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Phil is seventeen and lanky with new growth. He’s still not quite used to the length of his limbs, tripping up stairs and hitting his head on low-hanging branches and generally making a fool of himself in front of all of the other boys who started growing last year and who are all somehow much more coordinated than Phil.
It’s at the end of a particularly trying day for Phil (Terry Lecchini from next door had told the girl Phil likes that Phil wets the bed; not the most imaginative of stories, but effective nonetheless), that Phil sees the posters.
The circus is coming back.
Flashes of last summer flood Phil’s mind and he takes a deep steadying breath as he notices the picture in the top right corner of the poster. A large purple circle is drawn around a picture of Clint, purple glitter trailing down perfectly sunburnt cheeks in a way Phil will likely never forget. Clint has his bow drawn, arms straining with tension and a look of intense concentration on his heavily made-up face. Phil can’t help the wide grin that breaks across his own face.
He doesn’t ask if he can go to the circus this year. He’s too old to be asking permission from his parents. Instead, he saves the money he’s making helping his uncle on his farm all summer, and tells his parents he’s spending the night at a friend’s place.
He hangs around the field where the circus is setting up for most of the afternoon, but doesn’t get the glimpse of Clint that he’s hoping for. Instead, he has to wait until the show starts.
Clint is a headliner now, meaning his act comes towards the end of the show, and Phil sits impatiently in the stands, the awe from last year worn off in favour of a nervous anticipation as Clint’s act draws closer.
Finally, after what feels like years of waiting (and, Phil thinks somewhat melodramatically, he has been waiting an entire year for this), the ringmaster, still wearing the same coat and patch-work hat, announces that The Amazing Hawkeye will now astonish them all with his sharpshooting.
Clint gallops out into the ring on the same pure-white horse as last year, and begins his act in much the same way, starting with mildly impressive shots, and working his way up to feats which have the crowd holding their collective breath. Phil spends the first few tricks just watching the way the muscles shift under Clint’s skin. He’d chosen a front row seat specifically for this purpose and he’s not going to waste his chance now. Clint is obviously wearing last-year’s costume, a little bit snug now on his taller, broader frame. The leggings hug his ass in a way that has Phil swallowing dryly as Clint stands on the back of his horse carefully. There are a good few inches of ankle peeking out the bottom of the leggings, and Phil has a moment to think incredulously that even Clint’s ankles are sexy before Clint is galloping towards the other side of the ring and aiming his bow straight at the audience.
There’s a wave of nervous murmuring as Clint sights his arrow, and a mix of shocked gasps and screams as he looses it to hit a tiny target hidden in the middle of the crowd. The nervous energy snaps and the crowd cheers and laughs. A stage hand stands, holding the target up to show that Hawkeye has hit it dead centre, as usual, and the cheering doubles.
As far as finales go, it’s both theatrical and impressive, and as Clint slings a wink in the general direction of the audience and saunters out of the ring, the cheering doesn’t let up. It takes Carson a moment to regain the attention of the audience and introduce the next act, but Phil is, once again, entirely too distracted by what he’s just seen to pay much attention to the man who comes out wielding an impossible number of knives and swords.
This is stupid. This is so, so stupid. There’s no way in hell Clint, a famous circus performer and probably the hottest guy Phil has ever seen would remember the awkward “preppy fucker” from the back end of nowhere, Oregon. Yet here Phil is, hanging around the temporary fence blocking off the trailers in use by the various circus performers and roadies. He’s hoping to catch sight of Clint, but he’ll take Clint’s brother if that’s all he’ll get. The guy had helped Phil out last time, and there’s a chance he’d do it again.
Phil is just about to give up hope (and making plans to come back tomorrow, because Phil is nothing if not desperate and pathetic) when he hears a raucous bark of laughter to his left. He turns and sees a group of kids, all around his age heading towards the fence, weaving around each other drunkenly and clinging to each other where they collide.
“Come on, Princess! Think of it as a reward.”
“I don’t care how well you lit me, Barton, the day I kiss you is the day Clint here misses a target.”
“Care to miss, little brother?” and that’s definitely Barney, Phil realizes as the group comes level with the fence.
“Not on your life.” Clint says, hopping the fence easily, arms straining under the thin grey Henley he’s thrown on, “You know what Trick would do it me if I missed on purpose. Hell, you know what he’d do to me if I missed, period. Definitely not doing that just so you can get laid.”
“Who the hell said anything about getting laid?” A girl yells, swinging herself over the fence just as easily and punching Clint in the chest.
“One kiss from me and they all want more.” Barney assures the girl, slinging an arm around her shoulder and laughing as she pushes him away with a grin.
“Fuck off, Barney.” She says shaking her head fondly, “If you really want a kiss that bad, I’ve got a cobra in my trailer who’s dying to meet you.”
“Thanks Princess, but I’ll pass.” Barney says, leaning back against the fence casually.
“Suit yourself,” the girl says, shrugging and turning around. Phil sees the moment she suddenly realizes he’s there, but it’s too late to pretend he hasn’t been staring so he just freezes awkwardly under her gaze.
“Can I help you?” she asks, suddenly all haughty arrogance, and Phil understands where the nickname ‘Princess’ comes from.
The rest of the group turns to look and Phil sees a flash of recognition cross Clint’s face.
“Phil?” Clint asks, a hopeful tone to his voice that has Phil glad that it’s dark enough to hide his blush.
“Hey.” Phil says awkwardly.
“Someone want to fill me in here?” Princess asks, moving to lean against the fence next to Barney.
“That’s Clint’s boyfriend from last year.” Barney supplies helpfully.
“Fuck off, Barney.” Clint says, frowning, “I didn’t know if you’d come…” he adds awkwardly.
It takes Phil a moment to realize the statement is aimed at him. He shrugs, not really wanting to have this conversation with an audience but not wanting to let Clint leave either.
“I was promised food.” Princess huffs after a moment of silence, “Come on Barney. I may rethink my kissing policy if I’m given enough pie.”
“I’m holding you to that.” Barney says, pushing himself off the fence after Princess, “You coming, Clint?”
“In a minute.” Clint says distractedly, still staring at Phil.
“Whatever, man.” Barney says with a shrug.
He and Princess wander off into the dark, and Phil can hear Princess laughing at something Barney says before the sound is swallowed up by the darkness.
“Hey.” Phil says again because now that they’re alone he’s suddenly even more uncomfortable.
“Hey.” Clint says back, a nervous smile worming its way onto his face.
“You were amazing out there.” Phil blurts.
“Oh, uh… thanks.” Clint says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly, “I’ve been practicing?”
Phil nods, not sure what else to do.
“I didn’t think you would come.” Clint says again, “I mean… I hoped you would? But… I thought you’d have more important things to do.”
“I didn’t think you’d remember me.” Phil admits, “You must see thousands of people every summer. I figured you’d, I dunno, have other people you remembered.”
“I feel like you might have just called me a slut.” Clint says, raising a hand to his chest in mock hurt.
“Oh, shit, no.” Phil says, eyes wide, “I just-“
“Relax, man.” Clint says laughing, “I’m not, though. Just so we’re clear. I don’t really make a habit of making out with strangers in circus tents.”
“We’re not strangers.” Phil supplies.
“I’ve got the trailer to myself with Barney gone into town.” Clint shoots back.
Clint’s trailer is small, and cramped, and wallpapered in pictures of women in bikinis in provocative poses, and smells like dirty laundry and beer. It’s everything Phil’s room isn’t, and everything he kind of wishes it was. There’s something that vaguely resembles a bunk bed bolted to one wall, and a bar fridge pushed up against the other. Phil and Clint are sitting on pillows on the floor in front of a contraption that Clint swears is basically a stove. Clint is currently using it to make pasta which, at seventeen, Phil will totally eat, even if he doesn’t completely trust it.
The mug of pasta that Clint eventually passes him doesn’t seem too horrifying and as Clint basically inhales his own, Phil tentatively takes a bite.
“It’s better if you’re drunk.” Clint offers, kicking open the fridge next to Phil.
Phil still doesn’t drink frequently, but he’s come to accept the taste of beer, if not enjoy it. He takes one and immediately fails miserably at getting it open. Clint laughs at him, and pries it out of Phil’s hand, opening it easily with the bottle opener attached to Clint’s keys.
Phil accepts it and downs half of it at once. He is entirely too uncool to be here. Clint should be sharing his hot-plate pasta with some worldly college guy who knows how to open a damn bottle of beer and who would say something smooth into the awkward silence settling between them. Phil is just an awkward seventeen-year old who can barely walk without hurting himself, let alone push Clint down into that bed and make him see stars like Phil wants to.
“I can hear you thinking” Clint says, finishing his own beer and reaching for another.
“I can think of a few things that would shut me up.” Phil says immediately, and oh. That beer is definitely doing more for him than he thought it would be.
Clint laughs at him, and shifts the ‘stove’ out of the way so he can tug Phil into his space, setting aside both their beers and laying back against the edge of the bed behind him. Phil follows suit, hovering one hand over Clint’s chest for an awkward moment before Clint huffs another laugh and grabs Phil’s wrist to put his hand on the chest Phil has been coveting for over a year.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” Phil hadn’t meant to say that, but the look on Clint’s face makes him happy he did.
Clint makes a strangled sort of noise, and Phil has half a second to be almost proud that he’s rendered Clint speechless before Clint has him flipped onto his back. Phil is bent awkwardly in the middle, neck pushed to one side in a move that will be painful in about five minutes, but none of that matters because Clint’s lips are on his again and this more than anything else is what Phil has been waiting for.
Clint pulls away after a moment, and Phil pauses to take in the way his own hands have mussed up Clint’s hair, and the way Clint’s lips are parted slightly, swollen and red and shiny. He looks flawless, and like every filthy fantasy Phil has ever indulged in.
“We’ll be more comfortable on the bed.” Clint says, voice deeper than usual, and with a husky quality that promises more to come.
Clint surges to his feet in a gracefully controlled movement that has Phi’s awkward scramble seeming even more awkward in comparison. Clint laughs again, and Phil has a moment of wishing that he could make Clint laugh with him rather than at him, before Clint is tugging him down into the bed by the hand.
Phil doesn’t have a chance to think much of anything for the next few minutes distracted by the way Clint’s tongue carefully works its way into Phil’s mouth. Clint’s hands are kneading gently at Phil’s back, and Phil takes a moment to slide them down to his ass. Clint pulls apart for a moment to ask a breathless, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Phil replies, grinning crookedly and diving back in for a slightly more uncoordinated kiss.
Phil is just gathering up the courage to try that hip-rolling thing that Clint had managed last summer when there’s a harsh, frantic pounding on the door to the trailer.
“Jesus Christ.” Clint groans, “What?”
“I forgot my key!”
“Fuck off, Barney!” Clint yells, wrapping his arms tighter around Phil to keep him in place as Phil tries to scramble to his feet, “No, don’t move. He’ll leave I promise.”
“Clint just let me in!” Barney punctuates his yell with another flurry of heavy knocking.
“Ugh,” Clint groans,loosening his hold on Phil minutely, “If I don’t let him in he’s going to start shaking the trailer.”
Phil rolls off of Clint, wedging himself between Clint’s shoulder and the wall to allow Clint to get up.
“Wait here.” Clint says, leaning down to give Phil another quick kiss before hurrying the few steps to the door.
“Dude, fuck off.” Clint says, opening the door just enough to see out, “I need the trailer.”
“Hilarious, Clint, really.” Phil hears Barney’s voice reply with a dry chuckle, “And where exactly am I supposed to go while you fuck your boyfriend?”
“Why don’t you go beg Zel to let you sleep with that cobra?” Clint suggests.
“She found a fucking Townie, Clint.” Barney’s reply is softer, and Clint slumps against the door frame in response.
“Please?” Barney asks.
Clint pops his head back around the door and smiles sheepishly at Phil.
“Care for some company?” Clint asks, “You don’t have to go, but… you know… We won’t be, uh, anything.”
Phil shrugs from his place on the bed. It might not be the night he wanted, but he’s happy to at least sleep in the same bed. His parents still think he’s at his friend’s place anyway.
Phil wakes up with an elbow in his face, and the coldest foot on the planet tucked behind his knees, but there’s still nowhere he would rather be.