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“We’re in love with you, Clint.”
***
Clint stumbles out of the room across from the range, completely flummoxed. He walks around the Tower without a destination, a dazed expression overtaking his features. The conversation that just took place a vivid presence in the forefront of his mind.
A part of him doesn’t really believe the discussion even took place. Or if it did, he is certain he heard incorrectly. Maybe it’s his aids, on the fritz again. He’ll ask Tony to take a look at them soon. But first he needs to figure a few things out.
Like what the fuck just happened.
Clint is afraid the entire exchange was a fantasy, just like the ones he’s concocted multiple times before about the three of them. Another dream his subconscious invented to ease the relentlessly growing ache inside him.
Just another tiny bandage meant to keep his heart from shattering once and for all.
All his best and worst dreams begin with an exchange similar to the one in that room. The two of them hoping to change the nature of their relationship, wanting to include the overpowering love he feels for them, and convincing him they love him just as deeply in return.
Clint is almost certain he is currently asleep in his bed, imagining everything that recently happened. His mind providing the exact scenario that’ll make him truly happy – being romantically involved with the two people he loves unconditionally.
Until he wakes up and the truth sets in.
And the fissure in his heart spreads.
Clint keeps walking around, taking the stairs up then changing his mind and heading down instead. His first reaction, that it was all a dream, it doesn’t quite fit.
This time felt strange. Unique.
It didn’t feel like a fantasy.
It felt real. Feels real.
The steps under his boots, the sweat beading on his brow, the soft pants escaping his lips, they all feel real.
This time it’s not a dream.
Is it?
It was so intense. So emotionally revealing. More realistic than anything he’s ever come up with before in his mind.
Maybe his love is not hopeless, after all?
Perhaps this is reality.
He desperately hopes he’s not fantasizing yet again.
Clint doesn’t know how many times his heart can cope with the knowledge it was all a figment of his imagination and he once more must live with the pain of unrequited love.
“We’re in love with you, Clint.”
He keeps coming back to those words. Over and over. So simple. So honest. So unflinchingly real.
A quietly spoken truth.
He’s never dreamed those words spoken to him.
Not by them.
Never.
“We’re in love with you, Clint.”
Clint begins to believe in the impossible.
He breaks into a smile. A very small smile, but it lingers on his lips. Just as their words linger in his thoughts.
***
Clint tends to speak his mind whenever he feels like it, a random mishmash of thoughts and feelings and whatever he remembers or thinks of at the moment. Filter very rarely used now that he is more than comfortable with his teammates.
The entire discussion he’s just left barely feels real. His brain is turning over and over the words spoken in soft voices, the confessions they’d let slip from parted lips, usually stoic in situations containing heartfelt emotions.
The two of them usually let their actions speak instead of their words.
Both of their hands carefully tending to wounds, check-ins after terrible missions, sharing meals together, and always having one or both of them there when he wakes up in medical, reminding him he is not alone any longer – all activities adding up to a strong connection between the three of them.
A connection he cherishes.
He has never questioned their devotion or companionship or loyalty. It is the way they’ve always acted and he learned early on to accept it. Accept them.
Clint has never needed to hear the words.
Honestly, never thought he’d hear the words.
Except now, something is different.
And hearing the speech and the promises they had uttered alters a fundamental part of his world.
He never thought he would get what he wants – both of them.
A love returned.
A love multiplied.
He only needs to say one word – yes.
A chance at a lasting romantic relationship.
Fuck, but Clint is horrible at relationships. His shitty track record speaks for itself. He falls quickly and pines silently. And when he gets up the courage to go for it, he messes it up in the end.
But this is special.
This is Phil.
This is Natasha.
The three of them a team.
Partners.
Family.
Sharing a bond stronger than kill orders and debts and bullet wounds and mind control and death.
It should be an easy answer for him.
It is not.
He loves them intensely.
Passionately.
Endlessly.
He desperately wants to turn around and stride back into that room, spilling every moment he’s ever thought about the three of them in a romantic relationship. Expose everything that he’s lived with for years – every day and every minute and every moment he thought of the three of them twinned together.
Bare his soul to the both of them.
Trust Phil and Nat to keep his heart safe.
But something holds him back.
A tiny thread of a thought – memory – of how love is sometimes not enough. Something he’s seen firsthand. The way it can sour and turn rancid. And he remembers the words of a young woman telling him once that love is for children and not people like them anyway. The words of a man unwilling to speak of his past relationships or lovers, keeping secrets because secrets is part of their life.
It makes him pause.
Instead of running back to them and declaring his love, he takes a little time to think about it.
He doesn’t know what’s changed.
Why now? Why today? What happened?
He figures it doesn’t matter in the end.
Clint wants them. Trusts them. Loves them.
He yearns for Natasha and Phil and wants them to be his as much as he is already theirs.
Ah, fuckity fuck! He cannot screw up this time.
But he is scared he’ll mess it up anyway. Just like all the others.
And then what will he have left?
***
Clint is being a stupid, fucking idiot again.
At least that’s probably what Nat would say if she knew what he was thinking.
He will still have them. That will never change.
No matter what decision he makes about trying to have a romantic relationship.
They are partners.
Stronger together than separately.
A chosen family of three.
Clint wanders around for a while, adrift in his thoughts, precariously on the edge of some sort of potential breakdown. Possibly. Or a revelation.
He analyses every word, every gesture, every twitch, and every microexpression from their conversation.
He sees better from a distance.
Scrutinizes better with space.
Everything he wants, there for the taking.
Two of the most deadly people in the world, laid bare before him.
Waiting.
Giving him time.
Their hearts in his hands.
Clint doesn’t know how to handle their trust in him. Giving him something so precious and breakable. Allowing themselves to be so very vulnerable. For him. For an opportunity of adding another layer to their bond.
Clint loves them both so much.
He only needs to make a decision.
Yes or no?
Clint closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. He focuses, blocks out all the noise in his thoughts, letting them disappear into the recesses of his consciousness, and listens to his instincts.
He trusts they’ll show him the way.
Just like when his gut told him to hold his fire, to disobey direct orders, and that feeling brought Natasha into his life. Or when it told him to take a chance on a man in a suit with a mild-mannered disposition, deadly aim, and a beautiful smile.
His instincts tell him everything he needs to know. He doesn’t need to be anxious any longer.
After all these years, finally holding what he has always wished for in his hands, or rather on the tip of his tongue, the possibility is mind-blowing to him.
Clint opens his eyes.
He turns sharply on his feet, heading back towards the ones he loves.
He grins, excitement flooding his body.
He knows his answer.
Yes.
Always, yes.
***
Clint needs to go to them right away. Tell them his answer as soon as possible. After such a long time waiting, he is eager to share his feelings for the both of them – to say the words that have rested on his lips hundreds of times, unspoken.
He almost heads back to the range in his excitement before remembering to check in with J.A.R.V.I.S. first.
“Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S. where is Phil? Where is Natasha?”
“Agents Coulson and Romanova are currently in Agent Coulson’s kitchen. Shall I take you to them?”
“Yes! Thanks, buddy!”
The doors open when Clint stands before the elevator, stepping into the empty space and watches as they close, ready to deliver him to Phil’s floor in the Tower.
Deliver him to Natasha.
Deliver him to Phil.
He takes a deep breath, in and out. In and out. And once more.
Clint lets the calm wash over him.
He is ready.
***
He is not ready.
Fuck.
What is he even thinking?
Allowing himself to believe he could have the both of them.
He’s an idiot.
He’s not good enough for the two of them. Phil and Natasha can do so much better than a man like him.
Clint’s mind is spinning with every single negative thought it can come up with, reminding him over and over why he silently suffered instead of doing something about his feelings. Doubt tempers his enthusiasm over revealing his love, terrified Natasha and Phil have changed their minds, remembering how dreadful he is at relationships and deciding they were better off without him fucking it all up.
He stands in the elevator for a few minutes, gathering his walls around himself once more, suddenly uncertain of his welcome.
And hesitant with his words.
Is he making the right choice?
He is so confused.
But hiding out in the elevator isn’t a viable option. He steps out of the elevator, doors shutting quickly behind him.
Well, there goes his first option for retreat. The clock has stopped ticking it seems. No more time to be a chickenshit left. Decision time.
Clint’s never run away from a hard decision in his life, he’s not going to start now. He squares his shoulders and walks forward, unsure of his destination, only that he needs to find Natasha and Phil and talk to the both of them.
And hopefully, he’ll find his bearings.
***
The first thing Clint is aware of is the smell.
Coffee.
The good kind, too.
One of the special blends Phil saves for rare occasions. Or as a comfort after a particularly stressful mission.
Clint almost turns around and leaves. The good coffee. Shit. Either that’s a really great sign or a fucking horrible one.
He hopes it’s the former.
Clint is positive they both noticed his presence the moment he stepped off the elevator, they are spies after all, but it’s nice pretending for the time being that he doesn’t need to make any decisions yet. He walks slowly through the living area, listening to the soft jazz playing in the background, and follows the smell to the kitchen.
Phil is standing barefoot in his kitchen, a pair of dark blue jeans hugging his thighs, his button-down shirt open at the collar, and the shirtsleeves rolled up to show his muscled forearms.
Clint watches as he takes a small sip of coffee from his cup before placing it on the counter. Natasha is standing shoulder to shoulder with him, the two of them leaning on each other, her own steaming cup of coffee sitting in front of her on the countertop.
Black, one sugar for Phil. And black but lukewarm for Nat.
He doesn’t know why he’s so focused on the coffee when the conversation before him is so important, but the coffee seems to be important too. Or maybe that’s just what Clint wants to believe. Or he’s just dreading the discussion ahead of him.
Who says Clint doesn’t know when he’s deflecting? Ha! Screw you, mandatory therapy!
He takes a deep breath and strides into the kitchen, making his way to the other side of counter, needing the barrier between them, just in case. He looks up, staring at a point over their shoulders. But doesn’t say anything.
Just in case…just in case…just –
“Clint?”
He looks over to Phil when he says his name. Shit, this is the part where he has to say something. He tries for casual.
“Hey, Phil,” Clint replies, “Hey, Nat.”
He doesn’t succeed. His greeting comes out strained and stilted.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No! I mean, no. I’m good. Fine! Okay…”
Fuck.
Clint is such an idiot. He can’t even have a ordinary chat with them right now. He glances between Natasha and Phil, back and forth, trying to figure out what to do.
“Out with it, Clint.”
“Natasha,” Phil reprimands her, shoving her lightly with his shoulder.
“What? He’s obviously made a decision. There’s no point pretending otherwise.”
“You don’t need to rush him, he’ll speak when he’s ready.”
“I’m in the room, guys,” Clint speaks up, slipping easily into their normal banter.
“Then, he can hurry up.”
“Guys!”
Phil and Natasha turn towards him, both speaking at once.
“What?”
“What, Clint?”
“You know, nevermind. I’ll take that coffee.”
“You want a cup this time? Or just the pot?” Phil asks with a cheeky smirk.
“Hey! That was one time! Maybe two…”
“More like five but who’s counting.”
Phil pours him a cup of black coffee, walking over to him on the other side of the island and handing it over, letting their fingers brush. Clint shivers and savors the contact. Just in case…
“Six, actually. That time in Belarus, too. You always forget to count that one.”
“You’re right, Natasha. My fault. Six times.”
“Aww, c’mon, it really hasn’t been that many times.”
“It really has,” Natasha responds, picking up her coffee and testing it with the tip of her tongue. She sets it back down.
“I think that’s enough of that. Your answer, Clint?”
Clint hastily gulps down some of his coffee before setting his cup on the counter.
It really is the good stuff.
He stares at Natasha, but doesn’t know what to say.
Natasha waits him out.
It doesn’t take very long before he cracks. It never does when it’s Nat’s eyes on him, gaze sharp and unyielding.
“You don’t want me,” Clint chokes out.
“Yes, we do,” Phil replies.
“No, you don’t. You can’t.”
They can’t. They can’t. They can’t.
He’s a fucking mess. A disaster most of the time. They can’t want him.
“We do. We want you. We promise, remember?” Phil speaks slowly and softly, his voice normally soothing to Clint’s ears.
He shakes his head back and forth.
Over and over. Again and again.
They can’t want him. He’s a fucking mess. They can’t. Just in case…
“Clint, look at me.”
He turns towards Natasha, giving her his full attention. He always does when she uses that tone of voice on him. She walks over to him, threading her fingers through his hair, and pulling his head down to hers.
She gently rests their foreheads together.
They stay like that for a few moments, pressed together, sharing breath in the small space between their bodies.
“Trust us. Please, Clint?” Nat whispers, tenderly stroking her fingers through his hair.
He closes his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut.
“Always trust you. Both of you.”
He wants to trust them with this part of himself. More than he wants anything else in the world.
He can do it.
He can say the words.
Clint opens his eyes, moving his head back just enough to be able to see the two of them. Natasha reaches out an arm for Phil and pulls him closer until they’re all touching.
The three of them. Together.
Clint glances between the two people he loves with all his heart. Surprisingly, it’s easy again.
He can say the words.
He trusts them.
“I…you…love…me…both,” Clint finally gets out all in one breath, “Aww, words, no!”
He breaks eye contact, shaking his head back and forth.
So much for his grand declaration of love.
He tries again. He wants to get it right. For himself. But also for them. They deserve to hear the words. Especially when they already said them. And when he feels them so deeply.
“I…”
And yet, they don’t seem to want to come out of his mouth correctly.
Natasha and Phil both grin at him, laughing lightly. Clint can’t help but laugh along with them.
“We love you, too, Clint,” Phil and Natasha reply at the same time, gentle smiles on their faces.
They make it sound so easy.
Those words slipping past their lips.
Clint takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. Relaxing gradually. He needs to say the words. It’s important to him that they both know how gone on them he is. So very much in love.
Clint struggles to get the words out.
Damnable words.
The decision was supposed to be the difficult part. This should be easy. But for some reason it might just be the hardest thing he’s ever done. And he’s gone up against aliens.
Clint licks his lips, inhaling deeply, the air rasping out of him on his exhale. He opens his mouth but Phil speaks before he can get a word out.
“You don’t need to say the words. We know, Clint.”
He stops, closing his mouth. They’re giving him an out. One he doesn’t want. Or need.
Clint starts off by pushing everything away – the sprawling kitchen, the noises coming from the humming refrigerator, the lilting voice from the soft music playing in the background – focusing only on the two people standing in front of him.
He makes another decision.
Clint bites his lip, fingers fidgeting, body thrumming with potential energy.
“I want to say them. I need to say them.”
They wait patiently while he sorts out the mess in his head. Finally, he just goes with what’s in his heart. And the words spill forth effortlessly.
“I love you both. I’m in love with you both.”
He turns to Phil, looking him directly in the eyes, letting every mask he has fall away, leaving him raw and exposed for the man he loves. Clint lets Phil read the emotions on his face, the honesty in the lines of his body, blatantly offering everything of himself, standing there bare before Phil and his intense stare.
“I’m in love with you, Phil.”
Clint watches as Phil swallows, blinking a few times, nodding, and grinning so widely it makes his eyes light up with joy. He always thought that was just something people did in movies, not in real life. And somehow Clint is the reason for Phil’s breathtaking smile. It makes him smile back, affection and happiness suffusing his body.
He can’t stop grinning.
But he still has more to say.
So he takes a moment, letting the relief of saying the words to Phil sink in before he turns to Natasha.
Clint looks her in the eyes the exact same way, allowing all his defenses to collapse, standing there stripped of every ounce of artifice, letting the woman he loves look at him fully. He offers everything of himself, just like he did with Phil, and hopes it’s enough for Natasha.
“I’m in love with you, Natasha.”
“Bozhe moi! Fucking, finally!”
Clint startles at Nat’s outburst, a little put out that they didn’t get to share a small moment like he did with Phil. But maybe it’s been one too many emotional conversations for Natasha today. It already feels like one too many emotional conversations for him today.
“Way to ruin the mood, Natasha,” Phil chastises.
“Sorry, sorry. I know how hard that was for you. Thank you, Clint.”
He acknowledges her apology with a nod of his head.
“C’mere and kiss me, Clint,” Nat demands, pulling him half a step closer into her personal space, and tilting her head for the kiss.
He goes willingly. Listening to the woman he loves. Clint leans down, one hand gently settling on the side of her neck, the other tangled with Phil’s fingers.
They kiss softly, almost shyly. At first. It only takes a handful of seconds for Natasha to deepen the kiss, sliding their lips back and forth against each other, a quick flick of tongue teasing along his bottom lip. Clint lets her lead the kiss, knowing better than to get between Nat and something she wants. Clint tilts his head, putting his neck on display, and using the hand that’s in Phil’s, drags him closer into his body, hoping he’ll take the hint.
Phil understands Clint’s message perfectly. He leans in and begins kissing down his neck, occasionally biting lightly, no doubt leaving marks that he’ll be able to press on later, remembering this moment caught between the two of them.
Clint grins against Natasha’s lips. They’ve always been the best team, reading each other without needing words half the time, using signals or sign language to help fill in the gaps. He thinks that’ll be quite useful for this new aspect of their relationship.
“What’re you grinning about?” Natasha asks, parting their lips to ask.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Clint replies, smiling widely. He laughs, entirely too happy for words.
“Phil?”
“Hmm?”
“Kiss me?”
Phil’s lips leave Clint’s neck and he moans at the loss. But it’s quickly forgotten the moment Nat and Phil’s lips touch. It’s the best sight he’s possibly ever seen in his life. Definitely the sexiest. He can’t stop staring at them, watching the way their lips meet and part, the way they each lead and follow, like the very best choreographed dance. It’s breathtaking to watch.
Natasha pulls back from Phil’s lips, turning her head until she’s looking at Clint once more. She raises one eyebrow. A challenge. Clint smirks.
He turns towards Phil now, pulling him into their first kiss together. Clint sinks into his kiss with Phil. It feels amazing. And like it’s been a long time coming. He can’t remember a time when he didn’t want to kiss Phil. Clint lets Phil lead, following like he always does.
The three of them kiss over and over and over. Slow, languorous kisses mixing with hard, bruising kisses, harsh panting filling the space between the three of them.
Eventually, they stumble their way to Phil’s bedroom, trying to undress each other along the way. They are moderately successful.
In a moment of stillness, they whisper words against each other’s naked skin, words that mean the world.
“I love you, Clint,” Phil softly states, “I love you, Natasha.”
“And I love you both. I didn’t think love existed, not for people like us, for people like me, but I never want to be without the two of you ever again.”
“I’ve been in love with both of you for a very long time.”
***
They love him.
Him.
Clinton Francis Barton.
With all his faults and his trust issues and his colorful past.
It is such a dream come true.
He grins, so fucking happy to be with them both, in Phil’s bedroom, his arms around the ones he loves.
Clint is overwhelmed.
By their trust.
Their love.
Their willingness to be so open and vulnerable in this way, with him of all people.
It makes him ridiculously happy. He loves them both so much. He might be getting a little emotional.
Maybe.
Shut up, Clint is not crying.
Okay, maybe he is. But no one is saying anything so he isn’t going to bring it up either.
Nothing to see here. All normal folks. Back to the regular scheduled programming.
It’s not like Clint’s tears are starting to stain the top of the sheet or anything. Nope. Not happening.
He makes a mental note to remember to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. for a copy before he has him delete the footage though.
He always wants to remember this moment between the three of them.
***
It is a wonderfully quiet morning.
No stupid chirping birds or annoying housemates or alarms blaring at the most inopportune times.
Just – serenity.
Clint smiles, softly.
He could wake up every morning like this for the rest of his life. And maybe he will now. Pending emergencies, of course.
Clint is so happy in the middle of the bed, curled up between Natasha and Phil, the two most important people in his life.
Phil is quietly snoring on his back, one arm dangling off the side of the bed, the other arm reaching towards his bedmates. Clint is holding Phil’s hand over his heart and slowly trailing his fingers up and down his arm, tracing the muscles, lingering over the scars, and running the pad of one finger back and forth over the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. Natasha is spooned up behind him, legs tangled together under the lightweight covers, one hand flat against his back, grounding him even when he is sleeping.
Watching over him – always.
Clint is so fucking lucky. He has the man he loves. And he has the woman he loves.
And shockingly they love him back.
He isn’t afraid of the future. Of being in a serious romantic relationship. Not anymore. Not with the two of them beside him.
Partners.
Friends.
Lovers.
They are everything he wants.
They can do anything. Be anything. Together.
And their love will last, he knows it, somewhere deep down inside himself. He knows it.
And all it took was one word.