Phil’s shots were precise. Evenly spaced both in timing and distance apart. He ejected the empty magazine from his Glock 17, inserted another, chambered a round and continued firing with barely a pause in between. As with everything else Phil did, his movements were smooth and efficient. It was almost a perfect circle by the time he’d finished. Almost. Two of the thirty rounds were slightly out. Damn!
“Nice shootin’ Tex!” purred a voice close behind him. The warm breath on the skin just above his collar raised the short, fine hairs on the back of his neck. It was only years of training that prevented the shiver from rolling down his spine. And if his cock twitched in his pants, well…no-one really needed to know
“Wisconsin. But thanks.” His voice sounded steady at least. He turned to face the other man.
“Mind if I try?”
Phil titled his head to the side and held out his hand in a “be my guest” gesture as he stepped back slightly just enough that the visitor had to brush past him to get to into position. There as a slight grin on Clint’s face as his groin came into contact with Phil’s. Even through his field suit he could feel the outline of the other man’s half-hard cock.
“Is that a…”
“Nope. Gun’s in my holster.” Phil preempted, cutting him off in mid corny joke.
“Aww! You’re no fun, sir,” Clint pouted. Then he perked up as the rest of the sentence came to mind. “Oh wait! That means…”
“Yup! Always pleased to see you, Barton.”
“Seriously? You take all the pleasure out of our relationship.”
The senior agent raised an eyebrow at that. The tender sighs and breathy moans the archer had made the previous night would have proved how inaccurate that statement was if he was childish enough to mention it. But he was the bigger man. Ahem.
“Little more room, please, sir,” said Clint, waggling his butt perilously close to his handler’s crotch.
Phil bit his lip as he stared at the tight, rounded…perfect ass. Ah. the hell with it. He pressed closer to the archer instead and murmured, “Pressure too much for you, Agent?”
Clint did not let a squeak escape. Definitely not. It was his boot on the surface of the floor. Nor could he explain why the pants of his field suit were beginning to feel a little tight right about now. And who suddenly turned up the thermostat in the range?
Phil grinned and stepped back. He knew the archer would score a perfect circle but it was fun to mess with him.
And he did. Make a perfect circle. Almost. Every one of his arrows entered the bullet hole of each shot that Phil had taken including the two that were slightly off. Phil quirked an eyebrow.
“You missed,” he said with a trace of surprise in his voice. A few millimetres off to the left with both and it would have been exact.
“My arrows landed where they were supposed to. I’m The World’s Greatest Marksman, remember? I never miss,” Clint reminded his handler.
“But my aim was off."
Clint closed the gap between them until they were almost touching. He slid his hand down Phil’s tie before wrapping it round his fist pulling the senior agent towards him, leaning in for a gentle kiss.
“You are the most competent man I know, Phil Coulson but your imperfections are what make you perfect to me,” he whispered against his husband’s soft lips.