Work Text:
Phil was too tired to even begin mentally composing his mission report when the Halloween mutant crocodile-hawk thing invasion was finally over. He had a vague plan to note down the framework of a strongly worded letter to the lab that had allowed the things to escape into New York's sewer system, but as he trudged into his apartment he acknowledged that in his current state, most of his notes would be variations on "Don't fucking do that ever again". There would be a letter, but it would need calm, measured consideration before he wrote it to produce the desired effect. Instead Phil stripped out of his ruined suit, dropping it on his bedroom floor moments before he landed flat on his face on the bed. He was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
It was mid-afternoon when he woke up, feeling stiff and bruised and painfully aware of the stinging from a couple of small acid burns on his wrist. The suit was now giving off a damp, acrid stink so Phil shoved it in a garbage bag before taking a shower. He'd learned half a dozen tricks for getting blood out of fabric but nothing could salvage a garment filled with acid holes.
The expenses forms for this were going to be interesting.
Phil dug out the oldest, softest sweatpants and t-shirt he owned after he carefully dried off and he still winced when the fabric brushed bruises and raw patches of skin. The part of his job where he was supposed to just be a liaison to the Avengers only worked if the monsters didn't head directly for the outpost he was directing the SHIELD portion of the operation from.
Focusing on getting clean and applying bandages kept him from thinking too deeply about last night. Whenever he let his mind drift, the memory of Clint's expression floated up and that made something tighten in Phil's chest. He still wasn't sure of a lot of things, but Phil knew one thing: he didn't want to see that mixture of hurt and guilt on Clint's face again.
More importantly, he didn't want to be the cause of it.
Working out what to do about the whole mess was the part he hadn't figured out yet.
Phil was contemplating his slowly disintegrating suit in its garbage bag when there was a quiet knock at the door. Only one person ever called on him at home. Phil could guarantee that if Clint suspected anything might be wrong and there was no answer to his knock, the archer would break in just to check. Post-mutant-crocodile issues would probably qualify as "suspecting something could be wrong" in Clint's mind.
When Phil opened the door, he found Clint slouched against the opposite wall holding a tray with two coffee cups and a large paper bag. There was a carefully neutral expression on Clint's face, not a hint of his true thoughts showing, but he was here and that had to mean something.
"Breakfast?" Clint said with a cautious smile.
"Barton, it's three in the afternoon," Phil protested, but he stepped back from the door anyway.
Clint shrugged and brushed past Phil. "It's the first meal of the day. Figure that makes it breakfast more or less."
"You logic is suspect."
Phil closed the door and following Clint into the kitchen, leaning against the doorjamb to watch as Clint found plates for the muffins he'd brought.
"My logic is brilliant and you know it." Clint held up the paper bag. "Banana nut muffin?"
There was a bright grin on Clint's face but it wasn't reflected in his eyes and Phil could read the uncertainty there. He looked as battered as Phil felt, with grazes on his jaw and white butterfly tape covering a cut above his eye. Clint's loose combat pants and hoodie looked comfortable and worn, as far from the seductive sheriff of last night as possible. Phil wondered briefly whether that contrast was deliberate. Then he noticed that Clint was moving without his usual liquid grace and concluded Clint was feeling just as sore as he was.
The thought was comforting in an odd way.
Phil pushed away from the wall and winced as his t-shirt brushed a sore patch over his shoulder blade.
The smile dropped from Clint's face, replaced with concern. "Are you OK?"
"Only if I don't move," Phil said dryly.
"I know that feeling."
Clint started to step closer but then he seemed to realise what he was doing and he stilled. Phil could see his hands open and close a couple of times, as though Clint was trying to keep himself from reached out to touch.
A couple of days ago there would have been a flirty quip but now there was just awkward silence.
"So," Clint said eventually.
"I'm sorry," Phil said at the same time. The apology took him by surprise for a moment, until he realised that saying it felt right. "I've been unfair to you and I'm sorry."
"Hey, no problem." Clint's tone was deliberately light. "I meant what I said last night: you don't want this, I'm not going to push anymore."
"And bringing me breakfast is your version of not pushing?"
Phil regretted saying that immediately. Clint's expression abruptly became shuttered and tight despite the smile plastered on his face that was starting to look more like a grimace.
"No, it's my version of confirming you're not interested." Clint shrugged dismissively. "Figured it was better to do it here rather than at work, you know?"
"And what if I was?" Phil cleared his throat. "Interested, I mean."
It was like last night all over again: the sudden charge in the air, Clint's eyes locking with Phil's and the heat in Phil's face. Except this time it was as though Clint was studying him. Not eager and hopeful, more like suspicious and distrustful and Phil figured he deserved that.
"You've got a fucking weird way of showing it then, boss," Clint said eventually. "I mean, there are mixed signals and then there's you. One minute you're flirting with me and the next you're telling me that we can't do this."
"I know and I'm sorry." Phil took a cautious step forward. "It's just...this is complicated."
"Complicated."
"I was your handler for years."
Clint rolled his eyes. "Sir, if you were demanding sexual favours in return for authorising my equipment requests then you might have a valid concern."
"There's still a power imbalance." Phil raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard you call me anything except 'sir' or 'boss, for example."
"I sometimes call you 'Coulson'," Clint said.
"Five times, Barton," Phil said. "In the ten years we've known each other, you've called me 'Coulson' five times. And only three of those times were when you weren't drugged to your eyeballs."
"You counted?"
Phil paused. Considered. "Maybe."
Clint grinned, suddenly looking lighter. "Way to play it cool, sir."
"Are you taking this seriously?"
"Absolutely." Clint took a step closer and forced a more serious expression onto his face. "So, power imbalance. We can work on that. What else have you got?"
"We work together." Phil sighed. "If we try this and it goes wrong, we've still got to work together."
"You think I won't respect you in the morning." Phil swallowed as Clint moved another step closer. "That we won't be able to work together after we've seen each other naked."
"Something like that."
"Two words: decontamination shower."
Phil rolled his eyes. "Not the same."
"You're right, it's not the same." A wicked glint appeared in Clint's eyes. "I'm not allowed to lick-"
"Barton?"
"Too soon?"
"I'm telling you my very good reasons for why this could be a bad idea and all you can do is make ridiculous innuendos." Phil folded his arms across his chest. "It's not giving me much confidence that we can work this out."
"You're right." Clint took a deep breath. "I'll still be able to work with you if it doesn't work out. Promise."
"It's not you I'm worried about," Phil said. "I've seen how well you can work with people you've been involved with. It's me."
Clint's eyes widened in surprise and Phil refused to look away from him, even though he could feel heat in his face again.
"Why?" Clint asked. "You're the most professional man I know. It's one of the things about you that I...uh...all that professional competence stuff is shit hot, sir. You know?"
Phil's mouth went dry and he nearly blurted out something stupid, like "are you serious?", because he hadn't even tried to analyse yet why Clint was interested in him. Somehow, he hadn't expected that his job performance level would be something that got anyone hot under the collar.
Then again, Clint wasn't most people and in a twisted way it made sense that his skills in the field would be what attracted Clint.
This probably said something important about both of them but Phil didn't want to think about that right now.
He mentally shook himself to get back on track. "Our work is more important than anything else we might be together. We should be trying to maintain a degree of professional distance. I'm not sure I'll be able to do that if we take this further, even if it doesn't work out. I'll be emotionally compromised and that could be dangerous for everyone on the team."
Clint's expression was still amused. "Emotionally compromised? You do know you're not actually Spock, right?"
"I was being serious."
"No, you're being ridiculous."
Phil put on his most unimpressed look. "This isn't endearing you to me."
Clint shrugged. "Just calling it as I see it. And the way I see it, you're shit scared of getting involved in case I compromise your judgement or something stupid. Know what? I'm willing to take that risk."
"Barton..."
"You can stop listing reasons why is a bad idea now, OK?" Clint took another step closer. "I get it, dozens of really good excuses why we shouldn't do anything. We can figure all that shit out of if we want to, though."
"Do you want to figure it all out?" Phil asked, not quite holding his breath because that was undignified.
"Fuck yes," Clint said.
"Why?"
"Because I think it will be worth it."
Before Phil could raise any more objections, Clint leaned forward and kissed him. It was just a firm press of lips together, completely chaste, but Phil had to clear his throat twice before he could say anything.
"Resorting to physical affection when you've run out of arguments isn't going to be a long-term solution to anything," he said.
Clint shrugged. "It was a demonstration of why this will be worth all the work."
"Kissing me."
"Among other things."
This had the potential to be a really bad decision. They'd barely scratched the surface of all the ways this could be a disaster. Phil could have listed issues and concerns all afternoon without ever getting to the bottom of his list.
Except there was Clint, standing in front of him with such a hopeful expression and Phil didn't want to stop this. And there was a sensation somewhere deep down that might have been worry or might have been fear, but Phil was starting to think it was anticipation.
Clint put his hand on Phil's arm and smiled. "We can make this happen if we want it to."
Phil took a deep breath and said, "If we do, we can't just jump straight into this. We'd have to take it slowly, make sure it doesn't affect our professional relationship."
There was a long pause and this time Phil did hold his breath.
"So, me just showing up naked in your bed tomorrow night would be a bad idea," Clint said with a cheerful smirk. "I'll go with plan B then."
A smile started to twitch at the corner of Phil's mouth against his will because somehow it didn't surprise him that Clint's instincts were so direct.
"I've never taken things slow before," Clint said thoughtfully. "Where do we start?"
"Coffee." Phil didn't have much more experience than Clint with the go slow principle, it wasn't usually an option with his career. He'd watched a lot of bad TV, though, and coffee seemed to be a successful non-date way to considering starting to date. "We go out for coffee a few times. Maybe we graduate to dinner after a while."
"That sounds very slow, but I can work with it. If..."
"If?"
Clint placed his hands on Phil hips, carefully and gently as though afraid that this would spook him. The thin fabric of Phil's sweatpants was the only thing between his skin and Clint's broad hands and it sent a shiver down his spine.
"If I can kiss you sometimes," Clint said, his eyes dropping to Phil's lips.
"I can work with that."
"And flirt with you. I'm not sure I can resist it."
"I won't object."
"Good."
Phil's folded arms were trapped between them as Clint leaned forward to kiss him again. Clint's lips were warm and firm and Phil closed his eyes so that he could concentrate better. It was a slow kiss, slow and subtle, and Phil hadn't expected that. He'd anticipated Clint would be all fire and swift burning want, not this considerate man who didn't even let his fingers tighten on Phil's hips.
It was a good surprise and Phil relaxed tension that he hadn't even realised he was holding onto. He took a deep breath just to take in the citrus smell of Clint's shampoo and a hint of coffee.
And the faint, acrid undertone of acid.
Phil pulled back, sniffing again.
"Wha-?" Clint froze and his nose twitched slightly. "Can you smell that?"
There was a quiet puff sound and Phil looked around just in time to see the garbage bag that had contained his ruined suit burst into flame.
"Shit," Clint said very distinctly.
"Exothermic reaction," Phil said thoughtfully. "We should probably let Stark and Banner know about it."
Clint stared at him incredulously. "Or we could, you know, put the fucking fire out first?"
"Or we could do that," Phil agreed.
Which was when the apartment door burst open to reveal Stark in his Iron Man suit and Banner in a hazmat suit, with half a dozen masked agents behind them.
"We did knock," Banner said apologetically. "I guess you know about the acid having some inflammatory tendencies."
"We do now," Phil said tiredly.
He had a suspicion that this kind of thing was going to be a theme of his life from now on.