he doesn't actually have eight. Phil's not that big on cuddling, honestly, but he's become pretty big on giving Clint what he needs, no matter what that is. Besides, it's nice, reassuring, the promise that he isn't out to violate Clint, the proof that Clint doesn't hate him. "That was a good time," Clint tells him.

Phil kisses him on the forehead. "I had fun."

"Good," Clint says, and that's all the discussion they need.


And then they find the lab.

"It's more of a smoking crater right this second, sorry," Tony says, quite clearly not contrite in the least.

"We did manage to gather data from the servers before they crashed," Bruce says.

"Thor crashed them," Tony adds helpfully.

"The drug is a neuromuscular blockade," Bruce continues. "It was intended to leave the victim conscious and responsive, but immobilized. According to their records, they never proceeded to human testing."

"Thank God," Steve says.

"What are the long-term side effects like?" Clint asks, and he glances across the room to where Phil is standing against the wall. It only confirms the line of thought Phil's been following, but the look in Clint's eyes says that his one ends somewhere entirely different than Phil's.

"Hard to say, but it was definitely intended for multiple uses," Bruce says. "The effects seem to be compounded over time. When used only once or twice, the animal testing showed that there were few-"

Phil doesn't know what comes after that, because that's as long as he can handle listening. He slips out; he's good at coming and going unobtrusively, but he knows that Clint's eyes are following him as he leaves.

Clint gives him some time, which Phil thinks might not be the best idea ever; he doesn't show up at Phil's office until the next day. "So, I talked to R&D," Clint says casually.

Phil purses his lips. "Barton-"

"You know how they feel about testing experimental drugs on their agents," Clint says.

Phil knows very well that they'll stick a needle into anyone who's standing still. "That doesn't make what you're considering a good idea."

Clint reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little bottle, putting it down in front of Phil; the click it makes against the desk seems so much louder than it should be. "R&D thinks it's a good idea."

"See my previous statement," Phil says.

"It's not a big deal," Clint tells him.

Phil raises an eyebrow at him. "Using dangerous experimental drugs during sex isn't a big deal?"

"Last week I punched a lizard man in the mouth," Clint says. "I live on the edge."

"You're asking me to do something that you won't be able to undo," Phil warns him. "If things go wrong, there's no antidote. You couldn't fight me off if I did something you didn't want."

"Kind of the point of the whole fantasy, Coulson," Clint says.

"It's not a fantasy we're talking about," Phil reminds him. "We're talking about something very real. If it goes wrong, the consequences will be very hard to get over. It's a much bigger risk than you're making it out to be."

"You don't get it," Clint says, frustrated. "I want it because it's easy. All I have to do is lay there with my legs spread. Nobody can blame me if anything goes wrong. No pressure. No choices. That's hot. Phil, there's nobody else in the world I'd even tell about this, because you're the only person I've ever trusted enough."

"I'm not incapable of hurting you," Phil tells him.

"You're capable of taking care of me," Clint says. "That's a hell of a lot more important."

Phil just stands there for a long moment. "It's tasteless," he says finally.

Clint gives him a hard look. "I don't give a shit whether my fantasies are classy-"

Phil resists the urge to smack himself in the forehead. "Not that kind of tasteless."

"What- oh," Clint says. He smiles, looking a little less nervous. "You'll work something out."

"Here's hoping," Phil says, resisting the urge to sigh.


Phil stands in the kitchen, the drugs in one hand, lemon juice in the other, and wonders exactly what the hell he thinks he's doing.

Actually, he knows exactly what he's doing; it's the why that's problematic.

He pours the drugs into a plastic measuring spoon, and he doesn't look when he dumps them into Clint's glass. He stirs it and throws the spoon into the trash, wary of cross-contamination; he adds a healthy amount of lemon juice to it as a signal, a way to give Clint one last out before he gives it up entirely, before he can't take it back.

Clint's distracted when Phil puts the glass down in front of him, watching the judges tear into somebody on Top Chef, and he picks it up absently, taking a sip. He stops in his tracks, looking down at the glass and then up at Phil; Clint looks pretty shocked, even though he knew it was coming soon. "This tastes funny," he says.

Phil takes a breath. "Tastes fine to me," he replies. Clint looks straight at him and lifts the glass again, drinking it all down in one go, leaving no room for doubt as to his opinion on the matter. "Come on, I have something new I want to show you," he says, because he doesn't actually know how fast-acting the drugs are, and dragging Clint all the way in from the living room doesn't seem like his idea of a good time.

Clint laughs, standing up. "If you bought Cap's underwear on eBay, I don't want to know about it."

"Reserve was too high," Phil says, trying to hide his nerves.

Phil was right to be cautious, because no sooner than they've reached the bedroom, Clint stumbles; Phil catches him before he hits the floor, picking him up and depositing him onto the bed. "Whoa," Clint says. "I don't feel so hot."

"Everything's fine," Phil says, even though he feels like it isn't. He mentally walks through the safeguards he's got in the house, hoping he's ready if things go south.

Clint struggles a little, trying to move his shoulders, but it doesn't last long, not with the medicine taking hold. "The fuck did you give me?" Clint says, like he's kidding, but Phil doesn't respond. "You fucking did, didn't you? You slipped me something. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he lies, reaching for Clint's shirt hem. He didn't realize how much Clint was actually helping him, because trying to undress him now is a very different proposition than it was before. His limbs are flopping unhelpfully, refusing to stay posed when Phil moves them.

"Who got to you?" Clint demands. "Or you doing this just for fun? That's sick, Coulson."

Phil stands by the bed, just looking at Clint for a moment. His cock is hard and he's having trouble keeping a pleased expression off of his face, but Phil's ready to call it anyway. This is very real, not just a game anymore, and he can't put it out of his mind, the idea that Clint doesn't really want this, that he really can't fight back, that it's a huge thing that he's giving Phil.

"Come on, don't make me beg," Clint says, breaking character in his impatience, and he must see something in Phil's reaction, because he sighs. "Do I really have to?"

"You might," Phil admits.

Clint rolls his eyes. "I want it really, really bad."

"You can do better than that," Phil chides, partly to tease, partly because he needs more, an assurance he can really put his hands around, know he hasn't misinterpreted in any way.

"I don't want anything in the world as much as I want your dick right now," Clint says; he's using his low, growly voice, the one that's sometimes sexy and sometimes just ridiculous. "You know I do. It's gonna feel so good having your cock inside of me, and I know how much you want to do it." It's pretty damn hot, and Phil has to admit that Clint's really not wrong. "You want this as bad as I do, so stop pretending and fuck me, please."

"You do make a strong case," Phil says, unbuttoning his shirt before he can talk himself out of it.

"I trust you," Clint says, and it's not a surprise that that's what really seals it for Phil. "You're gonna do the right thing, and everything's gonna be fine."

"Don't tell me no," Phil says. "I can do this, but not-" He trails off.

"Phil," Clint says fondly. "If you don't get over here and fuck me right now, you're not getting laid for the next month."

"Don't rush me," Phil says, stepping out of his pants, "or I'll just go watch TV."

"You'd never be able to keep away," Clint says. "I am so much more interesting than the TV, and that includes the Spice Channel."

Phil just shakes his head, grabbing supplies from the nightstand and climbing in between Clint's legs. Before Clint knows what's going on, he bends down and sucks the head of Clint's cock into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. He's very grateful that, however this stuff works, it doesn't seem to have impacted this part of Clint's anatomy; he's not sure he could have handled it otherwise, without being sure Clint was into it.

Clint sucks in a breath. "Not fair," he groans.

Phil picks up the lube, dripping it over Clint's hole. "I don't think you get to complain when you're getting a blowjob," he says, before he takes Clint's dick back into his mouth, pushing his fingers inside him.

"I wanted you to fuck me," Clint complains, "not fuck with me."

"Must've misheard," Phil says, but he doesn't stop, sucking him until he's making desperate noises, the only thing he can do, the only indication Phil gets of how much Clint wants this.

"Please, Phil," Clint whines, and if he could he'd be wiggling all over the bed, but he's completely immobile, still completely under. "Come on, do it, don't make me suffer."

"If you're suffering, I'd better stop altogether," Phil says.

"Not suffering," Clint says quickly. "Just fine, as long as you'll get it together and hurry up."

Phil shakes his head, but he rolls on a condom and gets into position. It's hard to wrangle Clint, but he figures it out, pushing inside of him slowly. Clint moans loudly enough that Phil's momentarily worried about the neighbors, and then Phil understands it, suddenly, in a way that he really didn't before, the level to which Clint really wants this, has always wanted this. This isn't about Phil, about giving Phil what Clint thinks he wants; it's not an accusation of some kind of cruelness on Phil's part. It's entirely selfish, Clint's need to be taken completely, and somehow realizing that makes all of this easier.

"You look good like this," Phil says, fucking him hard but slow, Clint's whole body moving with his thrusts. "Laid out for me to fuck. I could get used to it."

"Mmm, feel free," Clint tells him.

"You'd probably like it if I left you like this all the time, ready for me," Phil says. "I might like it too." Clint only moans in response, lost in it, and Phil moves faster, wanting to make it good for him, to see him lose it. He wraps his hand around Clint's dick, stroking it in time with his thrusts. "Tell me what you want."

"Oh, God," Clint breathes. "Stop teasing and make me come."

Phil drags him closer, pushing in deeper. "What if I don't want to?"

"Then you're a-" Clint breaks off, groaning at a particularly hard thrust.

"I don't think you're in a position to be calling me names right now," Phil tells him.

"Give it to me," Clint moans. "I'm so close, Phil, you don't know how much I want it."

"I might," Phil says. He works Clint's cock faster, trying to keep it together long enough to make it good. "Do it for me, Clint," he says quietly, and Clint moans, his cock shooting over his stomach and chest. Phil wishes he could hold out for longer, but that's just not going to happen. He thrusts a few more times, coming deep inside him with a groan.

It's easier to clean up without Clint grabbing at him, but it doesn't make up for the loss of contact. Phil lays down beside Clint and just rolls him over, pulling him until he's laying halfway on top of Phil, putting Clint's arm across his chest. Clint has no problems with this arrangement, using his position to kiss Phil's neck, the only part of him he can actually reach.

"You can never give this to me again," Clint says.

Alarm bells go off in Phil's head. "Why is that?"

"Because I like it," Clint tells him, and Phil relaxes.

"This is definitely one time only," Phil says firmly.

"Thank you for letting me have it," Clint says, kissing his shoulder, and Phil has no idea how to respond to that. He can't honestly say 'No problem' or 'Any time,' after all.

"Whatever it takes," he says instead, and he hopes Clint hears what he means; the way Clint kisses him says he's got a pretty good idea.