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Clint didn’t pay a lot of attention at Stark and Pepper’s wedding. He tried, he really did, but while her dress was sparkly and Stark’s suit was shiny, neither of those were really the things that caught his eye.

The problem was Phil Coulson, sitting two tables over from Clint and wearing his Dress Blues.

It was distracting.

Clint bounced his leg through the speeches, made a bridge out of his cutlery during dinner and only stopped dragging his thumb around and around the edge of his wine glass when Natasha kicked him under the table.

“Ow,” he said then took in how annoyed she really looked and grimaced. “Sorry.”

She leaned across the table and spoke directly into his ear. “Stark’s rented out the entire hotel. You should grab him after dinner and take him upstairs.”

Clint choked on spit. “Stark?” he asked.

She didn’t look any more impressed with him then than she had a minute ago. “If you want Pepper to kill you. I was thinking of Coulson. The man you can’t stop staring at?”

Clint glared at her, since she hadn’t lowered her voice that time and Darcy, on Natasha’s right was sniggering unsubtly into her wine glass.

“He doesn’t want me to take him anywhere,” Clint hissed. “You know that. We broke up for a reason.” Across the table, Jane – bless her – started talking about something sciency with Thor and his enthusiastic answers provided a cover to whisper under.

“Yes, a stupid reason and one that hasn’t even been relevant for a year,” Natasha told him sternly. “Are you just worried that you and I will have nothing to talk about, if you finally suck it up and make another move on him?”

“No, I’m worried that he’ll laugh in my face,” Clint snapped. He snuck another quick look over at Phil and found him laughing at something Betty Ross was saying to him. Something about the cut of his dark blue dress coat made his shoulders look seriously wide and Clint wanted to climb him like a tree even more than he usually wanted that.

“Pathetic,” Natasha coughed, but then she split her chocolate orange cheesecake with him, so he decided not to be too offended.

Horny and tragic, sure, but not offended.


After the seven (seven!) course meal, there was dancing. Fucktons of dancing, in fact. And, well, Clint was totally down with letting loose in a club or doing a shuffling two-step by himself to Sinatra at two a.m. but proper, sophisticated dancing in front of all Stark’s proper, sophisticated friends was not his idea of a good time at all.

He watched the bride and groom take the first dance – Pepper was definitely leading – and then retreated to the bar.

Phil found him there about forty-five seconds later and put a scotch in front of him, ice cubes knocking together.

“Thanks?” Clint said, taking it.

Phil pulled up a stool next to him. “Seven people have bought me a drink to ‘thank me for serving my country’. I knew wearing this uniform was a mistake.” He sounded tired, like he would have been slouching if it weren’t for the heavy coat keeping him straight-backed and stiff.

“You did, you do serve your country, sir,” Clint said, lifting his drink to Phil.

Phil sighed. “I just wish they’d focus on Colonel Rhodes, instead.”

“Well,” Clint said then had to take a fortifying drink so he could finish his sentence. “I think you look fetching.”

“I know I do.” Phil snorted. “Darcy, Sergeant Barnes and, alarmingly, Wade Wilson have all told me so.”

Clint laughed. “Pretty sure that means you need this more than I do.”

Phil waved him away. He turned on his stool a little so he was looking out at the room. “Good party.”

“Yup.” Clint finished the drink and put it down on the bar with a click. “Hate parties.”

Phil glanced at him sideways. “Yup.”

Clint had only had one drink, he wasn’t about to follow through on Natasha’s crazy idea. Probably.

“Want to get out of here? Natasha says there are rooms upstairs.” Huh, look at that, apparently he was going to go for it.

Phil froze for a second, forefinger running up and down an inch of seam at his knee. “Because I look fetching in my uniform?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, blowing it out on a breath. At least Phil wasn’t going to pretend not to know what Clint was suggesting. “I mean, no.” He winced internally. “You’re pretty fucking dapper always, sir.”

This time, it was Phil who laughed. “And you’re still not smooth.”

Clint turned and made himself grin brightly. “Nope. Part of my charm though, right?”

For a second, he thought Phil was going to say no or to laugh it all off but then Phil’s shoulders relaxed and he said, “Yes,” and stood up.

Clint didn’t swallow his tongue. He was pretty proud of that. He did kind of bound up, but bounding was part of his skillset anyway, so it hopefully wasn’t too noticeable.

“Come on,” Phil said and then just like, walked out of the room, no subtle sneaking away or pretending to need the bathroom, no, he just walked out.

Clint shrugged and followed him. “Stark’s gonna notice and tease you forever,” Clint warned.

“Stark only has eyes for Pepper today,” Phil said, still sounding totally unconcerned. He walked around one corner then another, dress shoes clicking on the polished wooden floor, before coming to a sudden stop and twisting to grab Clint by the lapels of his jacket.

Clint didn’t get a chance to say anything, before Phil kissed him, a very firm, determined, closed-mouth kiss.

“Huh,” Clint said when Phil stepped back. His lips were tingling.

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding,” Phil told him.

Clint couldn’t help grinning. He put his hand on Phil’s shoulder, careful not to knock his lanyard or get wine-sticky fingers on his neatly pressed collar. “What, you worried I’m inviting you upstairs for coffee and a chat?”

Phil looked at him levelly. “If you were, I’d be up for that, too,” he said. Which, shit, that was the same thing he’d always done when they were together, sweeping Clint’s feet out from under him just by liking him.

“Shut up,” Clint muttered, which was totally the most logical and mature way of responding. “C’mon.”

Phil took a second to look at Clint, all fond and exasperated, then he grabbed Clint’s hand and tugged him away from the wall, toward the elevators.

He didn’t drop Clint’s hand the whole way there, so maybe Clint wasn’t the only one having kind of immature reactions.

The panel inside the elevator offered them a choice of floors Basement through seventeen. Phil looked at Clint and rolled his eyes. “Who buys out sixteen floors of hotel rooms, just because they’re getting married?”

“Stark,” Clint said, shrugging. He reached out without looking and jabbed the first button he found. “There. I’m sure floor… twelve is awesome.”

“I thought you’d go for the penthouse,” Phil said, leaning back against the mirrored wall as the elevator rode smoothly upward. He was still holding Clint’s hand, thumb tap-tapping between Clint’s knuckles.

There were tingles running through Clint’s fingers and direct to his dick. He felt like a sixteen year old on prom night, somehow going home with the world’s sexiest soldier.

“Nah, I like simple,” he said, when he remembered that he needed to reply.

Phil hummed, like he didn’t expect anything else. “I always thought City Hall then maybe a nice restaurant, for our wedding.”

All of a sudden, Clint couldn’t breathe. “Weddings,” he croaked. “You, um, you mean weddings. It’s not like we’d be marrying each other.”

“Of course,” Phil said after a tiny pause. One corner of his mouth turned up but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Clint wasn’t sure whether that meant he could breathe again or not.

The elevator reached their floor, but didn’t do anything normal like ding. The doors just swept open silently and everything seemed weirdly awkward all of a sudden.

“I,” Clint started then decided that words sucked, to hell with words, he was a dude of action.

He stepped right into Phil’s space until he was breathing in the pressed, dry-cleaned smell of his uniform and slid his hand around the side of Phil’s neck, pulling him in for a long, wet kind of kiss.

“Can we stop talking? You know we suck at that,” he said after they’d eventually had to part for air. The lights under the elevator doors were starting to glow a really cross red like they were getting impatient about being allowed to close, but Phil was red-lipped and flushed, which was all Clint cared about that.

“Yes,” Phil said and bundled Clint out of the elevator.

It wasn’t until they picked a room to steal that it occurred to Clint that they should have pilfered some keycards too. But then he remembered that he was with Phil fucking Coulson, who had them inside the room and Clint backed up against the door within about thirty seconds.

“Your secret burglarising skills are mad hot, sir,” Clint said, listening to his heart pound in his ears and making him sound way less sarcastic than he’d been going for.

“I thought it was my upstanding military citizenship,” Phil said, eyebrow arched.

Clint made his smile go wicked and flirty. “Maybe it’s the um, the juxtaposition,” he said and laughed as Phil kissed the fifty dollar word out of his mouth.

Clint wasn’t sure where to put his hands while they kissed. He wanted to grab and pull and tug Phil in as close and as tight as he could – it’d been four years; he’d missed him so much – but he didn’t want to mess up the uniform.

“What’s wrong?” Phil asked, kissing the corner of Clint’s mouth. He wasn’t having the same kind of problem as Clint; he’d already untucked Clint’s shirt from his dress pants and his hands were on the small of Clint’s back, fingertips digging in and making Clint want to melt right there.

“I don’t wanna mess you up,” Clint said, keeping his cheek against Phil’s cheek so Phil couldn’t see his face.

Phil pulled on his hips and Clint went where he was wanted, the hardness of Phil’s erection just about noticeable through the thick material of his pants and the fancy placket thing in the front of Clint’s.

“What if I want you to mess me up?” he asked and the thing was that his sexy voice was kind of ridiculous but it had always turned Clint on and now was no different.

“Fuck, Phil,” Clint groaned, running his hands carefully across Phil’s broad shoulders and down his arms, curling around dark blue material and nicely defined biceps that were always, tragically covered.

Phil didn’t answer. He pressed his face into Clint’s throat, nosing past Clint’s still mostly crisp collar and licking the side of his neck.

Clint tilted his head encouragingly and then, when Phil didn’t take the hint, said, “Bite me, c’mon, I love, loved it when you bite me.”

“Terrible grammar, Barton,” Phil hummed then bit, catching Clint’s skin between his teeth and worrying at it while he bit. Clint moaned and squirmed – carefully – dick starting to twitch needily in his pants.

His skin smarted when Phil finally let off, stinging worse when the cool air of the room got to it. He was pretty sure there were actual stars in his eyes when he looked at Phil.

“You’re gorgeous,” Phil told him seriously then sunk down onto his fucking knees, right there in the middle of their stolen hotel room.

“Shit, Phil, you’re gonna, you shouldn’t,” Clint tried helplessly, because Phil was in uniform and he was on his knees for Clint and this was like porn. Great porn but still.

Phil looked up at him. They hadn’t turned the overhead lights on but Phil had slapped the button for the lamps in the corner, soft light highlighting the shiny gold buttons on his shoulders, the Ranger tab on his left sleeve.

“I shouldn’t or you don’t want me too?” he asked. His hands were waiting patiently on Clint’s thighs. Clint had forgotten that; how Phil would challenge him and tease him but never, ever push.

Clint closed his eyes. Then opened them again immediately because Phil on his knees was a lot to take, but Clint wanted to see. “Of course I want you to,” he said, voice going hoarse somewhere in the middle.

Phil’s fingers were sure and deft on Clint’s pants, unbuttoning them then raising his eyebrows after slipping his hand inside. “You’re going commando in suit pants?”

Clint shrugged. “Hey, they’re mine. Bought and paid for.”

“I like it,” Phil assured him and leaned in to slip the head of Clint’s cock into his mouth.

Clint’s knees went instantly wobbly. He’d gotten blowjobs since the last one he’d gotten from Phil, but not many and never from someone who really seemed to, well, care about Clint’s cock. Which maybe sounded weird, but Clint knew he was right; it was all there in the strong, careful suction and the slow and steady rub of his fingertips up and down the shaft.

“Phil, I need to sit down,” Clint said, because he had the strength to stay standing or keep from coming, and one was a lot more important than the other.

Phil’s hand came up and curved around the back of Clint’s thigh, over his thick suit pants, but still warm enough to feel through them.

He pulled off with a slow slurp that made Clint laugh helplessly then looked up, licking his lips like he was actually trying to kill Clint. “Bed’s three feet behind you,” he said.

Clint didn’t say that three feet was too long a distance to put between them right now because that would sound needy and like he was expecting this to be more than a one-time thing. (He wasn’t expecting this to be more that a one-time thing, but a guy could dream.)

“I kind of like the look of you on your knees, all dressed up like that,” Clint admitted. He touched the white collar of Phil’s shirt, dragging his finger along the material over Phil’s collarbone to his perfectly tied black necktie. “You should always dress like this.”

Phil laughed. He didn’t seem in a hurry to stand up, didn’t even seem to mind that Clint’s cock was bobbing in his peripheral vision, his breath brushing the V of Clint’s groin when he spoke. “Director Fury wouldn’t like it,” he said. Then his expression turned wicked. “Although he has a uniform just like this too, so if your fantasies stretch that way…”

“Oh my god, sir, shut up,” Clint groaned. “That’s not, no, that’s scarring me for fucking life.”

Phil turned his head and kissed Clint’s still-hard cock. “You don’t look too traumatised to me.”

“You start putting sexy images of Fury in my head, and I will kick you out,” Clint threatened. He couldn’t stop touching Phil’s throat above the knot of his tie, the soft skin under his chin and it was hard to be convincing like that.

“Sorry,” Phil said, still smirking at him. “Go ahead and sit down.”

Clint went ahead and sat because there had been something promising about Phil’s tone back then. Phil shifted gracefully along with him and settled himself down between Clint’s knees, shaking his head when Clint’s pants stopped him stretching his legs too far and sliding them down to his ankles for him.

The room was cool so Clint shivered, but it was mostly automatic. Phil was warm and reassuringly steady in the solid lines of his uniform coat.

Phil didn’t tease him again, just went down on him properly, starting slow then quickly building things up until the head of Clint’s cock was nudging the back of Phil’s throat. Phil had always taken him down easily before and Clint wondered if the hesitation meant that Phil hadn’t had a lot of practice in the last four years.

Then Clint felt like an asshole for being pleased with that idea and tried to block it out of his mind.

Blocking things out of his mind turned out not to be hard at all when he had Phil determinedly going down on him. Clint couldn’t stop touching, grasping at Phil’s shoulders and collar and twisting his left hand in Phil’s lanyard, while his bare legs twitched against Phil’s sides.

Phil sat back, replacing his mouth with his hand over the head of Clint’s cock, rolling his palm across it and squeezing until Clint wanted to cry from how good it felt. “You can come on me,” Phil said. “If you want.”

Clint was briefly completely blindsided by the image of Phil, perfectly pressed in his uniform but dripping with Clint’s come. Then he shook his head. “I’ll get you dirty.”

Phil frowned, hand slowing on Clint’s dick. “I thought you wanted to get me dirty.”

Clint whined and put his hand over Phil’s squeezing it in case he’d forgotten how. “No, nope,” he said, shaking his head. He didn’t know how to explain what it meant to him to have Phil, who was perfect and beautiful and good, here with him and that he’d never want to fuck that up.

“Okay.” Phil didn’t look as though he understood, which was weird, Phil always understood. But then he smiled. “I guess you’ll just have to come in my mouth, then.”

Clint groaned and almost dick-slapped himself in his rush to get his hand away and his cock back in Phil’s mouth.

After that, it didn’t take more than a couple of minutes until he was coming on Phil’s tongue. And Phil took it all, just like he’d said.

“Fuck that was awesome,” Clint laughed, flopping back onto the bed. This hotel was so upmarket that the comforter didn’t even have the weird, oily feel of most hotel beds, and Clint sunk into it gratefully. He made to grab Phil’s shoulders, missed, and pouted. “C’mon up here, c’mon.”

Phil paused to kick off his shoes, because he was anal like that, then followed Clint onto the bed. He brought a hand up to the first big, gold button holding his coat closed then stopped. “Do you want me to leave this on?”

“Yeah?” Clint asked, smiling. “You okay with that?”

“I told you I was,” Phil said and kissed him. Clint wasn’t totally back up to speed yet so it turned lazy and slow almost immediately. Phil was holding himself taut above Clint, hips making tiny circles even though he wasn’t getting any friction. He groaned straight into Clint’s mouth when Clint got enough energy back to reach down and touch his ass.

“Pretty sure you just gave me a fantasy I didn’t even know I had,” Clint said carefully, tracing the curve of Phil’s ass with his fingertips. “What do you want?”

“Anything,” Phil said, eyes falling shut.

Clint rolled his eyes even though Phil couldn’t see him. “That’s not a real answer, dude.”

But Phil was already shaking his head. “I want anything,” he repeated, “I’m just enjoying being with you.”

That was really just way too much for Clint to deal with post-orgasm. Or any time. “Want to fuck me?” he asked, since Phil had always used to want that.

“Desperately,” Phil said, dropping his head down until it was pressed against Clint’s shoulder.

Clint turned his head, kissing the side of Phil’s face and bringing his arms up to hold onto him, running his hands under Phil’s coat and along his back.

“Actually,” he said into Phil’s ear. “Can I change my mind?”

That got Phil pulling back. “Of course,” he said immediately. “Do you not want me to - ?”

“Still totally want your dick in me,” Clint promised. He tugged at the hem of Phil’s coat. “But can you take this off? I miss your skin.”

He wanted to smack himself as soon as he’d said that. He shouldn’t miss Phil’s skin, he hadn’t had Phil’s skin for years. He should have said that he wanted it. That would have been way less pathetic and telling.

Phil sat up, but stopped before undressing himself. “Why don’t you do it?” he asked.

So Clint did. The buttons were stiff and it took a minute to work each one through its hole. He took it slow, letting his hands smooth over Phil’s chest, warm through his shirt, before starting on his tie. He felt oddly formal at being allowed to touch Phil like this, even though he was half dressed, with his dick still hanging out.

“I had no idea the uniform would do this to you,” Phil said quietly, like he could feel the weird mood settling over Clint, too.

“I like a guy in uniform,” Clint said automatically, but it came out soft, not flirty like it was supposed to. He stopped, fingers on the knot of Phil’s tie. “I like you,” he added, barely loud enough to be heard.

“Clint,” Phil whispered but Clint shook his head.

“I’m gonna use this, okay?” he asked, pulling off Phil’s black tie and looping it around one hand. “Trust me with it?”

“Of course,” Phil said, though not instantly because he was still staring at Clint like he wanted to read his mind.

Clint was really, really glad that Phil couldn’t read his mind. That would be humiliating.

Phil’s coat slid satisfyingly down his shoulders and Clint followed it up with his shirt, pushing it down too so they bunched around his wrists. Probably, Clint should have let Phil do the next bit, but he wanted to do it. He picked up Phil’s hands, one by one and undid the cuffs, trying – failing – to ignore the way Phil’s fingers curled around his as he did so.

When Phil was naked to the waist, he smiled at Clint, this little up-curl of the right side of his mouth but didn’t say anything.

“Wait one sec,” Clint said, standing up and shaking out Phil’s uniform, hanging it over the back of the black leather desk chair in the corner. He kept the tie in his hand, holding onto it while he took the opportunity to get himself all the way naked at last.

“Clint,” Phil said. He hadn’t moved from the bed but his eyes were tracking every move Clint made. It made Clint think he should have stripped with less hopping around, maybe taken off his socks first.

“I told you to wait, soldier,” Clint said. He couldn’t keep it up and ducked his head, laughing when Phil glared at him.

“I’m an officer, Clint, that’s not how that works.”

Clint flicked the end of Phil’s tie at him then snatched it back before Phil could grab it. “You couldn’t just work with my fantasy there?”

Phil caught Clint by the hip, curling his hand around the dip of his waist and sunk his fingernails in slightly. “That’s not your fantasy.”

Clint shivered. “It, it might be.”

Phil did one of his lightning fast ninja moves and Clint found himself on his back on the bed, staring up at Phil and feeling his cock start to fill again.

“It’s not,” Phil said, leaning over him, tone supremely confident.

“Phil,” Clint breathed, half complaining, half really not. “No, I had a plan.” He shook Phil’s tie free from his hand and wrapped it loosely around Phil’s wrist.

Phil looked down at it, something thoughtful and assessing on his face. “Would you like that?” he asked at last.

Clint nodded. “Don’t want you going anywhere,” he said which was way, way too close to the truth, but also sounded like a line, thank god.

“Okay,” Phil said at last and rolled off Clint, lying down on his back. Clint took five seconds to get his breathing back under control then sat up, dropping his hands to Phil’s fly. The blue material hung loosely but didn’t do a lot to disguise Phil’s hard-on.

Clint was careful not to touch Phil’s cock as he pulled his pants down then very carefully peeled his briefs up and off.

Phil’s cock was rock hard and leaking, so flushed it was practically purple.

“If I touch you, you gonna go off?” Clint asked.

Phil snorted. “I have some stamina,” he said, but then he hissed through his teeth at the first press of Clint’s thumb below his cockhead. “Or maybe it might be safer to wait.”

Clint smirked. “Why, Agent Coulson, am I getting you all hot and bothered?”

Phil practically growled at him. “Do you want to tie me up, Barton, or can I just fuck you right here?”

“Shit.” Clint closed his eyes. “Maybe I’m the one who’s gonna go off.” He breathed hard, pushing back against the desire that had smacked into him at hearing Phil say those words in that tone.

He took hold of Phil’s hands quickly, guiding them up onto the pillow above Phil’s head and wrapping Phil’s tie around them. There were no slats in the headboard, but there was a mounted lamp just above, so Clint improvised. He didn’t try to tie Phil tight; it was more a tease than anything serious; he just wanted to be able to pretend for a minute that he was never going to have to let Phil go again.

“Okay?” Phil asked, when Clint was done. He’d been watching Clint the whole time, eyes bright and curious.

“Yeah.” Clint couldn’t stop looking at Phil’s bound wrists. Or his bare chest. Or his naked thighs and leaking cock. Essentially, Clint couldn’t look away from Phil’s anything and it was all kinds of overwhelming.

Then he had a terrible thought. “I don’t have lube. Or, shit, or condoms. Do you? Tell me you do.”

“I have a condom,” Phil said. “It’s in my wallet, it should still be in date. Lube though…”

Clint sprung up from the bed. “I’ll check the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Funny,” Phil said. Before Clint made it to the bathroom he said, softly, “Don’t be long.”

Clint turned in the doorway and blew a kiss at him, laughing when Phil’s bound right hand flipped him off.

The bathroom was one of the dark, slinky, mirrored ones that always made Clint kind of uncomfortable, worried he was going to accidentally shatter the whole thing. Tonight though, he didn’t stop to think about that, just starting turning out the drawers and the little box of toiletries that the hotel had left for its actual guests.

There were flimsy little bars of soap, which no way was he putting anywhere near his ass and shampoo, but that just sounded painful. He spent a minute deliberating over the little bottle of conditioner then realised what he thought was another shampoo was actually body lotion and grabbed that up instead.

“Hey, Phil,” he shouted, “you mind if my ass smells of vanilla flower and shea butter?”

There was a pause then, “Barton, I don’t care if it smells of garden roses, just hurry.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Clint called back then stuck his foot up on the side of the bathtub.

He had two fingers up his ass, fucking himself slowly and biting his lip at how good it felt when Phil suddenly called, “Wait, is that oil based?”

Clint paused. He turned the bottle over and winced. “Um, yeah.” He pulled his fingers free and leaned around the doorframe. “Oops?”

“Clint,” Phil sighed. “What about the condom.”

“I…” Clint knew what he wanted to suggest, but he couldn’t actually say it. “Fuck, I really want you inside me.”

Phil turned his head and looked at Clint steadily. “I haven’t had sex since my last SHIELD medical. Although, if you’re not comfortable - ”

“I trust you,” Clint said quickly. “And, um, me neither. Not since the one before that, either.” He laughed self-deprecatingly and didn’t think about how Phil had had his cellist around for months.

“Come here,” Phil said and then, when Clint didn’t move immediately, he twitched his arms, barely staying tied up. “Clint.”

“Right here,” Clint said and climbed onto the bed then onto Phil, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” Phil said easily, making Clint heart turn over. Then he smiled. “You and your vanilla-scented ass.”

“Wow, way to ruin the mood,” Clint said, hiding his smile in Phil’s throat.

He reached down between his legs, taking hold of Phil’s cock. It was hot and solid in Clint’s hand, sticky with leaking pre-come.

“Sorry,” Phil said, like he thought Clint might actually withhold sex as punishment.

“Yeah, you should be,” Clint said, losing track of what he was saying. He rolled up onto his knees and held Phil steady, sinking down onto him slowly. Body lotion wasn’t the best lube ever and the stretch burned, making Clint bite his lip and moan in his throat until Phil was all the way inside.

“Okay?” Phil asked, one knee coming up to brace Clint’s back, warm and slightly hairy against Clint’s prickling skin. Clint leaned back against it and Phil lifted the other too, giving Clint something to lean against.

“Good.” Clint closed his eyes and focused on breathing, on not folding up into a helpless ball over how good this felt.

He reached down between his legs again, tracing the stretch of his skin and the heat of Phil’s.

“Checking everything’s where you want it to be?” Phil asked, sounding half-way between teasing and turned on.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. He could say that everything was exactly where he wanted it to be, but that was cheesy and this wasn’t a date. This was just sex. He forced himself to move on, sliding forward so Phil’s cock moved inside him, and his palms slid over Phil’s belly and chest and around his biceps, following a path up his arms to the loops of his tie around his wrists.

“You know this isn’t my kink?” Phil asked, fingers curling around the edges of his tie and tugging on it. “Not to say it isn’t interesting, but if you’re expecting submission?”

“I know.” Clint leaned forward, kissing Phil slowly, lots of tongue until Phil relaxed into the bed. “Just lie back and let me do this, yeah? I want to do something for you.”

Phil’s tongue flicked against his lips. “You do,” he said then cleared his throat. “I meant, you are.”

“Yeah,” Clint said softly. He planted his hands on Phil’s chest, one on his right pec, the other on his sternum carefully avoiding the scars on the left side.

“Clint,” Phil said. “I can’t feel it, it’s okay.”

Clint shook his head. For once, he wasn’t torturing himself over his part in what Loki did. “Right. But you can’t feel it.” He tweaked Phil’s right nipple, earning a gasp, then his left, which got much less of a reaction.

Phil smiled, nodding. “Okay. I’ll stop interfering.”

“Thank you,” Clint said primly, then ruined it by scratching his fingernails along Phil’s unscarred patches of skin.

Phil hissed through his teeth, arching his back, which Clint was pretty sure was a sign that he wanted more. So Clint gave him more. He braced his weight on his knees and toes and started to fuck himself slowly, thigh muscles flexing, while he did his best to touch every place on Phil’s upper body that made him moan.

There were a lot of them. Clint had known about most of them from before, but Phil had a brand new erogenous zone in the dip between his collarbones that Clint spent a lot of time on.

Phil had started off making appreciative noises at every touch, egging Clint on, but after a while, he was reduced to half-broken gasps and moans and the slow, steady roll of his hips, rising up to fuck deep into Clint every time Clint sank down on him.

It felt amazing. If Clint could have picked any moment to last forever, he would have wanted it to be this one. He could feel his orgasm building, but he ignored it. He’d come once, he could put off coming again; he just wanted to stay here forever, in this place where he got to touch Phil.

Phil’s body was tensing under Clint’s and Clint wanted to tell him no, he couldn’t come yet, but Phil had been waiting a lot longer than Clint had. So he curled forward and kissed him instead, gasping when Phil bit Clint’s bottom lip hard as he came.

Clint didn’t, couldn’t wait for Phil to come down, just shoved his hand between them and fisted his dick, jerking himself awkwardly, fucking through his own fist until his orgasm tore through him, leaving black lights behind his eyes and no feeling in his toes.

When he could work out how to move again, he shifted so Phil slipped out of him and stretched out his legs, tangling them with Phil’s, before flopping again, all his energy used up.

“That was good,” Phil said sleepily, turning his head and rubbing his lips against Clint’s temple. Clint took that as a sign that he could stay here for a while, so he flung an arm across Phil’s chest and pressed his face into the place just above Phil’s armpit.

“I missed you,” Clint heard himself say and couldn’t quite make himself regret it.

“God.” Phil pressed a kiss into Clint’s hair. “I’m going to ruin your game now, sorry,” he said and suddenly his arms were free and wrapped around Clint’s back, stroking his spine, the tails of his tie trailing from one wrist and brushing Clint’s skin.

Clint was still trembling from aftershocks and maybe, kind of, something else too. He kept his face hidden in Phil’s shoulder, fingers gripping Phil’s sides too hard but totally unable to let go. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have said – ”

“Don’t,” Phil said fiercely. “Just – ” He hesitated this time, then came back stronger. “Just tell me again that you miss me.”

Clint forced himself to pull back just far enough to look Phil in the eye. “I miss you,” he repeated. He laughed shakily. “But no pressure or anything.”

Phil’s expression went soft. “I thought you just wanted a fuck because you liked my uniform.”

“That too,” Clint said, but he was already shaking his head. “No. I’d fuck you if you were wearing a trash bag.” He tipped his head. “You ever tried wearing a trash bag?”

Phil ignored him. He slid his one hand down to Clint’s hip, curling there in a move that Clint finally let himself think of as possessive. “I’ve been waiting for an appropriate moment to ask you out,” he admitted.

Clint froze. “You have?” he asked carefully, sure this was a trap. “You remember that we tried that once, right? And we failed miserably.”

“I remember that we tried it,” Phil agreed. “And I remember being very happy for nine months before you decided it wasn’t working.”

“That’s.” Clint shook his head. He wanted to lie back down and maybe nap and pretend they weren’t having this conversation. “It wasn’t all sudden-like, like you just made it sound.”

Phil squeezed his hip. “It was to me.”

Clint swallowed hard. “I had reasons. I told you my reasons.” He couldn’t remember what he’d told Phil now, had barely been able to hear himself over the voices in his head calling him an idiot for ending the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“You did.” Phil kept touching him and looking at him with those serious blue eyes. “And I respected your reasons for four years, but then when I was in hospital, you were always there and you looked so scared for me that I started to wonder how you could care that much while saying you didn’t care at all.”

Clint just kept shaking his head.

Phil kept going. He didn’t sound mad or accusing or anything; he was using that voice that he used to use all the time when Clint was a rookie, talking Clint through his reasoning over something and waiting for Clint to jump in with a suggestion. “I spoke to Natasha about it and she told me not to give up so easily again.”

“I hate her,” Clint muttered, even though he really, really didn’t.

Phil didn’t say anything, which meant he’d said his piece, which meant it was Clint’s turn. Clint didn’t know what to say. He put his head back down on Phil’s shoulder and played with Phil’s greying chest hair, the little patches that were growing back in around the surgery scars.

“People started to say that the only reason you were getting promoted so fast was because you were my handler,” Clint said, all in a rush. It was four years ago; it felt kind of like he’d been shaking a bottle of soda that whole time and now it needed to explode.

“Which was true,” Phil said quietly.

“Which was not true,” Clint continued, not missing a beat. “And then they said that the only reason you were my handler was because we were fucking. So we had to… we had to stop fucking or no one was going to respect you anymore.”

Clint made himself look Phil in the eye when he was done. Phil was frowning, eyebrows drawn together.

“Barton,” he said eventually, “you have got to become less self-sacrificing.”

That wasn’t what Clint had expected him to say at all. He blinked a bit and settled on a, “What?” to convey his confusion.

Phil shook his head. He rolled over and kissed Clint hard. “Thank you,” he said, “but never do that again.”

Clint shook his head. He was hoping for another kiss and he got one. “I, um. I wouldn’t need to do it again. You’re not my handler anymore and, like, I think I’ve been with SHIELD long enough now that I can just shoot assholes who talk shit about you and Fury would probably keep me on?”

“Definitely,” Phil agreed, mock-seriously. Then he turned proper serious. “So if I ask you out?”

Clint was pretty sure he was dreaming. Or drunk. Maybe he was drunk and dreaming in the corner downstairs at Stark and Pepper’s reception. Still, he was still Clint Barton so he wasn’t going to make this easy. “Ask me, then.”

He expected an eyeroll, maybe a smack upside the head. What he got was Phil twisting around so he was lying on his side, and looking at Clint earnestly across a foot of pillow space.

“Clint,” he said, “will you have dinner with me?” Clint opened his mouth to respond but Phil kept going. “And then let me take you back to your ludicrously huge room at Stark Tower and teach you how to properly tie someone to a headboard. Those knots were a disgrace.”

Clint snorted. He turned his face into the pillow and laughed helplessly. “You asshole,” he said, reaching out and twisting his fingers through Phil’s. “One, I wasn’t trying to tie you up properly. I like that tie, I didn’t want to ruin it. And two, yes. Obviously, yes, to the dinner thing.”

“And dinner the night after that?” Phil pressed.

“Yeah,” Clint agreed, suddenly not finding the world so funny any more. Or maybe finding it absolutely hilarious but not having the breath to laugh. “And the one after, if you want.”

“I want,” Phil said and squeezed Clint’s hand.

Clint ended up kind of beaming at him across the bed and forgot to say anything back. He was sore and tired and comfortable and suddenly so happy that it didn’t feel real.

“You think it’d be pushing it if we slept here?” he asked.

“I think we should definitely sleep here,” Phil said. “And we should check out in the morning like proper guests and tell them that Mr Stark said it was fine to put our room on his tab.”

Clint grinned. He could perfectly imagine Phil’s bland Agent Coulson impression saying exactly that and getting away with it.

“Sounds great,” he said, voice kind of cracked.

Phil leaned down and snagged the end of the comforter, shaking out from the mess they’d made of it. He laid it over Clint then tucked himself along Clint’s side, his head on Clint’s shoulder this time.

“Good night,” he said quietly. “Tell me in the morning where you want to go for dinner.”

Clint reached up over their heads and turned off the soft light then let himself grin, ridiculously smug and happy in the dark.

“Will do, sir,” he promised even though he already knew exactly where he wanted to go. He’d missed Phil’s apartment a lot, the way it had always felt like home.

“You’re plotting something,” Phil murmured, turning his face and yawning into Clint’s chest at the end of the sentence.

Clint put his arm around Phil’s back and played with the ends of his hair. “Nothing bad,” he said. “Go to sleep. You have to walk out of here in your Dress Blues tomorrow, you can’t have fucked-out dark circles under your eyes.”

“Actually,” Phil said. “I was thinking you could wear it. I’ll wear your suit.”

Clint coughed, bowled over imaging how fucking hot it would feel to wear Phil’s uniform, especially when he knew all the things Phil had been doing in it tonight, especially his tie. “Seriously?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Phil said. “Then it’ll be my turn to peel you out of it.”

Clint’s cock had been busy tonight but it still managed a twitch. “Shit,” he breathed, “is it tomorrow yet?”

Phil stroked his hip again; it was like his hand was magnetised to right there. “Go to sleep and it will be.”

Clint laughed. “I’m not a kid at Christmas,” he grumbled, but he did close his eyes. The room was dark and warm and Phil was warmer, his breath already starting to even out. Clint could feel himself sinking down fast. “Hey, so Stark’s wedding was the best ever, right?”

Phil’s voice was barely more than a mumble. “Don’t tell him that,” he said. “But yes.”

“I won’t,” Clint whispered back and he fell asleep still smiling.