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Phil couldn’t bring himself to visit a dance club. An intensely themed nightclub was out, too. He wanted something that didn’t pretend and brag at member exclusivity, and he didn’t want an ever-present wall of bass music. Fortunately, New York was the right city for anyone’s nightlife tastes. Phil could find a classy bar that didn’t balk at much. He could enjoy a drink that wasn’t neon and he might as easily go home with a woman as with a man. No one to judge.
He left his suit on. It cautioned away types he wasn’t in the mood for tonight. If he had someone, a type in mind, he could wait out the evening quietly. Let them come to him.
The music was closer to adult contemporary than to dubstep. Phil was grateful. The bouncer looked professional, not looming. Phil worked out a minimum of three ways he could incapacitate the man with items less than an arm’s reach away. He hoped he wouldn’t need to.
Phil sat with his drink, projecting his usual calm confidence. The bar surface itself was a rich dark red, possibly real mahogany. Idly Phil’s eyes followed the grain of wood, making half-formed patterns in his mind as he sipped from his tumbler. A tiny scratch caught the subdued light near Phil’s left wrist. The bartender watched unobtrusively in the best manner of the highest of his profession.
The club atmosphere changed with a new patron entering. Air shifted without words or even much movement, but someone outstanding had arrived. Phil didn’t look, like he knew several others did. Clearly the patron was exceptionally attractive, judging by the vibes around Phil. He didn’t need to check yet. He would enjoy his drink, then check for the new eye candy. He was here for people to come to him, not to scout for partners.
Phil was aware when a certain gaze fell on him. Rather than the back of his neck prickling with warning, his skin warmed. Someone had spotted him. The same someone who’d just arrived? He let his instincts relax him into pleasant anticipation. No fight or flight necessary. With his back to the main club, Phil could pretend, and wait for the other.
He didn’t turn when the man slid up to the bar to order his own drink. Phil assessed the man in his peripheral vision before actually looking. When he did look...
How was a plain black tank top that unbelievably sexy? Oh, just that it displayed things to perfection.
Dear god. Perfect. How were arms like that possible? Not just the biceps, which hello, yes please, but the forearms. Veins. Musculature. When Phil could pull his eyes away, the rest of it was just as spectacular. A working man’s build, from shoulders down to trim waist and proportioned thighs. Fuck. Phil couldn’t see well from this angle, but there had to be a spectacular ass to go with all that. Suddenly Phil wondered if he should keep up his intended facade. To be held down by those arms...
“You’re looking for the wrong thing here.”
Phil had not expected that opener. He was thrown for a moment, struggling to pull together his legendary Coulson confidence. He looked the other man in the face (which was also hot, yes, thank you), bland expression in place. “You’re the one to determine that for me?”
The responding slow, lazy smile was hell on Phil’s libido. “That’s kind of my job,” the man said. He angled in, skirting Phil’s personal space. “You’re not looking for a sub,” he added.
“Do tell me what I am looking for, then.”
“You’re looking to be a sub.”
The words, spoken with such confidence, sent a bolt of want down Phil’s spine. The timbre of voice promised to be whatever Phil was looking for, to be what he didn’t know he wanted. Phil’s bland facade was apparently nothing to this man.
The man continued, “I can spot them. The people who think they need to Dom, who try to project that kind of air. They could be perfectly happy that way, but it wouldn’t feel nearly as good...”
“Nearly as good, what?” Phil interrupted. Playing indignant. “To bend over for some guy who feeds him a line about what he really wants?”
Instead of anger, the man laughed. It was wickedly sensual, in the low light of the club. “Oh dear,” he said, “you really aren’t as familiar with this as you’re trying to look. There’s a lot of enjoyment in being a dominant bottom.”
Phil arched an eyebrow. “That’s what you are, I assume.”
“Could be.” The man settled closer, leaning an incredible forearm on the expensive-looking wood surface beside Phil. “Just some advice. If you want the best out of a hookup around here, you should research some more. Maybe reflect on yourself.”
Phil swallowed a snort. “I’ve reflected enough to know I’m not that stereotypical businessman who needs to give up control after work.”
“That’s a good start. But there are many kinds. I hope you didn’t just spend an afternoon typing words into Google. That won’t teach you anything.”
The image that comment prompted in Phil’s mind kept him silent for a moment. He supposed, if going only from his outward appearance, that he could be that closeted businessman cliche, guiltily typing phrases into search engines, wondering if the IT department would catch the pattern. It thrilled him just a little, that he could in truth be the type, given slightly different circumstances.
He resumed his sarcasm. “Since you’ve read the situation oh so well,” Phil said, “why not tell me what I need to learn?”
That laugh was back again, skittering along Phil’s nerve endings. The man fixed gorgeous green-blue eyes on Phil. That gaze practically laid Phil bare. He might have gone with the man for his physique alone, for those fucking fantastic arms, but that look? It pretty much made things a done deal. If this guy wanted Phil, he was going to get Phil. Who could blame him for being easy, in this case?
“I think you’re the type who doesn’t learn when simply told.” Biceps flexed slightly as the man leaned onto the bar. The light turned his eyes to flashing jade-colored flecks. “You need to be shown.”
The struggle to hold the man’s stare was more of a challenge than Phil expected. Those eyes had gone dark. Promising and challenging. Beyond tempting. Clearly he wanted Phil, of all the others in the club. Phil wouldn’t refuse that gift. His fortune was someone else’s loss, and Phil was suddenly not in a charitable mood.
“You’ve decided you’re the one to show me,” Phil said, pitching his own voice low in response to the intensity.
The man shrugged one shoulder. “If you want.”
“I thought it was your job to decide what I want.”
“Wow, you really do not know how this works.” He settled onto the barstool next to Phil, business now instead of flirtatious. “Unless you’re pretending. Do you not know who has the power? The sub may give up control, but the sub calls the limits. Calls the shots. No good Dom offers anything their sub doesn’t want.”
A surprising turn. “You’re passionate about this,” Phil said.
There was no blush, but the man did duck his head. Even that was hot, cute in an incongruous way. “Too many people don’t understand it. Don’t do it properly.”
Phil wondered how this man could see such a need in him. Phil may have come here with at least the surface intent to Dom, but he couldn’t deny the allure of submitting. Maybe he could make that switch. To let this man, this exceptionally hot man with growly voice, unbelievable arms, and unreal eyes, to let him take charge and do things to Phil... He shifted on his seat. It was already doing things to Phil.
“If I need,” Phil said carefully, “what would you offer?”
A change spread over the man’s face. Something not quite dark, but certainly more serious. He looked at Phil for a short, challenging moment. Those eyes made Phil imagine himself begging for favors. Aching for approval.
“Right now,” the man said, “I’d offer you a dance.”
Phil looked blankly at the hand held toward him. A strong hand, with long fingers. Capable of drawing whatever response he wanted from anyone he wanted. A brief jolt of inadequacy traveled through Phil. Why this gorgeous man would want him was both a puzzle and a pleasure.
Phil was a grown man though, and he could accept this offer as he chose. He placed his hand in the man’s palm. “I will take you up on that offer.”
The music was subdued and classy. Phil appreciated the enticement to move closer to his partner, especially since the man took the liberty of intimacy and rested hands on Phil’s hips. It thrilled Phil, that this man knew he would welcome it. Phil’s tattoo, the private one on his right hip, tingled at the singular intimacy. The man’s touch, even over layers of clothing, made Phil unusually aware of his ink. Each letter, “Fide et fortitudinde,” felt nearly tangible.
As long as this man was taking intimacies, Phil could take as well. He placed his hands on those incredible shoulders. The skin contact ramped up the attraction. Another slow and devastating grin was Phil’s reward for taking the liberty of touching this man.
For a while they barely moved, sort of leaning into each other. Phil felt the pressure of unsaid words, of things this man was forming in his head but kept from speaking. Phil waited. He could let those words come in good time; he could wait for whatever this man might offer.
“I don’t know your name,” Phil finally said.
“Call me Clint.”
“Not ‘Sir?’ That’s a bit disappointing.”
Another wicked grin. “I don’t think you’ll be disappointed when you’re too far gone to even form the word ‘sir.’”
That was just unfair. Clint’s smirk said he knew Phil’s sudden struggle not to ruin the front of his slacks. “The first thing I want to offer,” Clint said, smoothly somehow closer without seeming like he’d moved, “is to get you out of that suit.”
“Something wrong with the suit?”
“Nothing wrong. It’s damn hot. Laced-up professional, scouting some bar for what he needs...”
Phil let his eyebrow speak to his own amusement. “What does the laced-up professional need?”
Clint leaned in to speak, breath skimming across the shell of Phil’s ear. “He needs to get stripped of his armor. Needs to get laid bare.”
Heat flooded all of Phil’s cells, flowing from the point of Clint’s breath. He kept from admitting that yes, it could be precisely what he needed, only with help of long years of torture resistance training. Kept from admitting that Clint could read him completely. The effort left Phil shivering. No wonder the air in the club had changed when Clint had entered. His mere charisma was half of his magnificence, not even accounting for his physical beauty.
“Knew it,” Clint purred directly into Phil’s ear.
“What else?” Phil whispered before he could think.
“I’d offer to make you beg.”
Phil bit his tongue against any involuntary sound. He would not whimper this early in the night.
“You were ogling my arms earlier,” Clint said. His tone said he’d had a lot of that in his lifetime. “You know I could hold you down.” Brushing his nose along the fine hairs on Phil’s neck, he added, “I can feel a body under that suit, but I know I could pin you. You want that brute strength? That power focused on you? That’s what I can give you.” His hips pressed into Phil’s as his lips brushed Phil’s neck. “Would you accept that offer?”
“Why?” Phil asked, insecurity rearing ugly beneath desire. The word stabbed through the warmth between them with all of its baggage. “Why me? Laced-up and bland...why?”
“Suits are fucking sexy. The way your eyes dilated when I said you needed to be shown what you want? Fucking sexy. Why question my choice, if it benefits you?”
Because he usually wasn’t someone’s choice. Because this man was fucking sexy, not Phil. He couldn’t tell Clint any of that. He couldn’t explain how his insecurities would lead him to decline a dozen offers in a night.
“Damn,” Clint growled into Phil’s skin. “You really need someone to show you how hot you are.” He leaned back to meet Phil’s eyes. “I’m telling you right now, I did not choose you out of any kind of pity. Do you believe me?”
Phil held the man’s firm gaze, and believed. “Yes,” he said, trusting his instincts.
Clint nodded, serious, just a bit of a quirk to the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know your name,” he said.
“Call me Phil.”
“Not ‘pet?’ That’s disappointing.”
“If you’re not ‘Sir,’ then I’m not ‘pet.’”
The quirk became a lopsided grin. “Touche,” Clint said.
They moved several steps in silence. The song might have changed, but the music was still slow enough that they could remain close. Words and tune didn’t matter; it was the pace that allowed for this public intimacy on the dance floor.
“I think I’ll have to work to get you to beg,” Clint said.
“And what if I don’t cooperate?” Phil wanted to know what Clint would do, and whether Phil should deliberately disobey.
“Mmmm,” Clint hummed as he considered. “I’m not much for spanking, or pain as punishment. I’d have to think up other ways. Would you disobey on purpose?” he teased. “Would you enjoy being bad, so I would need to set you right?”
Phil couldn’t stop his shiver. “You need to stop saying these things, or...”
“Or what? Laced-up, suited professional may come in his pants?” Clint’s hands at Phil’s hips squeezed and drew Phil slightly closer. “What if I forbid it?”
“Do you think orgasm denial would work on me?” Phil asked, grasping mentally for the control he’d lost since setting eyes on this man.
“I think that if I were right about what you need, you’d do whatever it took to please me.”
“That’s pretty damned confident.” Although Phil knew that if anyone was capable, Clint was. The man already had all of Phil’s hormones racing.
Clint didn’t reply immediately. His smirk was back, more devilish than ever, as he ducked his head close to Phil’s neck again. Breath skated, for a second time, warm across Phil’s ear, when Clint murmured, “Should we test how much confidence I’ve earned?”
The tone, the implication, made Phil unconsciously release a gasp. He was close to giving up any pretense he’d arrived with tonight. Clint had to know that. How could he not know how his words traveled right to Phil’s hindbrain, to the center of his lust? Whatever the reason Clint found Phil desirable, Phil would try not to question it any further.
“Thinking it through?” Clint asked. He feathered his lips across the soft skin beneath Phil’s ear. The spot was incredibly sensitive, and Phil almost couldn’t comprehend Clint’s next words, “Maybe thinking about how I could make you beg?”
“Arrogant,” Phil whispered, nearly unable to make the word coherent.
“Pretty sure I should be,” Clint said, “based on your responses.” He slid a hand to the small of Phil’s back and swayed them in a semblance of a waltz.
Phil’s lower back was a serious erogenous zone for him. It might as well be an orgasm trigger. Even through Phil’s suit, Clint’s hand was warm and possessive. The man knew how to touch someone, or at least how to touch Phil. Such strength, contained now for polite society, but promising very different power in private. Phil had a sudden flash of an image: Clint holding Phil face down on a bed, hand firm in the small of Phil’s back, growling obscene promises into Phil’s skin.
“Clint. I...” He wasn’t sure he could stay upright much longer. His composure was shot.
“God, you’re gorgeous all flustered like that. Tell me how much you want it, babe. Ask nicely, and I’ll deliver.”
The scent of Clint suddenly took over Phil’s senses. Masculine, with hints of cinnamon, it eroded the last of Phil’s resistance. He was finished playing. He did need this, Clint’s arrogance be damned. He needed strong hands on his bare skin, that gravelly voice ordering him, those arms holding him down.
“Please,” he managed, his tone saying more than the word ever could.
Clint slid his hand up toward Phil’s shoulder blades. “Yellow?”
Phil shook his head. It felt uncoordinated. “Green. Please...” He didn’t know what he was pleading for, only that Clint could provide it.
“Didn’t expect you to slide under like that,” Clint said. His arms around Phil were the best kind of firm protection. “Didn’t expect any of this.”
Phil managed a chuckle. “There wasn’t a script.”
“There kind of was. It didn’t stick.”
“It never does, with us.”
Now Clint chuckled. They were barely dancing, just swaying, holding each other cheek to cheek. Phil had forgotten which of them first suggested this. It was a sort of kink standard: pretend to be strangers hooking up in a bar. Trust them to manage an unexpected level of intensity. When Clint committed to something, he did so fully, and Clint’s intensity always fed Phil’s lust.
“Time for home?” Clint asked.
Phil didn’t want to leave yet. “Mmm, I might need some more convincing. More offers.”
Clint’s hand squeezed over Phil’s hip, where his tattoo lay. The man definitely did that on purpose. “I’d love to see you on your knees,” Clint growled. “Then I’d ‘offer’ you something.”
“If I declined?”
“Naughty boys don’t get dessert.”
A laugh startled out of Phil. “Really? You’re going with that line?”
“Shut up. I’m improvising.”
“Maybe we should have had a script,” Phil teased, “if that’s your improv.”
“Oh, now you’re mocking my seduction techniques.”
Phil moved his hands down to grip Clint’s biceps, knowing Clint liked the firm touch. “Nothing wrong with your seduction,” Phil said. “You know you could seduce me by just standing there.”
“I’m just beefcake to you!”
Phil poked Clint in the tricep. “Don’t be that kind of whiny gay guy.”
“Certainly not. Agent Phil Coulson would never respond to whining dramatics. It’s an affront to even suggest.”
Phil didn’t necessarily miss that the intensity had evaporated. They’d tried. Maybe they could try again sometime, and maybe stick to the end, or at least until they got home. For now, they comfortably slipped back into their roles as long-term committed partners.
Clint’s fingers rubbed small circles on Phil’s hip. Phil wondered if the man consciously knew. Mere layers of fabric separated their skin, where Clint could touch Phil’s tattoo. It was still new, that identifying mark of belonging. The Barton family motto, in Clint‘s handwriting. It stamped Phil in a way he never thought he could ever give to another person. The corresponding Coulson family motto, “Je mourrai pour ceux que j’aime,” in Phil’s handwriting, stained the skin of Clint’s left thigh. It meant both possession and security.
“What?” Clint asked gently after seeing Phil’s expression.
“You know where you’re touching?”
An expression of pure sweetness came over Clint’s face when he realized. Once the tattoo had healed, Clint had taken to laying his hand over the spot when they were in bed together. He seemed full of wonder that Phil would choose to declare things so permanently. Phil understood. He felt just as amazed at Clint’s tattoo.
It would have been a liability in their line of work, if not for the Avengers battle that had made everything public. Neither regretted it. So many things had changed after the Battle of New York. After the Avengers assembled. After Phil came back to life. After he and Clint finally got their act together. Hiding was never an option, or even a thought. A bisexual Avenger and his secret agent partner were the precise media bait the public liked (even considering those who were against the concept. A few had actually changed their opinions once seeing Phil and Clint together.) Their private tattoos contrasted so naturally with their public commitment. Phil didn’t really miss many aspects of their lost secrecy. The public knowing was no longer a liability. It was strength.
Here in this bar, they were just another two people dancing. Performing their pre-mating rituals. Publicity hadn’t swamped them so thoroughly that they couldn’t still go out anonymous like this. Clint did get spotted more frequently these days, but he handled it with charm, and only rarely had they ever needed to end their outings because of fans.
The role-playing had been fun, but Phil didn’t mind that it had ended. Which of them had suggested this scenario from the cliche checklist might have been forgotten, but neither of them was disappointed in this attempt. Phil knew that Clint had suggested they try as many cliches as they could, and several of them had been fun. The one with Phil as absentminded professor, Clint asking for help with poor grades? That one Phil would like to revisit.
“Mmm,” Clint hummed as they moved with each other, “you still up for losing that suit?”
“If the offer’s still there.”
“Always, babe. Love taking it off you.”
Phil slid one arm up to rest over Clint’s shoulder. “You still up for making me beg?”
The wicked grin returned. “Babe, you know that’s exactly what you’re looking for.”