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Natasha was suspicious the moment she walked into the rec room in Stark Tower. Pepper and Tony were sitting together on the couch, Bruce was standing behind them with a cup of tea and even Steve was sitting on a chair looking uncomfortable. The only person missing was Thor.
Well, Clint and Coulson were missing but they'd left for a mission a few hours ago. Natasha narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms across her chest.
"What are we doing?" she asked.
"Staging an intervention," Stark said.
"For who?"
Pepper smiled gently. "For you."
That was definitely unexpected. Natasha folded her arms across her chest and frowned.
"Well, not really for you," Stark clarified. "This is more to find out what you know about Barton and Coulson."
"So that we can form a plan," Pepper said.
"I was just trying to make some tea," Bruce said. "I don't know how I got dragged into this."
"I'm still not comfortable with interfering in their personal lives," Steve added.
"Uh huh, but you're both still dying to know," Stark said. "Don't deny it."
"Know what?" Natasha tried to project a hint of threat into her voice. It usually worked on Steve, at least. "None of you are making sense."
There was a quick, silent conference of glances and headshakes and Pepper appeared to be elected as spokesperson.
"Phil and Clint," Pepper said slowly. "We've been noticing a few things and we're a bit confused. Are they together?"
Natasha raised an eyebrow and didn't say anything.
"They go on a lot of dates," Pepper added. "But something feels a little...off. We're worried."
"Dates?" Natasha asked.
"They're off on a camping trip this weekend," Stark said as though that explained anything.
"They're on a mission," Natasha said. "One that's above your security clearance."
"Uh uh." Stark smirked. "One that involves cooking s'mores over a campfire and watching the stars? Because that's all Barton was talking about this morning. It didn't sound like a mission."
"And Phil made him pack extra socks," Bruce said thoughtfully. "It was like watching an old married couple."
"An old married couple who aren't having sex," Stark said. "They do everything except fuck. They've been having mission dates for how many years now?"
A smile twitched at the corners of Natasha's lips, she could feel it there even though she was trying not to react. "They've been working together for five years."
"It's worse than we thought," Stark said.
"What's your plan?" Natasha asked and then quickly added. "Not that I'm confirming or denying anything."
"Ha!" Stark crowed. "We were right!"
"Tony, stop making the lady who can tear your arms off angry," Pepper said firmly. "We need her if we're going to make them see sense."
"Yes, stop making me angry," Natasha said and it was impossible to supressed the smile now. "If you were somehow right, what's your plan?"
Three wide smiles and an expression that wavered between resigned and protesting greeted her. They outlined their plan.
It was sneaky, devious and, above all, easy to implement. Natasha approved.
***
Clint stuck a marshmallow on a stick and held it out to the campfire. It was a perfect night, one of those ones that makes camping the best thing in the world. The temperature was just cool enough for jackets but not so cold it was unpleasant, the stars were shining brightly and Clint smiled as he inhaled the scent of pine, wood smoke and charring marshmallow.
In the distance there was a faint orange glow on the skyline that might have been the burning remains of an AIM base. Maybe. Not that he could confirm anything because the mission was classified.
There was a faint crunch of leaf mould beside him and Clint turned to see Phil settling on a log a couple of feet away.
"Are you still hungry?" Phil asked. "After all those hot dogs?"
Clint shrugged. "It's s'mores."
"Ah."
The marshmallow reached the optimal toasted level and Clint held it out to Phil, who rolled his eyes and reached into the packet of graham crackers at his feet.
"Want to grab pancakes on the way home tomorrow?" Clint asked as he set up the next marshmallow. "I saw a diner on the drive up this morning."
"Pancakes sound good," Phil said.
They ate s'mores and talked about the mission report until the moon set behind the trees. Then by unspoken agreement they dragged the sleeping bags out of the tent and spent the night sleeping under the stars.
***
Natasha read through the list Stark and Pepper had carefully prepared for her.
"Massage oil?" she said. "Really?"
"That was Tony's contribution," Pepper said, rolling her eyes. "I wanted the gift basket to be more subtle."
Reviewing the list again, Natasha thought for a moment and then shrugged. "We're trying to put together a kit for them to seduce each other. Stark might have a point."
"Never let him hear that," Pepper warned. "He'd never let us live it down. Are you sure the timing is right for this?"
"It's a babysitting and intelligence mission," Natasha said. "Lots of hanging around in hotel rooms waiting for something to happen. Coulson usually spends most of his time glued to his laptop, reviewing reports and sending snarky email to junior agents who can't spell properly. Clint gets bored after an hour and gets annoying. This is perfect timing. A dozen junior agents will thank you if they're both distracted for a few hours."
"Suddenly I can see why you prefer the superhero business over SHIELD missions," Pepper said thoughtfully.
"Stark Tower is much nicer to wait around in than low budget hotel rooms." Natasha made a couple of notes on the list and passed it back to Pepper. "How does this look?"
A smile gradually curled the edges of Pepper's lips. "Perfect. If this doesn't nudge them in the right direction..."
They looked at each other. Thought about things carefully.
"Well, we've got a few more ideas in reserve," Pepper said, a hint of forced optimism in her voice.
***
Clint kicked off his boots and flopped down on the bed. It was a typical cheap hotel bed: lumpy, uncomfortable and overloaded with blankets and sheets and two duvets.
Seriously, who needed two fucking duvets ever?
The one thing the bed had in its favour was that it was flat, which felt great after eight hours sitting in a car watching an office building where nothing ever happened. Coulson had already claimed the second bed in the room and had his laptop on his legs and half a dozen files spread out around him. Clint didn't have the heart to resent him for getting back to their temporary base an hour earlier because Coulson's stakeout location had included a junior agent who couldn't shut up.
O'Conner had been Clint's partner on a previous mission. He knew first hand just how painful several hours of his chatter could be.
There was something nagging at the edge of Clint's mind and he spent a moment reviewing his mental footage of the hotel room before he opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.
"Do we usually get gift baskets?" he asked, eyeing the large, stylish basket sitting on the table between the two beds. "That's not normal, right?"
Coulson frowned at his laptop screen and poked at the keyboard irritably. "Apparently it's a new policy at this hotel. I already checked."
"And you scanned it for explosives, tracking devices, and other nasty shit. Right?"
This time Coulson looked up from his work. "Barton, it's just a gift basket. I'm sure they're in all the rooms."
It wasn't that Clint didn't trust him, but sometimes he needed to see things for himself. He sat up, grabbed the basket and carefully emptied the contents out on his bed.
"Sir," he said after a while. "Are you sure this is a standard thing?"
Coulson sighed and looked up. "Why?"
"Because this shit is expensive." Clint gestured to the stack of stuff on the bed. "The chocolate is the good stuff, there's a bunch of weird smelly things and I'm pretty sure this is Nat's brand of hand lotion and you know that stuff is a hundred bucks a tube."
"But there aren't any explosives, tracking devices, or other nasty stuff?"
"Doesn't look like it."
"Then it's probably a mistake."
"Shall I check with housekeeping?"
There was an exasperated huff as Coulson read something on his screen and hit the delete button hard. "What kind of chocolate do we have?"
Clint grinned and dug through the small pile, pulling out a dark chocolate bar that he knew from experience was one of Coulson's favourites. "Here you go. I'm going to take a shower. I smell like a car air freshener."
He found a clean t-shirt and sweatpants in his luggage and grabbed a bottle of something from the basket that promised a citrusy shower experience. Then he spent a happy half hour under the hottest water he could stand, letting it soak away the stiffness from the prolonged inactivity. When Clint emerged from the bathroom, Coulson was still sitting on the bed glaring at his computer as though the information on his screen was personally insulting him.
Given the state of some of the reports the junior agents wrote and their persistent refusal to learn the correct usage of apostrophes, Clint wasn't surprised.
Coulson closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders. He turned his head to one side and then to the other, stretching out his neck, and Clint recognised the signs. Stiff neck and sore shoulders today would result in a headache tomorrow and misery for everyone on the mission.
Clint eyed the pile of lotions and oils on his bed. Not that he was going to use them specifically, but they gave him an idea.
"Neck rub?" he offered.
Coulson looked like he might object for a moment and then he deflated, which told Clint exactly how uncomfortable he was. "If you don't mind."
He closed the lid of his laptop and shuffled forward a little. Clint took the hint and knelt behind him, which wasn't completely comfortable but wasn't actually that bad. He started with long, broad sweeps of his hands down Coulson's neck and over his shoulders. Even through the fabric of Coulson's shirt, Clint could feel how much tension there was and how knotted the muscles were.
"This might hurt," he warned before he dug his fingers into the worst knot.
Coulson just sighed and dropped his head forward, which Clint took for encouragement to continue. The tension gradually started to loosen under his fingers and Clint couldn't help smiling. It would be easier to do this with access to bare skin and Clint was just wondering how to broach the idea when there was a loud thump against the door.
They were both on their feet reaching for weapons in an instant. Coulson's sidearm was on the bed next to him and Clint had secreted a knife under his pillow earlier because he didn't sleep well without one.
He exchanged a quick glance with Coulson, nodded, and padded silently to the door. Coulson was just behind him when Clint flung open the door to find Natasha slumped against the doorjamb. Blood stained her white shirt and there was more blood pooling on the floor around her.
Any thoughts of neck rubs, headaches or chocolate went straight out of Clint's head, chased out by worry for Natasha and the chaos that always came with a blown op.
***
"Well, that was a painful failure," Stark said.
Natasha raised an eyebrow and quietly enjoyed the way Stark went pale and swallowed.
"Probably more painful for Natasha than the rest of us," Bruce said. "With the stabbing and the internal bleeding."
There was a good reason why Bruce was sometimes Natasha's favourite. He brought her tea and made Stark look guilty when he was an asshole.
This was the first afternoon since she'd been discharged from medical that Natasha had been in the tower without Clint or Coulson hovering over her. They had set her up on a sofa in the rec room with a mountain of pillows and blankets, the TV remote, a stack of trashy novels and strict instructions to everyone else that she wasn't to do anything except rest.
Natasha hated rest. It was necessary but getting stuck with two weeks of rest before she'd even be allowed to do some light, no impact training was driving her crazy and it was only day three.
As soon as Clint and Coulson had left the tower, the members of Operation Make Them Fuck had crept out of the woodwork. Tony and Pepper were sitting on another sofa and Steve was sitting uncomfortably in a nearby chair. Bruce had cautiously taken a seat at the other end of the massive couch Natasha was installed on and tugged a corner of one of her blankets over his legs when Natasha smiled at him.
"It nearly worked," Natasha said. "According to Clint, there was a neck rub."
Pepper raised her eyebrows. "That sounds promising."
"Told you the massage oil wasn't too much," Stark said triumphantly.
"Don't get your hopes up," Natasha said. "Clint didn't even get Coulson's shirt off."
"What happened?" Stark asked.
Even Steve shot Stark an incredulous look.
"OK, fine, point taken. Stabbing yadda yadda," Stark said quickly. "We need a new plan."
"Maybe the gift basket wasn't the right kind of hint," Bruce mused. "It focused on the sex side of things."
"What other side is there?" Stark asked.
There was a bright light of understanding in Pepper's eyes. "Romance. We're looking at this in completely the wrong way. They're both closet romantics and we were just trying to push them straight into bed. We need to get them on a date. A romantic one."
"Pepper, heart of my hearts," Stark said lightly, "I thought the problem was that they've been dating without getting to the fucking part for the last five years. How is more dating going to solve that?"
Bruce slowly smiled. "By going on a date where they can't pretend they're doing anything except dating."
"Not a mission briefing, not a mid-mission refuelling stop," Pepper added. "A date with wine and music and nice suits."
"Do they like Italian?" Bruce asked.
"It's their usual choice on missions," Natasha said. "They live on pasta."
"Then here's what we do," Bruce said.
Natasha listened to his plan. There was a small wicked smile on Bruce's face when he finished, one that Natasha had never seen before, and she thought the look suited him.
"I can make that work," she said approvingly.
***
Clint tucked the phone between his ear and his shoulder and listened to it ring a couple of times. He carefully juggled bags and closing the trunk of the car, trying not to let the phone escape.
There was a quiet click and then Natasha's voice. "Clint. I thought you were on radio silence?"
"Job's all done." Clint locked the car and took the phone in his hand again as he began walking across the hotel parking lot. "Coulson reported in so no more radio silence. How are you?"
"They won't clear me for weapons training," Natasha said and he could hear the irritation in her voice.
"Nat, you got stabbed three weeks ago."
"In my abdomen. That doesn't stop me holding a gun."
"Uh huh. And they had to stitch you up four days ago after you burst the stitches for the third time because you're too fucking stubborn to actually rest." Clint fumbled for a moment with the hotel's back door and managed not to drop the bags or the phone, although the door caught him on the shoulder as he pushed through. "Fuck."
"Pots and kettles, Clint." Natasha laughed at him. "I bet you just hit your shoulder trying to get into the hotel carrying too many bags."
"It's scary that you know that."
"Clint, I know you too well. You've got a routine." Natasha was several hundred miles away but Clint could almost feel her rolling her eyes. "You're road-tripping back, Coulson found some fascinating local thing you had to see-"
"It was a museum about the history of chair making."
"-and somehow he got Fury to authorise an overnight in a decent hotel. Right now you're trying to carry most of the gear up to your room in one trip because you're hungry and multiple trips take time. Then you're hitting the local Italian place for supper where you'll have meatballs and Coulson will have carbonara and you'll both pretend that you're only getting dessert to keep each other company."
By the time Natasha finished, Clint had travelled up to the third floor in the elevator and he was staring at the corridor. This wasn't the cheap rooms. The corridor was wide and beautifully decorated with plush carpets.
"Thai food," he said absently.
"What?"
This was definitely not their usual grade of hotel and Clint was too distracted by that to make any more comments on Natasha's terrifying prescience about their plans.
"We're not going for Italian tonight," he said, walking down the corridor looking for room 322. "Coulson has been talking about Pad Thai for the last three hours and there's a Thai place down the street."
"You always go for Italian," Natasha said with an odd note in her voice.
"Not tonight," Clint said. "Sorry, Nat, gotta go."
He hung up before Natasha could do more than shout his name just as the door to 322 opened.
"Barton, you didn't need to bring all of it," Coulson said. "I can manage-"
"Sir, unless you want me gnawing off my own arm then one trip is enough," Clint said, gratefully surrendering a bag. "I'm fucking starved, let's go eat."
He didn't have time to see much of the room because Coulson seemed to sense the urgency and allowed him to just drop the rest of the bags and run.
***
It was a great meal and Clint was feeling relaxed and just at the fuzzy stage of being slightly drunk when they got back to the room. He frowned as he looked around at the large bed. The only bed.
"Sir, was there a mistake on the room reservation?" he asked, taking off his jacket and throwing it onto the nearest chair.
"No mistake," Coulson said. "And apparently the hotel is full tonight so there isn't a twin they can move us to."
The bed thankfully wasn't the only piece of furniture in the room and Clint considered the couch with an assessing eye. It was definitely long enough and it looked like it might be pretty comfortable.
Of course, the bed looked amazing as well and Clint didn't have any specific objections to sharing it with Coulson. It was so large that it probably wouldn't be much different from sleeping in a twin room with their beds separated by only a couple of feet, which they'd done dozens of times over the years. The tents they shared sometimes on camping trips were probably smaller than the bed.
Except Clint knew he sometimes got a bit handsy when he was drunk and he wasn't sure how Coulson would react to waking up with Clint plastered to his side.
"I'll take the sofa," he said after careful thought.
"Are you sure?" Coulson asked.
Clint shrugged. "It looks better than the beds in the last hotel we stayed in. I'll be fine."
"If you don't mind," Coulson said and Clint could already see the longing in his eyes at the idea of several hours of sleep on such a sinfully luxurious bed. "Thank you."
They took turns in the bathroom and Clint thought that the shower might be almost as good as the ones back in the Stark Tower. While he showered, Coulson generously found blankets and sheets and made up the sofa and Clint groaned as he lay down and felt all the kinks in his back suddenly ease away.
Coulson politely ignored the noises and Clint returned the favour by ignoring the soft moan Coulson let out when he sank onto the mattress.
"We should probably write someone a note," Clint said after Coulson turned out the lights. "Thank them for the mistake because sir, this might be the best hotel we've ever had."
"I'll do that tomorrow," Coulson said sleepily.
Clint smiled and closed his eyes. He listened to Coulson's breathing gradually turn slow and even as he drifted into sleep and then he followed into dreams that he didn't remember after except for a vague sensation that they'd been wonderful.
***
Natasha looked around the rec room at members of Operation Make Them Fuck. They all looked dejected and she couldn't help sympathising.
"They really went to the wrong restaurant?" Stark asked. "I thought you guaranteed that they always went for Italian after a mission."
"This is the first time in five years they haven't," Natasha said. "It was unprecedented."
"And they didn't take the hint from the room?" Bruce asked. "Are you sure?"
"Clint can't lie to me," Natasha said. "I'm sure. Nothing happened."
Even if he had tried to lie, Natasha knew his "I had sex last night" look and that definitely wasn't how he was looking when they got back to the tower. He and Coulson had looked a lot more rested than they usually did after an operation, but Natasha would have bet everything she owned that one of them had spent the night on a sofa.
"I had no idea they could be this stubborn," Pepper said eventually.
"Clueless," Stark said. "They're not stubborn, they're clueless. Coulson has lost all my respect. I thought he was an intelligent man but obviously he's missing some key elements to his education."
"Deliberately clueless," Bruce said. "They're both trying so hard not to see anything that they've convinced each other that there's nothing to see."
"I might have to kill them," Natasha said thoughtfully. "It would be less frustrating."
"Has anyone considered talking to them?" Steve asked.
There was a long silence in the room. Natasha shrugged because she'd considered talking to Clint but he kept changing the subject every time she got anywhere near it.
"You're all trying to be sneaky and hope they'll figure it out," Steve continued. "But you're just continuing what they've been doing all along. They go on camping trips and dinner dates without consciously realising they mean anything. You've tried making their dates more romantic and hoping they'll take a hint but after five years, it's going to take more than some chocolates and a nice dinner that they didn't even go to."
"Well, now you're just being sensible about it and taking away all the fun," Stark said.
Natasha leaned forward and winced as her healing wound pulled. "So what would your plan be?"
Steve outlined his plan, which was as practical and straightforward as he was. His face was pink by the time he finished and Natasha thought about it carefully.
"That's a terrible plan," Stark said. "They'll run a mile."
"It is a bit...unsubtle," Pepper said.
"They'll know we set them up," Bruce said. "Particularly if we write them the note."
Natasha smiled. "It's perfect."
***
The tower was unusually empty when Clint got home a few days later. Normally there would be at least one person sprawled in the rec room and Stark only left his workshop for missions, business stuff and those times when Pepper decided that he was getting close to caffeine poisoning and dragged him out.
He stood in the rec room, feeling the emptiness around him. "JARVIS, where is everyone?"
"Shall I attempt to predict their exact physical locations or is this a general inquiry?" There was just a hint of snark in JARVIS's voice.
Clint shrugged. "Just tell me they're out and that'll do."
"Agent Coulson has just entered the elevator," JARVIS said solemnly. "The other residents are out, as you put it."
The elevator dinged quietly as JARVIS spoke. Clint smiled because it was rare to have a night with only Coulson around. Maybe they could order pizza and watch a movie without Stark talking over half the dialogue.
He was still considering the idea when he heard Coulson calling him from the kitchen. There was an odd note in Coulson's voice that Clint couldn't quite pin down and he pulled out a knife as he half-jogged in Coulson's direction.
What he wasn't expecting to find was Coulson standing next to the kitchen table holding a note. Just to add to his confusion, the table was set with white linen, silver cutlery and beautiful crystal glasses. There was even a lit candle in the centre and the lights had been turned down low. In any other place Clint would have called the setting...romantic.
Coulson looked equally confused although his eyes were flicking quickly down to the note and up again. Clint noted clinically that the tips of Coulson's ears were turning red.
"What the fuck is going on?" Clint asked.
There was just a moment where Coulson looked almost flustered before the usual mask of bland non-expression was put firmly in place again. He held out the note silently and Clint moved close enough to take it, feeling intensely curious now.
The curiosity was quickly replaced by something that didn't want to name yet. Whoever wrote the note didn't pull any punches. Clint felt his face heating as he read the carefully detailed evidence, conclusions and action plan their friends had put together. By the time he got to the end with its cautious request for forgiveness for their interference, Clint didn't quite know where to look.
He folded the note carefully into quarters and kept his gaze on a neatly folded napkin on the table.
Coulson cleared his throat and said, "So."
Clint swallowed and said, "Yeah."
There was silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. The biggest problem was that with everything just laid out like that, Clint could actually see where they were coming from. Missions with Coulson were always the best ones and lately they'd been taking their time after a mission, with camping and dinners and sometimes a road trip that wasn't exactly the straightest line from point A to B.
Maybe Clint did look forward to those missions more than he should have and maybe there were times when he caught himself wondering when he'd next be on the road with Coulson.
None of that had to mean anything. Did it?
"This is awkward," Coulson said eventually.
Clint snuck a glance at him just in time catch Coulson looking away with an expression Clint couldn't quite interpret.
"Obviously they've misread things," Coulson continued.
"Obviously," Clint said.
"Definitely."
Clint considered the folded paper in his hands and then glanced up, forcing himself to at least look Coulson in the face.
"Maybe," Clint said uncertainly and then hesitated. "Maybe...maybe they're not that far off the mark? I can kind of see why they might think we're in denial about dating."
Both of Coulson's eyebrows shot up. "You can?"
Clint shrugged. "Kind of."
"Oh."
"Would it be such a bad idea?"
"You mean, apart from the fact that we're not attracted to each other?" Coulson frowned. "It does seem like a fairly major barrier to what they're suggesting."
"Are you sure about that?" Clint asked.
"About you being attracted to me?"
"About us being attracted to each other." Clint took a deep breath, hoping that what he said next didn't end up costing him a friendship he valued more than he'd ever realised before. "Maybe we should test it. Check we're not."
Coulson looked thoughtful. "How do you suggest we do that?"
"I could kiss you." Clint tried to look confident. "That should settle things."
"It...could," Coulson said cautiously. "It sounds like a logical plan."
"That's me, logical to the core," Clint said, forcing a small smile.
It seemed to work, at least as far as relaxing Coulson was concerned, because some of the tension went out of Coulson's shoulders and he looked intrigued rather than worried now.
"I wouldn't describe logic as one of your dominant traits," Coulson noted and Clint shrugged. "But the plan seems sound. So, how do we do this?"
Clint smirked and a smile began to pull at the corners of Coulson's mouth. It drew Clint's eyes to Coulson's mouth and he wondered for a moment why he'd never noticed those lips before. They looked pretty kissable, now he was actually considering it. Maybe he hadn't noticed before because he'd never considered kissing them, at least not consciously. There had been some dreams sometimes that he'd tried to forget as soon as he woke up. The thought led to other memories he'd pushed away, of times when he'd caught himself just looking at Coulson when they were sitting by campfires or when Clint had been the first to wake up in a shared room.
Perhaps their friends weren't completely mistaken after all.
Clint stepped closer and cautiously put his hands on Coulson's waist, which drew a raised eyebrow that Clint chose to ignore.
"I guess we just go for it," he said.
He was better at action than pretty words so he leaned in to touch his lips to Coulson's. It was possibly the weirdest, most awkward kiss he'd ever experienced.
For about two seconds.
Then Coulson sighed and pressed a little closer and it was though something inside Clint finally snapped and ignited. There was suddenly heat and need and the taste of coffee on Coulson's lips. He opened hungrily when Coulson licked at his lips and groaned quietly as the kiss deepened.
Clint couldn't get enough. He wrapped his arms around Coulson to pull him in tighter and felt Coulson's hands on his back, shifting restlessly up and down his spine. This wasn't anything he'd ever expected to feel and it was confusing and amazing all at once.
The only thing he was certain of was that he didn't want this to end yet.
Coulson appeared to be of the same opinion because he pressed closer, forcing Clint to slowly back up until his hips hit a counter. That was something Clint definitely approved of because now Coulson rolled his hips and ground against Clint, leaving him in no doubt that they were both on the same page about this.
Clint reluctantly tore his mouth away to suck in air and he was pleased to hear that Coulson's breathing sounded as ragged as his felt. He nuzzled just below Coulson's ear and felt more than heard the soft moan when he tasted the skin there.
"Maybe they weren't completely wrong about us," Coulson said breathlessly.
"Not completely." Clint grinned and stopped nuzzling so he could meet Coulson's eyes. "I'm not complaining."
There was a pink flush in Coulson's - Phil's - face and his eyes were wild. "Neither am I."
Clint looked at the beautifully laid table a few feet away and said, "According to the note, we've got supper in a warming oven."
"Are you hungry?"
Apparently Phil didn't play fair when it came to sex because his hand slipped under the waistband of Clint's jeans as he spoke and then he nipped at Clint's jawline.
It took Clint a moment to regain his breath. "Not right now." He thought for a moment and used the break to start tugging off Phil's tie. "The note said something about chocolate mousse in the fridge, though."
There was just a hint of wickedness in Phil's eyes and Clint had to swallow hard.
"Maybe later," Phil said before kissing Clint thoroughly again.
Clint grinned against Phil's lips and began walking him backwards in what he hoped was the right direction for the kitchen door and eventually his bedroom. "Definitely later."
***
Natasha spotted the tie draped over a potted plant the moment she stepped out of the elevator the next morning. She suspected it was placed deliberately because she found a shoe a few feet away and neither of them were locations that could have been between the kitchen and Clint's bedroom.
Their note was tacked to Clint's door, folded in quarters with the words "Thank you" printed neatly in Coulson's handwriting.
Stark, Pepper, Bruce and Steve were behind her and they all wore matching bemused expressions.
"I can't believe that worked," Stark said.
"The truth?" Steve smiled. "Sometimes it has its places."
"It's a good last resort," Natasha agreed.