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On their second official date Clint followed through on his promises, everything from cooking supper to shirtless making out on the couch.
Phil was fairly sure the shirtless part had nothing to do with how good or bad he was because Clint seemed very eager to let Phil take his shirt off whenever Phil might want.
Which was why they spent three dates in a row on Phil's sofa, kissing and touching and pretending they absolutely intended to let whatever Clint was cooking burn. On the fourth date, a Thursday because they'd both been out of the country for nearly a week, they gave up and ordered Chinese. This plan worked out much better in terms of unburned food, but as the food was currently sitting on a table getting cold they still weren't any closer to eating the food.
Phil's sofa wasn't exactly comfortable. It was a little too short and narrow and it had always been lumpy in the wrong places. That didn't matter; Clint pulled Phil down onto it eagerly and his bent knees framed Phil's thighs just right. Kissing Clint was fast becoming an addiction and all the smooth, bare skin on his chest cried out for touching.
It still surprised Phil that they were here, that he was kissing Clint and hearing the quiet moans and gasps when they got it just right. His reservations about the whole relationship concept were slowly being worn away, or maybe kissed away would be more accurate, although he still had moments when he wondered whether it was a really bad plan. Those moments usually came when he lost track of the discussion in a mission briefing because he was too busy watching Clint's lips and hands and remembering the last time they'd been alone together. That was still the sticking point in the relationship thing, the part where Phil was having trouble separating Agent Barton from Clint, the guy he kissed on his couch a couple of times a week.
He kissed his way down Clint's neck and smiled against the skin under his lips as Clint unsubtly ground up against him.
"Shit, Phil, you're actually trying to kill me," Clint muttered.
Phil nuzzled briefly at Clint's collarbone and then shifted lower so he could kiss and nip at Clint's chest before carefully swiping his tongue over a nipple. The harshly indrawn breath and arching that produced made something hot and possessive flow through him. He licked again, sucked and teased with his teeth and Clint's reaction was amazing. Phil had never had a male partner who liked this before and he had a strong suspicion that it was going to be something he returned to over and over.
He also suspected Clint wouldn't mind, judging by the harsh panting and urgent writhing he was eliciting.
Clint groaned loudly and grabbed Phil's shirt, using it to haul Phil up and away from his chest.
"Keep doing that and I'm not going to be responsible for what happens," Clint said before kissing Phil again.
Phil smiled against his mouth and surrendered to the kiss. Warm hands slid under his shirt to rest lightly on his back and Clint wrapped an ankle around his leg. None of this was what Phil had expected. He'd assumed Clint would be pushing boundaries and trying to tempt him into things but Clint was being oddly respectful.
Clint and respectful should have been concepts that never met.
Even though Clint was lying half naked on his sofa and was definitely not going to say no to anything Phil might propose, so far he hadn't done more than untuck Phil's shirt and undo the top few buttons. Phil found that mixture of eagerness and careful restraint unbelievably sexy.
The kiss was hot and filthy and Phil moaned when Clint bit at his bottom lip. There was a good chance that things might have gone a lot further, Phil was definitely thinking his shirt needed to go, when they were interrupted by a noisy alarm.
Phil pulled back just enough to meet Clint's eyes, seeing his own lust and frustration mirrored there. They both paused for a moment and then Phil reluctantly rolled away and slid to the floor. The timer they'd set had somehow been kicked under the sofa so it had reached the 'world ending doom' level of beeping by the time Phil retrieved it and hit the reset.
He rested his back against the sofa and tried to catch his breath. The harsh panting from above told him that Clint was having just as much difficulty getting his control back.
"I fucking hate that timer," Clint said after a while.
"It was your idea," Phil pointed out. "Something about taking timeouts so we wouldn't get carried away?"
"Still fucking hate it."
They stayed where they were for a while and Phil didn't mind when Clint reached down to card his fingers through Phil's hair lazily. It was nice to have that contact even though they probably needed to back away before they crossed some lines Phil still wasn't convinced either of them were ready for.
As it was, tomorrow's weekly team meeting was probably going to be torture because all he'd see each time he looked up was Clint spread out on his couch, swollen lips and lust-addled eyes tempting him to cross lines he hadn't decided to cross yet. It was exactly why the go slow plan was still in place.
"What time is it?" Clint asked eventually.
"Late," Phil said without bothering to check a watch.
"I should go."
"You haven't eaten yet," Phil said, gesturing vaguely to the bag of food on his dining table.
"Surprisingly not hungry right now."
Phil sighed and stood up, holding out a hand to pull Clint to his feet even though he didn't need the help. Clint grinned at him and planted a quick kiss on the corner of Phil's mouth when he was upright. The hoodie Clint had worn on arrival was neatly draped over a chair, but it took Clint a moment to locate his t-shirt, which had fallen behind the sofa.
He probably didn't need to make quite such a production of stretching over to retrieve his shirt but Phil definitely wasn't going to complain.
They kissed at the door and Phil had to take a deep, shaky breath when they parted because damn, it was getting too easy to get carried away now.
He watched Clint walk down the hall to the elevator, pretending he was just making sure Clint made it safely and that it had nothing to do with Clint's ass. Then he ate most of a box of fried rice before taking a cold shower and going to bed, where he resolutely pushed all thoughts of Clint out of his head and tried to sleep.
***
Phil had many skills and his ability to concentrate under extreme circumstances was one he prided himself on. It was probably the only reason he'd managed to read and sign off on three intelligence reports despite the Clint-shaped distraction sprawled on his couch. He allowed himself one quick glance to check Clint was still sleeping before reaching out for the next file on his stack.
There were probably a dozen regulations he could cite for why Clint shouldn't be napping in his office on a Saturday morning. Phil had chosen to ignore all of them for reasons he wasn't going to examine too carefully.
So he let Clint nap and he continued reading reports, which was actually an oddly soothing combination considering it was a Saturday and they'd both hoped to be doing something other than sitting in SHIELD HQ. Not that they'd made any specific plans together, but there had been a vague thought that as they were both supposed to be scheduled off on the same weekend then maybe they should do something.
Then a portal to a world filled with fire-breathing lizards (Phil refused to call anything that small a dragon) had opened in Central Park on a Friday lunchtime. Most of Friday afternoon, evening, and early morning had been spent trying to corral and return them before Doctor Strange closed the portal. Miraculously it hadn't even been the worst Friday that Phil had ever experienced.
He'd grabbed a couple of hours sleep on his sofa between portal closure and debriefing. Clint had just shrugged when Phil asked whether he'd slept, which meant he'd been too buzzed on the adrenaline to rest so he'd probably spent the time on the range. Now Phil still had reports to work through and other agencies to monitor for the post-lizard cleanup and Clint had finally crashed.
Their plans were going to have to take a backseat to work again.
Phil worked through his stack of reports and checked on Clint whenever the temptation was too much to resist. Every now and again there was a quiet sigh or snuffle from the sofa and Phil couldn't help wondering what it was going to be like if they finally spent the night together.
No, when. When they spent the night together. Pretending that wasn't where this thing between them was eventually heading was starting to get pointless.
When they finally spent the night together would Clint as relaxed as he was draped on the sofa? Would those noises he made eventually become familiar?
He was lying on his back with his arms folded across his chest. Was that an indicator that he kept his hands to himself in his sleep or was he more likely to encroach on his partner, to hold and sprawl and share space?
Phil wasn't sure how he felt about either possibility but he suspected Clint probably didn't have many boundaries when he slept. It wasn't as though he had many boundaries when he was awake, after all.
Phil was just reaching to pull another report off the file when an alarm suddenly sounded. It cut off after only a couple of blats, just in time for Phil to hear the quiet snick of his office door locking. The few tones were enough to wake Clint and he sat up looking blurry and exhausted but already reaching for the knife he wasn't supposed to have strapped to his calf.
"What happened?" Clint asked as soon as his brain had processed where he was and the lack of people trying to kill him.
"Biohazard alarm," Phil said tiredly, because the alarm had been short but not too short to miss the pattern. "We're sealed in."
Clint sagged a little and left the knife where it was. "Oh."
There was a quiet ding from Phil's computer and he woke up the screen to check his inbox. The most recent message was tagged with every urgent flag SHIELD had including an excessive number of exclamation marks in the subject line. Phil scanned it quickly and then read it again, more slowly, hoping it might change if he stared at it long enough. Of all the biohazards anyone could potentially release into SHIELD HQ, why did it have to be this one?
He was so busy trying to pretend that there was some other explanation for the words 'sex pollen' appearing in an email that he didn't notice Clint was moving closer until he was right there next to him.
Leaning over his shoulder.
Smelling very, very good.
Phil swallowed and carefully didn't turn his head. Clint was just reading the email, he needed to be that close, it was all going to be just fine.
"Is there any chance R and D is just messing with us?" Clint asked after a while.
As the email had been sent directly from the head of R and D and there was a follow-up from Fury, addressed only to Coulson and the head of R and D, Phil had to concede there was virtually no chance it was anything except very real.
Clint sighed and he was close enough for his breath to ghost across Phil's neck, which sent shivers down his spine. It was incredibly distracting.
"This job just keeps finding ways to get weirder and less fun," Clint said. "I suppose there's no way to override the locks?"
"Are you really that eager to get away from me?" Phil asked and he almost kicked himself because that wasn't what he'd meant to say.
He'd meant to say something cool and bland that would defuse everything neatly. Instead he had to turn his head slightly so he could check Clint's expression and that meant he got to see the way Clint's pupils had already dilated.
"No offence, but today? Yes." Clint straightened up and stepped away a couple of paces, shoving a hand through his hair in a sign of frustration Phil recognised too well. "You, me, a locked office, and sex pollen in the air system? Seems like a pretty explosive mixture if we're trying to keep things slow."
With Clint now a short distance away it was easier to think. Phil took a couple of deep, calming breaths and reminded himself that he was a highly trained professional who could deal with anything up to and including the combination of dangerous R and D experiments and his extremely tempting boyfriend.
The fact that he was thinking of Clint and 'boyfriend' in the same sentence like they were teenagers pointed strongly to this not being a false alarm.
"Don't suppose you've got a contingency plan for this?" Clint asked hopefully.
Phil snorted. "I've never needed one before."
"They had the email out within thirty seconds of hitting the alarm," Clint said. "That means there's a draft out there on the server just waiting to be activated. Someone somewhere predicted we'd need a sex pollen alert. How were you not in that meeting?"
"It was three years ago and I didn't expect to get locked into my office with you," Phil said dryly.
"Are you saying it would be different if you were locked in your office with Stark?"
Phil couldn't prevent the full-body cringe at the idea and Clint's quickly stifled laughter didn't help. "Apparently so."
"Huh." Clint scrubbed his hand through his hair again and almost absently took a step closer to Phil again. "Guess that's a good sign."
"It probably isn't."
"You're right, it probably isn't," Clint said after a thoughtful pause. "I mean, sex pollen that doesn't make us indiscriminately horny for any passing ass is a good thing. Don't get me wrong, I approve of that. It doesn't solve the one major problem we have here."
"Which is?"
"Consent."
It was starting to get more difficult to think again and the way Clint was shifting restlessly on his feet wasn't helping. Phil wheeled his chair back a couple of paces and raised an eyebrow when Clint started to follow.
Clint took a deep breath and continued. "We can both agree that we're definitely affected by this shit already, right? That means any consent we give would be under the influence and I don't know about you, but that just doesn't sit right with me."
On the one hand, there was a part of Phil that admired Clint's ability to think logically under what were rapidly becoming very trying conditions.
Then there was the other, more urgent part of Phil that really wished Clint wasn't thinking quite so logically about consent and their current situation. As that part was definitely located somewhere in his pants right now, Phil tried to ignore it.
"What do you suggest?" Phil asked.
Clint shot him a frustrated, slightly desperate look. "Fuck if I know! You're the plan guy. I'm the guy who shoots things."
"Firstly, you're a lot more than just a marksman," Phil said as calmly as he could. "Strategically, you're as good as anyone here. And secondly, I'm no less affected by this than you are."
"If you were trying to think of something to say that would make this better," Clint said, "that wasn't it. Note for the future: don't say nice things about me and then tell me how horny you are when we're in the middle of a sex pollen-induced relationship crisis. It's not helpful."
"I'll try to do better." Phil raised an eyebrow. "You might want to stop pacing and, ah, adjusting yourself if you're trying not to escalate things."
The way Clint just stopped mid-pace and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling for a moment told Phil more than words could. And this was probably only going to get worse if the research team didn't find a cure soon.
"Handcuffs," Clint said suddenly.
Phil gritted his teeth at the surge of lust the image of Clint and a pair of handcuffs produced. "What?"
Clint reached into a pocket of his combat pants and produced a silvery object. "Handcuffs. Come on Phi-...boss, you've got to have a pair or two around here somewhere."
"Whether I do or not-"
"Nothing kinky," Clint said quickly and then stopped so quickly his teeth clicked. "Right, yes, words to avoid right now."
"You telling yourself about words to avoid is really no better than using them."
"Fu-...shut up." Clint moved to a corner of the office and began heaving at a filing cabinet. "What I meant was, if we don't want to do anything while we're under the influence then we make sure we can't. If I chain myself to the piping in this corner and you find something over there, we won't be able to get close enough to each other to do anything we might regret."
Phil stared as Clint shoved the filing cabinet aside and began examining the narrow yet sturdy pipe that ran from floor to ceiling in that corner. As ideas went, it was surprisingly good. Not entirely foolproof, but it might work.
There was no pipework in the corner opposite Clint but at some stage the office had been used for something else and there was still a heavy metal bar attached to the wall at ankle height. Phil had spent the three years he'd been assigned the office trying not to think about why he had a metal bar there and getting irritated with the restrictions it imposed on the furniture layout. Today he was glad he'd never got around to having it removed. He had two sets of handcuffs in his desk drawer and Clint was definitely a genius for thinking of this.
He'd be recommending some kind of commendation when this was all over. On second thoughts, maybe not. Commendations for clear-thinking under the influence of artificial sex hormones were probably not something Fury would be handing out any time soon.
"Pockets." Clint was holding up his handcuffs with a look of pained concentration. "We need to make sure we haven't got anything on us we could pick the locks with. And you need to put these on me, make sure they're tight enough I can't get out of them. Right now, I don't trust myself. I'll do the same for you."
As Phil had watched Clint get out of a set of handcuffs using a rubber band and a badly bent thumbtack, the precaution seemed wise. He watched Clint empty every pocket in his combat pants, strip off his hoodie and tactical vest, and then kick off his boots and place everything in the centre of the room where neither of them could reach anything once they were chained up.
As torture scenarios went, watching Clint strip to pants, t-shirt and bare feet while under the influence of sex pollen was a pretty painful one.
The hungry look Phil got from Clint as he emptied his pockets and put his jacket, belt, shoes and cufflinks on the floor with everything else told him that Clint felt the same way.
Standing close enough to put the handcuffs on each other was agony and Phil was shaking and sweating by the time Clint was satisfied with their work. The feel of callus-roughened fingertips against his wrist as Clint checked the fit an unnecessary number of times was almost worse than the heated looks Clint sent him.
Phil retreated quickly to his corner before he could change his mind about the plan and clipped the cuff hanging from his right wrist to the bar. On the other side of the room Clint did the same and sat down cross-legged.
Watching Clint, seeing the way he kept shifting restlessly and the fine sheen of sweat on his face, didn't help Phil's composure at all. Clint's eyes seemed to be locked on him and Phil tried to keep very still so he didn't make things worse for both of them.
After a little while, Clint quietly said, "I have a hand free."
Phil took a careful, very shaky breath. "It's a definite issue with your plan."
"I suppose if we're not touching each other..."
"Just..." Phil took another careful breath and shifted around awkwardly until he was facing the wall where he couldn't see Clint. "Just don't tell me."
He could hear shuffling and rustling and risked a quick look back to see that Clint was also facing the wall, leaning his forehead against it as though the cool plaster would help to keep him from temptation.
The only good thing about the entire debacle was that after a while thoughts became scattered and too fleeting for Phil to hold onto any so he just floated on a wave of heat and lust and painful, unsatisfied need.
***
Phil returned to full awareness slumped against a wall feeling sweaty, sticky and sore. He heard a soft groan from somewhere else in the room and it was a relief when all that provoked was more exhaustion instead of the painful rushes of want from earlier.
"You OK, Phil?" Clint's voice sounded hoarse and tired.
It took a couple of attempts before Phil could speak. His jaw ached from clenching it tight for who knew how long. "I think so."
There was the sound of metal scraping against a pipe and then a quiet thunk that Phil suspected was Clint's head against the wall. He couldn't summon enough energy to open his eyes and look.
"Think it's over?" Clint asked a couple of minutes later.
"I'm fairly sure it is." Phil forced an eye open and squinted up at his desk a few feet away. "I'd check my emails but I'm a little tied up right now."
There was a quiet snicker followed by a pained whimper. "Don't make me laugh. Or move. My everything hurts. What did we do?"
"We probably don't want to think about it too much."
"Sounds good to me." Clint was quiet for a while before saying, "Shit, there are going to be tapes."
"There won't be." Phil shifted a little to relieve some of the pressure on his still-cuffed wrist. He was too exhausted to think about rolling into a more comfortable position. "Standard part of the procedure. All tapes from occupied areas should be getting wiped right now."
"That's kind of a relief."
There was another long silence and Phil was tempted to fall asleep even though he was incredibly uncomfortable and he was fairly sure his suit was ruined. At least he'd apparently been too far gone to work zippers and buttons so he wasn't putting on a show for anyone who walked in. It was probably the reason why he felt so sticky, but he was taking every small mercy he could find right now.
"Boss, I think I've found the other weak spot in my plan," Clint said eventually.
"Oh?"
"How do we get out of the cuffs?"
Phil thought about that carefully. "I have no id-"
The door suddenly burst open and Phil just quietly closed his eyes and tried to pretend he hadn't seen Natasha's smirk or Stark's wide, incredibly amused grin.
"Well, this is interesting," Stark said cheerfully. "Very interesting. Barton-"
"Shut up, Stark," Natasha said.
Phil was torn between opening his eyes so he could see the look she was giving Stark and continuing to play unconscious. Natasha's quiet, feminine snicker decided him.
Playing unconscious won.