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Phil stands in the rapidly filling bar of the theatre and ruthlessly suppresses the smile that wants to steal across his face as he watches Clint fidget nervously a pace or two away from him. Clint is totally out of his comfort zone here and for once, without the rest of the team around, he’s letting his discomfort show. Phil lets his gaze run over the archer while he’s distracted and takes in the rare and unusual sight of Clint Barton dressed up for a night on the town. Normally when Phil sees him, its work related and Barton is suited for action as Hawkeye or in training gear. When he’s off duty Clint tends to slob around in jeans and tshirts which Phil can sure as hell appreciate. Barton can fill denim like no one else, but this is something a little different and Phil knows he’d be a fool not to take it all in while he can.
Clint’s wearing dark charcoal grey tailored trousers, which flatter him so well that Phil suspects he had help in picking them out from either Stark or Tasha. A beautiful deep royal blue shirt, equally well fitted, enhances the archer’s broad shoulders and tucked into the trousers it does nothing to disguise his perfect ass. The archer has foregone jacket and tie but the top button of the shirt is undone and from the way Clint’s fingers keep fiddling with the cuffs, Phil’s pretty sure that Clint wants nothing more than to roll those sleeves up and out of the way. Clint’s wound so tight with nervous energy as he scans the expensively dressed crowd that Phil half expects him to jump out of his skin when he reaches out to touch his arm. Instead he simply turns to face Phil, a tight little smile on his face that to someone as well versed in Bartonesque as Phil is screams his discomfort with the situation.
Phil doesn’t need to ask to know what’s running through Clint’s mind. They’re standing in the bar of a theatre waiting for a performance of The Merchant of Venice which Phil has been wanting to see for a while. That Clint agreed to come with him when he asked in the first place was a pleasant surprise but he can see that he’s clearly having serious second thoughts about it now. Clint opens his mouth but thinks better about whatever he was going to say and swallows it with a deep pull on his beer instead. Phil doesn’t need to hear him say it to know that Clint is busy parading doubts through his mind - that he shouldn’t be here, won’t understand the play because he never finished school, that he doesn’t belong here with all these elegant cultured people.
Phil snorts softly as he takes a step and closes the space between them. He slides his drink onto the bar behind Clint and then rests that hand on Clint’s hip, pleased to see the archer’s eyes widen slightly at the touch. He brings the other hand up to undo the second button at Clint’s throat, exposing a little more of his strong neck to his view. Just enough to be tantalising without being louche.
‘Trust me when I say that I really couldn’t give a damn what any of these people think,’ he smoothes his hand down the front of Clint’s shirt before taking a small step back, still close enough that nobody else will overhear his low voice.
‘Also, trust me when I say that everybody here wishes they were in my shoes right now. You are easily the hottest guy in this room and I know that you have more class where it counts than anyone here.’
Clint’s face reddens slightly and he drops his eyes to his feet but when he looks up that deliciously cocky look that Phil loves so much is back on his face.
‘Well, I guess if I’m alright in Agent Coulson’s eyes then that’ll do me just fine,’ Clint smirks at him and stretches his shoulders to ease the tension in them. Phil’s pretty certain that he hears several gasps from the gaggle of women standing behind them as he does and has to fight to hide a smirk of his own.
‘Just relax and see how it goes. If you don’t enjoy it then we won’t do this again but just give it a chance because God knows you’re brighter and sharper than most people I’ve met and a high school diploma doesn’t give anyone an appreciation for Shakespeare. You either have it or you don’t.’ He quirks an eyebrow at the other man, ‘I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it.’
Clint grins at him but whatever he was going to say is stopped by the bell ringing to announce five minutes until the performance begins. Clint finishes his drink and gestures for Phil to lead the way, sliding a hand into the small of Phil’s back as he moves past. Phil fights the little shiver that the casual touch invokes but doesn’t bother to hide his smile this time. This is going about as well as he could have hoped for something that hadn’t been explicitly defined as a date.
They find their seats and Phil’s very pleased with them, they’re next to the central aisle at the front of the Grand Circle and the view is going to be just about as good as it gets. They settle in to their seats and Phil knows that Clint has already taken inventory of all the exits, fastest escape routes and defensive positions, just as Phil has. They sit in comfortable silence as the rest of the seats fill in and Phil relaxes a touch.
Clint settles more comfortably into the seat next to him and just as the lights dim and the curtain goes up he, oh so casually, slides his arm along the back of the seat behind Phil. Phil shoots an amused sideways glance at the archer who is looking intently at the stage and doing his best impression of a man who has not just made the move of a high schooler at the movies. Phil grins and from the corner of his eye he sees Clint’s lips curve upwards just as on stage Antonio recites the opening lines of the play.
At first Phil is tense, can’t relax into the play because he’s worrying that despite his earlier confidence Clint won’t enjoy it. The Merchant is his favourite Shakespeare play but he was right earlier, most people either get Shakespeare or they don’t. He kind of envies Clint this opportunity to see this without having had to study it at school and have it all broken down, all the fun and excitement sucked out of it. His eyes keep slipping sideways to Clint’s face, who has this little frown of concentration on his face as he focuses on the stage which deepens when the actors say something he doesn’t quite catch. After about ten minutes or so though Phil gets caught up in the story himself because as familiar as he is with it, its always different to see it performed, to see the inflections the actors will put onto the characters. Subtle changes, particularly in this play, can make a huge difference to the overall feel of the story. When he next sneaks a look at Clint he smiles broadly. The frown of concentration is still there but Clint is leaning forward, all his attention firmly on the stage, focused, almost as still as he would be on a mission. Yep, he’s completely hooked.
The interval comes during Act III, shortly after Shylock’s famous speech. Phil felt Clint’s surprise when he recognised the “If you prick us do we not bleed” line in the tightening of his arm around Phil’s shoulders. Oh yeah, Clint Barton’s smooth all right, he hadn’t waited long to slip his arm from the back of the seat to Phil’s shoulders and Phil had been damn careful not to do anything that might persuade him to move it.
When the curtain drops over the stage Clint turns to Phil, clearly keyed up by what he’s seen so far, questions on the tip of his tongue.
‘Want to head back to the bar for another drink?’ Phil asks casually. Personally he’d prefer to stay here with Clint as almost everybody else seems to be making a beeline for the bar and the bathrooms which are bound to be crowded and uncomfortable.
Clint frowns a bit then brightens as he sees an usherette walk down the aisle with her tray of ice cream held in front of her.
‘How about we get ice cream and stay here instead?’
‘I’m not sure this could feel more like a teenage date at the cinema,’ Phil laughs, but he goes to get the little tubs of ice cream all the same and tries not to be too distracted by the way Clint licks and sucks at the little plastic spoon. He’s reasonably certain the archer is not being deliberately provocative which just makes it all the more arousing to watch.
Clint fires questions about the first half of the play at him as they eat and Phil’s delighted that he’s gotten so involved. They’re heatedly discussing anti-Semitism in late medieval Europe, and really who would’ve expected that tonight, when the rest of the audience begins to file back in. Clint’s an animated and entertaining conversationalist when he’s interested in a subject and he has one foot tucked underneath him as he’s turned to face Phil in his seat so that he can make his points more forcefully.
‘Looks like we missed the five minute warning bell,’ Phil muses as he stands to make way for a couple to squeeze past back into their seats.
‘Yep. Guess we got a little carried away there.’
Clint’s smile is breathtaking at such close range and Phil suddenly wants to kiss him so badly he almost forgets to breathe. Clint must see it in his face because his eyes suddenly drop to Phil’s mouth and Phil is for the first time in his life very displeased when the lights drop and the curtain rises for the second half of the play. They settle back into their seats and Phil lets himself shift a little closer when Clint’s arm drops across his shoulders again.
When Portia, dressed as the lawyer, starts haranguing Shylock after she’s already revealed that he cannot claim his bond, Phil realises that this may not have been the best play to bring Clint to. He’s warned by the sudden tension in Clint’s arm still draped around him and he reaches out to clamp a hand on Clint’s thigh just as the archer is opening his mouth and about to surge forwards. Clint freezes and sinks back into his seat but the mulishly outraged look stays on his face as Shylock is stripped of every shred of dignity as well as his fortune by the supposedly merciful Christians in the play. He practically vibrates with tension and Phil figures that he should have known Clint would react this way, his childhood and background have given him no tolerance for bullies or injustice in any form. Throughout the final scenes of the play and the light hearted banter between the newly married couples, Phil keeps his hand on Clint’s thigh, his thumb rubbing in little circles even when he feels the arm around his shoulders relax.
As the curtain falls and the audience begins to applaud, Clint and Phil clap and cheer along with them. Phil isn’t surprised when several members of the audience in the stands rise to their feet, prompting most of the rest of the audience to stand as well, its been the best performance he’s seen in a long long time. The curtain rises and falls several times as the applause continues and Clint cheers his head off with the best of them. When the curtain falls for the last time he turns to Phil and his face is flushed, eyes bright with pleasure.
‘You enjoyed it then?’ Phil asks as they move to join the rest of the audience, heading for the exits.
‘It was fantastic. I’ve never been to anything like it before. Is it always like this? I was completely involved in it. Jesus, I was so goddamned angry during the court scene...’
‘I noticed,’ Phil laughs, ‘I thought you were going to vault down there and rescue Shylock.’
Clint chuckles ruefully, ‘Just be glad I didn’t have my bow with me.’ He flushes and cuts his eyes away to the side, ‘If you hadn’t grabbed me I was just about to start yelling at her to leave him alone.’
Phil smiles at his enthusiasm as they pick up their coats from the cloakroom and push through the doors into the cool evening air.
‘I take it you don’t think that Shakespeare meant the play to be anti-Semitic then?’ Phil asks curiously and Clint looks at him as though he’s lost his mind.
‘No way, Shylock totally got all the best lines and how can you possibly not feel sorry for the man when the whole of his world is against him from the start. If they hadn’t constantly hounded him perhaps he wouldn’t have been so keen for revenge. No, its about the hypocrisy of it all. Those supposedly noble characters who harp on about mercy all the time but then show none themselves.’
Clint gestures with his hands to make his points and Phil listens carefully before telling Clint about how he’s seen the play presented in a different light before and how he came out of that performance totally convinced that Shylock was the real villain of the piece. They walk slowly, discussing the ambiguities of the play and Phil grins wickedly as Clint espouses the stupidity of Antonio and Bassanio throughout the play.
‘Remind me not to take you to Romeo and Juliet. You’d love Mercutio, he’s the Elizabethan version of Tony Stark, always has to have the last word, but you’d hate Romeo so much.’
He’s surprised when Clint catches hold of his arm pulling him to a stop in the middle of the street. Clint drops his eyes to the ground in front of him and looks very earnest all of a sudden. Phil’s heart seizes in his chest and his hands clench by his sides as he realises what this is. This is the moment when Clint’s going to tell him that he’s been reading this whole situation wrong, that what he thinks has been flirting has only been friendly banter and he’s going to apologise for leading him on. Phil takes a deep breath and tries to get his poker face ready.
‘Thank you.’
‘For what?’ Phil’s taken aback.
Clint smiles and its a soft sweet smile that Phil’s not sure he’s ever seen before, certainly not directed at him anyway.
‘Thank you for knowing that I would enjoy tonight. For asking me to go and not just assuming that I wouldn’t want to or that I wouldn’t understand it.’ He shrugs his shoulders eloquently and there’s a hint of pink on his cheeks, ‘Just...thank you.’
Phil has no idea what expression is on his face right now but its making Clint smile at him again so it can’t be too bad. And then Clint steps forward and raises a hand to slide behind Phil’s neck and tug him into a kiss.
Its short and soft and so sweet. It’s perfect, much like Clint himself. When the archer pulls back slightly Phil wraps an arm around his waist to keep him close.
‘Well, if I knew that Shakespeare would have such an effect I’d have tried this a lot earlier.’
Clint chuckles softly and presses another quick kiss to Phil’s lips.
‘How about you take me home and read me some of those sonnets I hear he wrote and see where that gets you,’ Clint trails his hand down Phil’s arm until he can tangle their fingers together before turning to try to hail a cab.
Phil tightens his fingers around Clint’s and tries to remember if he’s ever seen the collected works of Shakespeare at the mansion. Not too worry, he’s pretty certain he can remember all the relevant bits anyway. As Clint turns back to him with that same soft smile lighting up his face he thinks that there’s now another reason The Merchant of Venice is his favourite play; he can’t see anything replacing it in his affections now.
Fin