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Clint had fled HQ as soon as debriefing was done. On the subway home, he went over the last mission’s events and concluded that he was more fucked than he’d initially thought. The mission had gone south, the intel on their already slippery target turned out to be incorrect and he’d shown up with a shitton of goons around him.
Clint had tried to get a shot on him, but couldn’t find a moment in which he wouldn’t endanger any of the other agents. His orders were to provide cover, not to eliminate the target himself. Now he knew that those orders were probably going out the window sooner rather than later, but for now, the others were counting on him to watch their backs.
“Barton, talk to me.”
The magic words had come through the comms.
“Situation’s fucked up, sir, I could probably get a shot on the target, but-”
He let another arrow fly, and one more goon dropped.
“But that would mean that I’d have to give up providing cover for the others, sir.”
“On my mark, you focus on getting the shot, Barton, there is no way for us to take him out before he flees the scene with all these guards around.”
He’d heard Coulson strapping on gear over the comms. This was one of the (many) reasons Coulson was his favourite handler. He was always ready to join the fight, whereas most others stayed holed up in their vans, at a safe distance from the action.
A moment later, Clint had seen Coulson appear on the scene. He’d taken off his suit jacket and put on some tac gear to protect his chest, but was still wearing his suit pants, dress shirt and tie.
On the subway, Clint closed his eyes and went over that image again.
With a sigh, he opened his eyes and accepted once again that he’d made a grave mistake in falling for his handler, but there was nothing to be done about it. Apparently, it could only get worse.
Coulson had informed the other agents that he’d be providing cover instead of Clint from that point on and Clint had taken out their target. After giving Coulson a “Target down, sir”, he’d gone back to picking off the goons and admiring his handler in action.
Not too long after, most of the goons remaining decided to either run or give up and let themselves be arrested. Once everything was wrapped up, they’d returned to base for debriefing and Coulson hadn’t fucking taken off the damn tac gear. So, Clint suffered through debrief while his mind was very much otherwise occupied. Seriously, Coulson was badass enough as it was, why did he need to look so damn hot in tac gear as well??
Clint got off the subway and walked home. His plans for the evening were a shower, pizza and then put on a shitty movie and fall asleep on the couch.
After his very, very long shower and an enormous pizza, he sat on the couch, but hesitated. He was still thinking about Coulson and, to be honest, he didn’t feel like going to sleep just yet. The op hadn't been very tiring. They’d been on location for two days, but the first day was only for them to settle in. Nothing had happened, and he’d gotten a full night rest.
He made up his mind, got changed, and went out to find a bar. He decided not to go to one of his regular bars, but venture a bit further.
Eventually, he found a small place that looked ok to him and went in. He sat himself down at the bar and waved over the bartender.
“A beer, please. Whatever’s good.”
“Coming up.”
A glass was placed in front of him, but the bartender didn’t go back to whatever it was he’d been doing before.
“You don’t look too chipper, something happen?”
Clint sighed. If he could get away with bemoaning his fate anywhere, then it was probably a random bar he’d probably never return to.
“I’m an idiot, ‘s all.”
“How so? You cheat on your girlfriend, or what?”
“Nah, nothing like that, just developed the worst crush on my boss.”
“Ah, she pretty?”
“He’s a badass.”
“A guy?”
“Yeah, that a problem?”
“No, of course not, he not interested?”
“Don’t think so. We have a great working relationship, and maybe he’d even consider us friends. I really don’t wanna fuck that up.”
“I see. Looking for a hookup to take your mind off of him then? Or just here to drown the thoughts out with alcohol?”
“Not getting drunk, don’t worry, tried that before, made it worse. Was wondering if getting my brains fucked out would help. At least temporarily.”
“So a hookup then?”
“Sure. Why’re you asking?”
The bartender smiled.
“We have something of a regular guy. Comes in on most Fridays, picks up someone new every time. We never know for sure if he’s gonna show, but if he gets here, I could point him over to you. You look exactly like his type.”
“His type?”
“Blond, kinda tall, very fit, it looks like. For some reason, he likes good arms, and you, my friend, have the best arms I have seen in a long time.”
“Thanks.”
“So, permission to set you up?”
“Knock yourself out.”
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Phil was working on the paperwork that came with the last op. The target had known they were coming, which meant a leak somewhere. Their source had to be reevaluated, and that was always a pain.
He heard a knock on the door and the director entered. Phil looked up. Fury stood in front of him with an eyebrow raised.
“Yes?”
“You should go home, Cheese. The paperwork will still be here when you come back.”
“The intel-”
He was cut off.
“Yeah, we know that, but most of what you’re doing here isn’t your fucking job. Get all the info to the people who get paid to do this shit and go home, damn it.”
Phil opened his mouth to protest, but Nick glared at him.
“Fine.”
Nick nodded and disappeared with a swoosh from his coat. Knowing that Nick would come to check whether he’d actually gone home in about ten minutes, he started saving his work and forwarding the information to the analysts to go nuts over. With that, he turned off his computer and gathered his things.
When he arrived home, he washed up, changed out of his suit and grabbed something to eat from his kitchen. Then, he left his house and started up Lola. Sunglasses in place, he turned on the radio and drove to his favourite bar.
When he came through the door, Thomas waved him over to the side of the bar closest to the door. Curious, he walked up to him.
“Evening, Thomas.”
“Evening, evening, how’s it going?”
“Fine, I got kicked out of my office by my boss, but other than that everything’s good.”
“Well, I’m sure he had his reasons, don’t overwork yourself, ok?”
“I hear that a lot.”
“Then I’m sure you need to hear it. Anyway, you looking for another blond guy to pick up?”
“They aren’t all-”
“Yeah, they are, you have an obvious type, this guy dropped in, ticks all your boxes, looking for a hookup to take his mind off of his boss.”
“His boss?”
“Yeah, apparently he’s crushing on the guy, but he doesn’t want to mess up their working relationship.”
Phil smiled. That sounded very familiar, although in his situation the roles were reversed.
“Well, who’d I be to deny helping a guy out? He’s here?”
“Yeah, he’s over there, the one with the purple shirt.”
Phil turned to the left and froze. There, on a bar stool, in his favourite shirt, lost in thought and nursing a beer, sat Clint Barton. Phil’s mind backtracked and replayed the conversation. Thomas was right, he had a type, and Clint did tick all the boxes, but that was less a coincidence and more the cause of said type.
He took a breath and stepped away from the bar.
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“So, what is this Thomas tells me about bosses and crushes?”
Clint froze. A voice somewhere in his mind - sounding suspiciously like Natasha - screamed at him for losing track of his surroundings. Slowly, he turned around on his barstool.
There stood, in black jeans, a dark blue t-shirt and a fucking leather jacket - Clint was going to implode right then and there, this was too fucking much - one eyebrow raised and smirking, Agent Phil Coulson. Clint wanted to die.
“I sincerely hope you weren’t talking about Fury, because that would make this a little awkward.”
Clint’s mind was still trying to catch up and the only thing he could blurt out was:
“You’re the guy who picks up someone new every Friday?!”
“If I hear only the slightest rumour about this among the junior agents, I will end you.”
“Does that mean the senior agents are fair game, sir?”
Clint mentally punched himself in the face. Now was not exactly the time for their banter. He turned half away again.
“What’d he tell you?”
“Thomas told me he had a guy sitting at the bar, exactly my type, who needed to take his mind off the boss he was crushing on.”
“I’m exactly your type…?” Clint looked back up to him with an eyebrow raised.
“My type is exactly you.”
Clint’s mind shut down.
“What.”
Eloquent, Barton, very eloquent.
“He also told me that this guy didn’t want to make a move because he didn’t want to mess up their working relationship. I have to say, that sounded very familiar. I just thought I’d found myself in a case with the roles reversed. It was certainly a surprise to learn it was the same case.”
Coulson sat down on the stool Clint was facing, still smirking (damn him), but he looked a bit nervous as well.
Clint took a deep breath. If Coulson could take a risk, then so could he, right?
“So what now, sir? You gonna take me home?”
“If I do that, I certainly hope you’ll call me Phil.”
Now Clint smirked too.
“I think I can do that, Phil.”
Phil’s smirk turned into a smile. He reached out with the arm he had resting on the bar and layed his hand over Clint’s wrist. Leaning in slightly, he asked:
“May I?”
Clint smiled and leaned in.
“That’s a way too fucking polite way to ask someone who you’re gonna pick up from a bar and is obviously into you if you can kiss them.”
Phil raised an eyebrow.
“Part of my charm.”
And he closed the gap.
--------------------
Clint deepened the kiss almost immediately. Phil got the message and teased Clint's upper lip with his tongue. Clint opened up hungrily to allow him to explore his mouth. Phil moved his hand to the back of Clint’s head, fingers combing through the short hair and he got an arm over his shoulder in return.
When they broke the kiss for breath, Phil held his head against Clint’s. He stole another quick kiss and whispered:
“Finish your beer, then we’ll get out of here. Lola’s parked just around the corner.”
Clint’s eyes flew open.
“I get a ride in Lola?”
Clint immediately turned to his abandoned beer. Phil smiled and sat up straight as well.
“I gotta say, man, that’s a new record.”
Clint looked quizically at Thomas.
“Usually he takes about ten minutes to talk, previous record was 7:34, I wasn’t looking at my watch, so I don’t know the exact second, but that wasn’t even three minutes.”
Clint turned to Phil, eyebrows raised.
“You keep track of how long it takes you to convince someone to come home with you?”
“Thomas does. Also, I’m afraid we’re not counting this one, we already knew each other.”
“You did?”
Phil pointed to himself.
“The boss.”
And then to Clint.
“The type.”
Thomas stared at him. Then looked at Clint. And then back at Phil. Then he burst out laughing.
“Well, I get to put Accidental Matchmaker on my CV, and you both can stop pining. Now get out of my bar and go fuck each other!”
Thomas kept laughing and walked away, shaking his head.
Clint turned to Phil with his trademark devious smirk in place.
“That does sound like an awesome plan.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Phil grabbed the front of Clint’s shirt, pulled him in for another hard kiss, and stood up, pulling Clint along out of the bar.
-------------------
The drive to Phil’s apartment was a silent one, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. Clint took in the sight of a confident, but for once relaxed Phil and concluded he was just as badass and hot if not more than usual.
After Lola pulled into a parking spot in front of a nice, warmly coloured apartment complex, Clint leaned in for another kiss. When he pulled back, Phil looked at him, one amused eyebrow raised. Clint raised one in return.
“Couldn’t help myself.”
Phil raised his other eyebrow.
“What? I’ve endured you being hot while all badass in suits and/or tac gear, now you’re being hot in casual attire and I’m actually allowed to kiss you. I’m going to take advantage of that.”
“You do not have the right to complain about me looking good in tac gear. I rarely wear it. You wear it all the damn time and I am absolutely convinced someone tailored yours for their own gain, with the way your ass looks in it.”
Yeah, Clint had no idea how to respond to that what with the current state of his brain being a puddle of goo, so he just kissed Phil again.