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Phil warily eyed the garment bag that Natasha was holding. It hadn't even been opened but he was already certain that whatever was inside would be a bad idea. Anything involving Phil and a costume was automatically a bad idea as far as he was concerned.
"Run this by me again," he said.
It had been a long day and he wasn't sufficiently caffeinated to deal with anything Stark related.
Natasha smile's was small and sharp. "Stark is holding a Halloween party. He expects all of us to be there. That includes you, Coulson."
Phil rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That sounded suspiciously like an order. I think you're getting our roles mixed up."
She shrugged. "Feel free to give me all the orders you want, professionally. I'll consider them. This isn't professional. This is a party."
"I'm not really the fancy dress type," Phil said.
That might have been the wrong thing to say. Natasha gave him a flat, unimpressed look and shook the bag.
"We're spies," she said. "How is this different from a disguise for an op?"
"Usually my disguises are just different suits."
"And that's the beauty of your costume." Natasha unzipped the bag and Phil caught a glimpse of white shirt and black jacket. "It's just a different suit."
Phil frowned. "What am I supposed to be?"
"James Bond," Natasha said with a completely straight face. She didn't even blush.
Phil stared at her. "Isn't that a bit...corny?"
"It's both corny and ironic," Natasha agreed. "And that's why it's perfect for you."
"I'm going to pretend in your next performance appraisal that you didn't just call me corny." Phil took a careful breath. "Is there any good reason, aside from some deep-seated wish to torture me, that you want me to go to this thing?"
"I've got three good reasons." Natasha held up a finger. "Stark's costume, you'll regret it if you don't see it. Trust me on this." She held up another finger. "I'm not doing a Stark party alone and Steve already made me promise to be there." Another finger. "I picked out Clint's costume."
Phil choked a little and Natasha smirked. He'd guessed that Natasha knew something was going on but he hadn't expected her to just...say it. Out loud. To his face.
In his office at SHIELD.
"I'll be waiting in the lobby at the tower at eight tomorrow," she said, hooking the garment bag through a drawer handle on one of the filing cabinets that lined Phil's office. "Don't be late."
"I didn't say that I'd go."
Natasha just rolled her eyes and slipped out of his office, leaving Phil to glare at the suit. No matter what she said, he definitely wasn't going to Stark's Halloween party. Having a quiet night to catch up on paperwork would make a nice change of pace from the usual frenetic rush that characterised his job.
After all, if Natasha was plotting this with Clint then going to the party would just encourage him. Phil was trying very hard not to encourage him. There was no possible way that this could end well and Phil knew without a doubt that if he let something start with Clint, he'd never be able to stop it.
***
There was already music thumping loudly when Phil arrived in the lobby of the Stark Tower. He was definitely doing this against his better judgement, but Natasha had been insistent and Phil had reluctantly agreed after a lot of pestering that it might be fun. Maybe.
The prospect of seeing what Natasha had deemed a suitable costume for Clint had nothing to do with that decision, obviously.
Natasha was waiting for him, looking cool and beautiful in tight black pants and a loose black shirt with voluminous sleeves. There was a rapier belted at her side and she had a black cloth tied over her eyes.
"Dread Pirate Romanov, I presume?" Phil asked.
Natasha bowed gracefully and gave him an unexpectedly roguish grin. "At your service."
Phil smiled. "Do I measure up?"
She surveyed him and made a disapproving noise. "I don't think you're getting this right. Do you mind if I...?"
"I can dress myself," Phil said mildly.
Natasha completely ignored him and stepped closer. Before he could protest, her nimble fingers were unknotting his tie. Phil tried to stop her but she slapped his hand away and the glare he got informed him without words that she was armed and wouldn't hesitate to hurt him if he tried to interfere. She draped the tie around his neck and unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt.
"Much better," she said.
"I don't think James Bond usually dresses this casually," Phil protested.
There was a wicked light in Natasha's eyes. "You're James at the end of the movie, sipping champagne and disappearing into the distance with his latest girl. Or boy, if you prefer. Trust me, this is perfect. Hello, Clint."
Phil turned around and his breath caught in his throat. A sensible, rational portion of his brain tried to point out that the jeans and tight black t-shirt weren't historically accurate in any way. The much more vocal part of his brain was too busy babbling about sheriff hats and how the black eye liner highlighted Clint's blue eyes.
He was so busy staring at Clint that he didn't notice the way that Clint's eyes widened, looking as stunned as Phil felt, until Natasha chuckled quietly. Then it was almost impossible not to see Clint's expression and Phil felt an unaccustomed heat in his face.
"Wow, sir, you look..." Clint made a vague gesture that Phil didn't know how to interpret. "It's very...Casino Royale. Sir."
Somehow Phil managed to loosen his tongue from the top of his mouth to say, "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Well, as lovely all as this is, we have a party to attend," Natasha said briskly.
She held out her hands and gave them pointed looks. Clint was the first to move, tucking Natasha's hand through his arm and grinning at her. Phil shrugged and took her other side. Natasha squeezed his arm, tight enough to make him gasp, and when he heard Clint make a surprised noise Phil concluded that she had done the same to him.
With Natasha it was hard to decide whether that was a sign of affection or irritation, but Phil chose to interpret it as a good thing.
The party was being held in a ballroom that Phil hadn't even been aware existed until tonight. It was on the other side of the Stark Tower and had its own entrance, which explained why the lobby had been so quiet. Phil suspected that if this had been one of Stark's usual big society parties there would have been press camped out at both sets of doors waiting for their chance to scoop photos of celebrities. As this was a relatively low-key affair, for Stark, the only sign of a party was the loud music and the men in black suits carefully examining everyone who entered.
They let Phil, Natasha and Clint in with respectful nods and Phil was surprised when heads turned at their entrance. He guessed that they made a striking trio but he didn't think there needed to be quite so much attention. Natasha smiled gracefully and dragged them in the direction of the refreshments, where she released their arms and shooed them away from her. That was less about being kind and more about the very good bottles of vodka behind the bar, Phil suspected.
Trust Stark to only serve the best vodka.
Phil hadn't eaten since lunch so he was more interested in investigating the array of food at the buffet than getting drinks. Apart from anything else, it allowed him to look away from Clint without appearing rude and he needed that break to regain some of his composure. He had just taken a bite out of a crab puff when he spotted Stark.
More accurately, he spotted Stark's wig. It was impossible to miss, a towering monstrosity of powered hair and ribbons that stood at least two foot tall.
The sight was so ludicrous that Phil choked on his mouthful of crab puff and by the time his eyes had stopped watering and he could breathe again, Stark and Pepper were looking at him with matching concerned expressions. Clint was just staring at Stark, looking as though he couldn't decide whether to laugh or offer sympathy.
Stark's costume was obviously intended to be a French aristocrat, although this was Stark so he had taken it as far over the top as possible. Pepper's Marie Antoinette costume was almost as overdone, but she somehow made it look cool and classy despite the quantity of brocade on her dress and the wig that was only marginally smaller than Stark's.
"Hello Phil," Pepper said politely. "Natasha, Clint. I'm not sure how Tony persuaded you to come, but I'm glad you're all here."
Natasha raised her glass of vodka in a silent toast. "I saw Stark's costume."
Stark glared. "How did...it was supposed to be a surprise."
Clint shrugged. "She's a spy. It's what she does."
"I have to know," Natasha said with a sly smile. "Is this-"
"He lost a bet," Pepper said, rolling her eyes.
Natasha's eyes lit up. "Oh?"
For a moment, Phil could have sworn that Pepper's eyes went to him, but her expression didn't waver and he decided that he had to have been mistaken.
Before anyone could say anything they were joined by Steve, Thor and Jane. Phil smiled as he took in their costumes. Steve was wearing a passable imitation of Thor's armour, right down to a surprisingly convincing copy of Mjolnir.
Thor's costume was a perfect replica of the Captain America uniform from the forties including the old metal shield. Completing the look was Jane, dressed as one of Cap's chorus girls and looking very smug. That was probably due to a combination of the way Steve kept blushing every time he looked at her and the fact that Thor barely let her out of his arms.
Stark grinned widely. "Gang's all here! Let's get this party started!"
***
The party was still going but Phil had reached his limit for loud music and dancing. Out on the floor, most of the Avengers were still dancing enthusiastically. Steve had abandoned his fake Mjolnir somewhere and Maria Hill, of all people, was tutoring him on modern moves. It seemed to mostly involve a lot of uncoordinated flailing from both of them and Maria's Indiana Jones hat kept slipping to the back of her head.
Phil suspected that Stark had punched up the punch at lot, pun definitely intended.
There had been a minor commotion when Director Fury arrived until he assured everyone that there were no apocalypses imminent and he was just there to take advantage of Stark's hospitality, specifically his excellent whisky. Fury's concession to the concept of fancy dress was a dashing pirate hat and nobody was daring to make the obvious comments.
Not even Stark, miraculously.
It was probably because everyone was too surprised by Fury's smooth dance style more than any actual fear of his retribution.
Phil had retired to a darkened alcove with the remains of his bottle of beer. It was quieter there, sheltered from the music and the loud chatter of dozens of guests. He was contemplating taking the chance to slip away unnoticed when someone joined him.
It was Clint, of course. Lately it was always Clint.
The sheriff hat was gone and Clint's skin was damp with sweat. There was a bright grin on Clint's face as he stepped closer to Phil, so close that Phil could feel the heat from his body. It was too close but Phil didn't move away.
"Why aren't you dancing, sir?" Clint asked.
"It's not really my thing," Phil said, pleased that he voice sounded completely unaffected.
"I bet you have some moves," Clint said.
"Not really."
This was...nice. Calm. Clint was flirting a little but it was nothing Phil couldn't handle.
"So, James Bond, huh?" Clint said after a pause. "It's a good look on you."
Phil rolled his eyes. "I never really caught what you are."
"I'm not really sure either," Clint said. "Nat dressed me. Not literally, I know how to put my own pants on. She picked it out and told me to put it on."
"I know that feeling."
Clint winced. "You too? Guess she really wanted us here."
"She said something about promising Steve."
"He's a hard man to say no to when he does the puppy eyes thing."
Phil couldn't suppress a small chuckle. "Puppy eyes?"
"Yeah, you know." Clint's eyes widened and went soft and pleading. "Puppy eyes."
"And that actually works?"
"Apparently."
"I'll have to remember that," Phil said. "In case he tries it on me."
Clint cocked his head. "I didn't know you had a weakness for a pair of baby blues."
"It depends on whose eyes they are."
It was the wrong thing to say, Phil knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, because he was thinking about how blue Clint's eyes were as he said it. The eyeliner made the colour stand out more and Clint's eyes darkened as he realised what Phil had said.
"So," Clint said slowly. "Steve's eyes do it for you."
"Not in that way," Phil clarified quickly.
That definitely wasn't the way to defuse things, Phil told himself. And he should be trying to defuse things because the sudden charge in the air and the way that Clint was looking at him wasn't what he wanted. Definitely not.
"What about my eyes?" Clint asked. "Could you say no to me?"
He had moved closer, so close that Phil could feel his jacket brushing Clint's chest with every breath he took.
Phil swallowed and wet his lips. "Normally I don't have to."
"Why?"
"I'm not usually trying to say no to something we shouldn't do."
"And right now?"
Clint leaned in, his lips not quite touching Phil's but so tantalisingly close that Phil could feel every brush of hot breath. There was no way to pretend that this was anything except the prelude to a kiss and Phil still hadn't decided whether he wanted to cross that line.
No, that wasn't right. He wanted to, his entire body thrummed with wanting.
"We shouldn't," Phil said reluctantly.
"Tell me no," Clint said.
Phil met his eyes and couldn't look away, caught by the heat and want and hope there.
"Tell me no," Clint whispered, "Tell me you don't want me and I'll never say another word. Promise."
They seemed to stay like that forever, hanging on the edge without quite daring to take that final step. Part of Phil knew that he should say no, let Clint down now and never mention this again. It was the sensible thing to do and there were a dozen very good reasons for him to do it.
The problem was that every time Phil opened his mouth to say that, the words got stuck in his throat.
"It's not a good idea," Phil said eventually.
Clint's smile made the corners of his mouth crinkle. "I'd believe you if you didn't have your hand on my hip."
Phil flexed his hand, surprised to find that Clint was right. While his brain had been racing through all the arguments for why this shouldn't be happening, his body had betrayed him.
"How about that," Phil said quietly.
He could feel the puff of air against his mouth as Clint chuckled and closed the distance to brush their lips together. The kiss was gentler than Phil had ever imagined Clint would be and it was over much too soon. There was barely enough time to register how warm Clint's lips felt before Clint was pulling away, looking strangely startled.
"I'm sorry, I-" Clint broke off and frowned. "That wasn't fair to you, I'm sorry. I meant what I said, tell me to stop and we'll never talk about it again."
Phil took a deep breath, fully intending to say something intelligent although he hadn't decided what yet, but he froze as something buzzed in his pocket.
"Oh, shit," Clint said at the same time.
The music stopped and in the sudden silence Phil clearly heard Maria's loud "Fuck this fucking job".
Steve sounded equally irritated, and more than a bit sarcastic, when he said. "Avengers, guess we're assembling."
Phil hadn't moved away from Clint went Stark walked past behind them.
"Barton, put Coulson down," Stark said. "Time to suit up. We need a designated driver and you're it."
Clint reluctantly moved away and Phil shivered in the sudden chill where Clint's body had been pressed against his.
"We have to go," Clint said, not meeting his eyes.
Phil took a deep, calming breath and did his best to resume his bland professional agent expression. "Maybe it's for the best."
Clint shrugged and hurried to follow the others. Phil couldn't decide whether he was relieved or disappointed at how the evening had turned out.