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Chapter Text

Phil has seen plenty of pictures of Barton, of varying degrees of quality; it takes him about five minutes to realize that they haven't really done him justice.

Granted, the fact that Phil spends those five minutes watching Barton exercise influences his opinion somewhat.

Phil's been looking all over the damn building for him, and here he finally is; Phil has caught him in either his warmup or cooldown, because Barton's on the floor, stretching. Phil's obviously intimately familiar with his capabilities, the way he can move in a fight, but this is different, movement for movement's sake, a purer expression of his skill. Barton's clearly used to this routine, the exercises flowing from one to the next without a thought.

And goddamn, those are some exercises. It's not like Phil's never seen anybody stretch before, but they haven't done it quite like this. Phil really doesn't know how much of it is because of the positions Barton is putting himself into- now he's got his legs spread wide and his hands on his ankles, Phil feels like he really shouldn't be watching this- and how much of it is because it's Barton putting himself into those positions- oh god he can do a split, Phil thought the ankle grabbing was bad enough, he needs to get the fuck out of here before he has to walk through HQ hiding a boner- but either way, it's pretty spectacular.

Barton ends bent backwards with his hands on his heels, his torso thrust out into a bridge, and Phil finds it completely impossible to stop looking at him, just caught up in the lines of his body, the way the sweat shines on him.

Phil wants to lick every drop of it off.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

It takes Phil a moment to register that Barton's even said anything; Phil snaps out of it, but not in time to prevent Barton from giving him a murderous glare. "I just," Phil says, fumbling with the folder in his hand. "Um, I came to-"

"Came to what?" Barton says, gracefully getting to his feet. "Watch the Amazing Hawkeye put on a show?"

Phil shakes his head. "It's not at all like that, I-"

"Is it too much to ask for thirty fucking minutes of privacy?" Barton demands, walking towards him. He looks like he's just about ready to throw a punch, and it is already abundantly clear to Phil that he's just stepped on a landmine.

"Well, if you want privacy, you're in the wrong place, but-" Phil says, but Barton doesn't stop; not in the mood for levity, apparently.

"Can I at least fucking stretch without somebody coming in here to gape at the dumb carnie and his stupid human tricks?" Barton spits.

"What?" Phil says in confusion. "I don't even-"

"C'mon, say it," Barton says, and now he's in Phil's space. "Tell me. You came to watch the circus freak in action. Just admit it and we can move the hell on."

Phil pinches the bridge of his nose; it has not taken long for this to go completely to shit. "If I tell you what I was actually thinking, can we resolve this?"

"You can try," Barton says, crossing his arms.

"I am telling you this because I'd rather you think I was disgusting and turn on me, than think I didn't respect your skills and turn on SHIELD," Phil prefaces. He takes a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh. "But I was actually thinking that you must be an amazing fuck."

Barton says nothing for a moment.

"That was very straightforward," he says finally.

"I'm not known to beat around the bush," Phil says, shrugging.

"Clint Barton," he says, putting out his hand.

"Phil Coulson," Phil replies, shaking it.

Barton frowns. "The handler guy?"

"Yes," Phil says, trying not to wince. "Though under the circumstances, if you wanted to request a new handler-"

"What is this place like for frat regs?" Barton asks.

"We don't have any," Phil replies, very much hoping that means what it sounds like.

Barton looks him up and down. "Then I guess I'm your asset."

"Who's been bothering you?" Phil asks. "Because I can fix that."

Barton's face goes dark. "Don't worry about it."

"Director Fury doesn't tolerate 'keep your head down and your mouth shut' as a form of conflict resolution, and neither do I," Phil tells him. "I understand the impulse, believe me, but if someone gets to you and gets away with it, that reflects poorly on me. I will not lose face because some punk-ass junior agent feels like starting shit with you."

"I think I like you," Barton says, looking at him speculatively.

"I would hope so," Phil says, and Barton smirks at him. "You finished?" Barton nods. "Hit the shower, we have some things to go over."

"You comin' with?" Barton says suggestively, but he shrugs at Phil's look. "Just seeing what you would do."

"I'll do a lot of things, but not in the gym shower," Phil assures him.

"Fair enough," Barton says. "Back in a few."

Phil watches him go, and it's entirely possible that Barton has a little more swagger in his step than is strictly necessary.

Well. That was something.

Probably a good something, but Phil is honestly not sure. All he knows right now is that working with Barton is going to be extremely interesting.

Chapter Text

Tony crept quietly down the hall, checking rooms carefully. He tried to be as silent as possible; in the lab, there was a recording playing of him talking loudly, but he didn't know how much longer that ruse would hold. He hadn't heard the elevator, but it wasn't rocket science to disable the chimes, and the elevator itself was whisper quiet.

He weighed the paddle in his hand, testing out his grip, making sure he had it ready to strike. He had to make the first hit, or he was done for. Pepper wasn't getting it so easily this time.

If you owned a multi-billion-dollar high rise, what better use could you have for it than running around trying to smack your significant other on the ass?

Tony should have been paying more attention as he rounded the corner into the main room. Little did he know that there was a trap waiting for him; Pepper had cleverly left an ottoman in just the right position, and like Dick Van Dyke before him, he went head first over it. The one was- fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your take- too high and wide to roll straight over, and Tony just ended up on his stomach.

Almost as soon as he'd fallen, Pepper was straddling him, facing away. "Ha," she said, satisfied.

"Damn," Tony said, though he didn't actually feel bad at all. "Guess I lose."

"You want to lose," Pepper teased, running her hands over his ass.

"Well, yeah," Tony said, "but I like the thrill of the chase."

Tony jumped when she smacked him, not quite hard enough to make it hurt. "I know all about your thrills," Pepper said.

"You most certainly do," Tony said, groaning as she hit him harder. She knew how hard he could take it- very hard- and for how long- very long- and she wasn't gonna let up. This was still nothing but warmup; she didn't even have his pants off yet, but when she did-

Pepper suddenly stopped, the paddle landing with a thud next to him on the ottoman.

"I notice you're not spanking me," Tony said, both wary and annoyed.

"Is this a bad time?" someone said.

It was kind of hard to look over your shoulder with a full grown woman on top of you, but Tony managed.

Tony regretted it pretty much instantly.

The someone in question was, of course, Steve Rogers, because really, who the hell else would it be? It would have been nice if Steve had been alone, because then Tony could probably have embarrassed him into never speaking of it again. But no, he had a full contingent: Clint and Sam standing behind him, wearing worryingly similar grins; Natasha, looking faintly bored; and Phil, whose eyebrows were going to join his hair if they raised any farther.

"Jarvis," Tony snapped, "What the fu-"

"Sir, the time is three o'clock," Jarvis said, interrupting him. "You have an appointment scheduled to begin now."

Tony put his face back against the ottoman. "Oh my god, J, you're such a fucking troll."

"I am as you programmed me, sir," Jarvis replied.

Tony sighed. "Like I said."

"We can, um, we can come back," Steve said. "If we're interrupting-"

Pepper finally got it together enough to dismount, and Tony pushed himself up. "I think we can all agree that the damage is done here," Tony said. "If everybody could just move it to the conference rooms, we'll deal with whatever we're supposed to be dealing with there." When there wasn't immediate movement, he waved at them. "Shoo."

They filed back into the elevator, in various states of amusement and shock; when the door finally closed behind them, Tony rubbed his forehead.

"Well, that was mortifying," Pepper said.

"Scale of one to ten," Tony said, "that was only like a five in terms of the most mortifying it could be."

"I think that's a little low," Pepper said.

"Hey, you were topping," Tony told her. "I'm the one who should be embarrassed."

"Are you?" Pepper asked.

"Not as much as I probably should be," Tony said. He leaned over and kissed her. "Though I'm not sure why I should be all that embarrassed about having beautiful women I love on top of me."

Pepper sighed. "Someday the whole telling me you love me ploy is going to stop working."

"Not today, though," Tony said. "And even if it does, I'm not going to stop trying it. Also, not a ploy if it's true."

"You can use something that's true as a ploy," Pepper countered.

"Then prepare to be ployed," Tony said. She rolled her eyes fondly, and he pecked her cheek. "Gotta go. Superheroing to do."

He jumped when she grabbed his ass. "Don't stay gone too long."

"I can be back in five minutes tops," Tony told her.

"Get to work, Tony," she said.

"Sir, yes, sir," Tony said, tossing of a little salute on his way to the elevator. He actually was mortified, to the extent to which he could be mortified, and he really didn't know what to do to mitigate this situation.

Oh right. He was Tony Stark. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

Chapter Text

Bookshelves were complicated.

Steve didn't think the prospect of putting together shelves was such a terrifying thing. It was a couple of nails and some plywood; it even came with its own hardware. But about ten minutes in, Steve realized that, between the nonsensical directions and the bizarre system of screws and locks, he'd have been far better off with a hammer and some nails.

He stared quizzically between the instructions and the board in front of him, trying to figure out how any of this was supposed to work. So far, it was a losing battle.

"Are you still doing this?" Bucky asked from behind him. "It's been an hour and a half."

"I'm working on it," Steve said, not looking at him. He peered at the piece of weird metal he was supposed to tackle next. At least he knew he had the wrong tools in front of him. That was a start.

"Uh huh," Bucky said, sounding skeptical.

Steve reached blindly behind him, feeling around for the right screwdriver. "Hey, Buck, give me a hand," he said, finding Bucky's pant leg instead. "Pass me the Phillips head that's back there, would ya?"

There was movement behind him, but he wasn't paying attention, trying to figure out how the hell this thing went together without breaking in half. "Here," Bucky said, and the end of the screwdriver came into his peripheral vision.

"Thanks," Steve said, taking it. The screwdriver felt heavier than it should, and Steve frowned, turning to look at it.

He'd have liked to be able to say he didn't yelp and drop the screwdriver like it was on fire, jumping away from it. Unfortunately, Steve still wasn't a very good liar.

Steve wasn't prone to being scared by screwdrivers, but screwdrivers usually didn't have metal hands still clutching them when Steve received them. "Shit," he said, looking down at it in shock. "Shit, what happened? What do I-"

He whirled around to face Bucky, and Bucky lasted about ten seconds before he cracked up, laughing like he'd pulled the prank of the year- which he really might have. Steve was a little annoyed, but something twinged in his chest. Back when- back before, Bucky would have found something like this ridiculously funny, doing something stupid and getting one over on Steve.

He didn't know if he'd heard Bucky laugh since then.

"Asshole," Steve said, smiling.

"C'mon," Bucky said. "Gimme my hand back."

"For that, I oughta keep it," Steve said, though he picked it up, trying futilely to get the screwdriver out before giving the whole thing back to Bucky.

Bucky slotted it back into his wrist, pushing it in hard and tightening something on it with the screwdriver. "I don't wanna know what you'd get up to with my hand," he said, passing the screwdriver back.

"Don't worry," Steve said, leaning forward and going back to his abandoned bookshelf. "I'll have it back before midnight." Bucky snorted. Steve sighed. "Okay, I give. Do you have any idea how this works?"

Bucky sat down next to him. He stared at the directions for a moment. "Nope," he said finally.

"Well, we'll get through it somehow," Steve said. "Hold this for me?" Bucky started to speak, so Steve cut him off. "With your whole arm. While it's attached to your body."

"You have no sense of humor," Bucky said, holding the board in place.

"Yeah, yeah," Steve said, delicately twisting a screw into somewhere that it didn't seem like it needed to go. "I also have no bookshelves."

"Guess that's easier to fix," Bucky said. "But we'll work on it."

Chapter Text

"I think you missed your calling," Pepper said, relaxing into the table.

"I'm offended," Tony said. He pressed his fingers in deeper, working on the knot near her shoulder, and she groaned in satisfaction. "Really, I am. Pleasing beautiful women is my life's work." He kissed her back, between her shoulderblades. "My true vocation." He kissed her again, moving down her spine. "My greatest passion." Another kiss, close to the edge of the sheet that was draped over her hips and legs. "I'm insulted that you don't appreciate this fact."

"I actually meant massage therapy," she said, amused. "Believe me, I appreciate it."

"You could appreciate it better if you turned over," he offered.

"You're not done," she said. She lifted herself up on her elbows, looking at him over her shoulder. "Or do you not want to please me?"

"You're tricky," he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

"You like it," she said, laying back down.

"Yep," he told her, reaching for more oil. "Who wouldn't?"