Work Text:
Kate hadn’t seen Clint in two days. That wasn’t unusual – she didn’t usually stop by Clint’s apartment more than three times a week on average. She was busy with Hawkeye things, and Young Avengers stuff, and her dad, of course. But things had been a little hard for Clint lately because he sucked at anything resembling a love life. It was his own damn fault, of course, but she still felt bad for him.
So when it had been more than forty-eight hours since she’s heard anything, Kate decided she’d go check up on him. She drove to the apartment and let herself in. The lights were off, and she thought at first that Clint wasn’t home. That was probably a good thing – he needed to get out, breathe some fresh air, and gain a little perspective.
Jessica Drew was a good person. Kate didn’t know her well or anything, but it was clear she cared about Clint. She deserved better.
Kate stepped into the kitchen, figuring as long as she was here she might as well walk Lucky. She was opening her mouth to call for the dog when she caught sight of the scene in front of her – and stopped.
Clint was sitting on the floor of his kitchen, Lucky in his lap. Clint was clutching the dog with both hands, his knuckles white. The dog looked worried, and maybe a little scared. His ears were back and he was licking Clint’s face with the kind of stubborn determination only a dog could have.
Clint wasn’t making a move to stop him. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge Lucky’s presence, except for the way his hands were almost buried in his ruff.
“Clint?” Kate asked, stepping forward. “Clint?”
He didn’t look up. Usually, Kate would figure that was because he knew who she was and that she wasn’t a threat, but now – right now – she wasn’t sure. She crossed to his side and knelt in front of him on the floor. The cheap linoleum was slightly sticky, as if he had spilled something hours ago and never noticed.
“Clint. It’s Katie. What’s wrong?”
Finally, he looked up. His eyes were unfocused, and very lost.
“Nothing,” he said, as if from far away. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Kate felt fear beat deep in her chest. She shared a glance with Lucky, who looked as worried as she felt.
“Bullshit, Hawkeye. Something is obviously wrong. Talk to me.”
That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Clint took a sharp breath in, as if he’d been stabbed. He began to sob.
The eerie thing was, there were no tears. His breathing hiccuped and his chest jumped, but his eyes were bloodshot and dry. They refused to focus on Kate’s face.
“Clint...” she tried again, wavering. What should she do? Should she call Natasha? Had someone died? She wanted to touch him, but she wasn’t sure if it was safe to touch someone in such a state. Was it like a seizure? Would he break her arm?
She hestitated, but Lucky didn’t. The dog whined, low in his throat, and buried himself deeper into Clint’s chest.
That seemed to be the right thing to do. Clint’s hands tightened around him again, and his weird not-crying stopped. Kate decided to follow Lucky’s lead and leaned in closer. She sat on the floor, ignoring the stickiness, and wrapped her arms around them both.
She wasn’t nearly as big as he was, but Clint was curled in on himself. She could almost reach all the way around him.
“Clint,” she said, low and practically in his ear now. “What happened?”
He was silent for a long time. Kate had just decided she would call Natasha after all when he finally spoke.
“You ever – you ever like someone, Katie?”
His voice was still far away and his gaze was lost, but at least she had proof he knew who she was.
“Sure, Clint,” she said, because – yeah. “I’ve liked people.”
“You ever like someone so much, you can’t even – you know – talk to them? Like, you want to open your mouth and say something cool, but you can’t, so you don’t even try? You just freeze?”
Kate nodded, her forehead brushing his. She had a few painful memories of doing just that. “Yeah, I have. It sucks.”
Clint gave a low, humorless chuckle. “It does, right? It really sucks. Because they never get to know you, and you never get to know them – not really. The easy stuff, yeah – what they like in their coffee, a few hobbies they have, things like that. But you never get to really, to really know them, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’re embarressed, because you know that you’re being an idiot, that they could never like you back. Especially if you can’t even talk to them. So you don’t say anything – to anybody – and so no one knows you like them. Because it’s easier that way.”
Kate nodded, then stopped. “Well,” she said, thinking, “except for Natasha. She’d know.”
She could feel it when Clint smiled. “Well, yeah, but – Nat’s okay. I mean, she’s a mean, evil woman, but she cares, you know? If you really care about... about this person... she gets that. She doesn’t tease you too bad.”
Clint took a deep, uneven breath. “And then if... if something happens to that person, well – no one knows you care. I mean, no one knows they were something special to you, because you never told anyone and they never guessed. Except for Natasha. And so you grieve, but no one knows that you’re grieving, and that kind of makes it worse, right? Because – why should you care? Why should it matter? Even if it’s your fault that he’s gone – it’s not something you can talk about.”
Kate very carefully did not react to the ‘he’. “What happened, Clint?” she asked instead.
Finally, he looked up at her. Her face was an inch from his own, so she could see his kaleidoscope eyes as he drowned in his own personal hell.
“He came back. He came back and... and no one even told me. Everyone’s known for a week or so, a damn memo went out and I was too busy with this stupid gangster thing to check my inbox. Tony knew and I... I didn’t.”
She could see the anguish in his eyes, the way that this hurt. Kate didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything; she just hugged him closer. Clint buried his face in her shoulder, and started actively sobbing. Kate could feel his tears soaking through her thin sweater.
“Natasha,” he sobbed, “Natasha’s the one who told me. She’s still in Milan but she called because – “ He hiccupped. “I’ve been running around, chasing after stupid things, getting arrested and beat up, and the whole time, the whole time –”
He couldn’t take it anymore. He broke. Kate let go of his arms and pulled him closer, right against her chest, and rocked him like she thought a mother would. Clint clutched at her shoulders and sobbed.
This was more than just finding out some guy was alive, Kate knew. If what Clint was saying was true, this was about not being able to grieve in the first place, about having to bottle up his feelings because it would give things away.
He died, Clint had said, and thinking back, Katie could only imagine one person this could be. Things had been pretty good lately, not too many casualties, and if something had happened in the past eighteen months, Kate thought she would have been able to tell, no matter how well Clint tried to hide things from her. There was only one person who had died in the past two years that she’d heard Clint speak of, and if she was remembering correctly, it had been in a very odd, constrained tone of voice.
“This is about Phil Coulson, isn’t it?” Kate asked, softly.
Clint hiccupped and cried, but she could feel him nod. She stroked his hair like she’d always secretly wanted to, and rocked him some more. “How long have you been in love with him?”
“Years,” Clint said through his tears, muffled against her sweater. “Years and years. Since Fury brought me in, maybe. Since Coulson let me use my bow and never gave me shit and flashed his stupid, little, micro grin at me.”
Clint sniffed. His tears seemed to have stopped. He leaned back and wiped at his cheeks, doing nothing more than smearing snot across his face. Some people were pretty when they cried, but Clint wasn’t one of them.
“It’s not like I ever had a chance, though. I knew that. I think that’s why I didn’t try too hard.”
Kate reached back and found a dish towel that didn’t smell too bad. She handed it to him without getting off the floor, and Clint cleaned his face.
“You never know,” she tried. “If he’s come back now, if you have another chance...”
Clint laughed. It was a hollow sound. “I like a guy, Katie. Do you get how weird that is for me? I like women – I love women. I love their curves and how they smell and everything about them, but Phil...” he trailed off. “I think I’m too afraid to try.”
“You are many things, Clint Barton,” Kate said slowly. “But a coward is not one of them.”
Clint gave another hiccup-sob. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”
“No, I’m not.” She stood up. “So you’re chickenshit about personal stuff – well, who the hell isn’t? But I’ve seen you take on aliens, gangsters, and a freaking hurricane, Clint. You can handle this.”
He scrubbed at his face, avoiding her gaze. Kate rolled her eyes and hauled him to his feet. “The first thing you have to decide, though, is what you’re going to do about Jessica.”
She watched Clint pale. “Oh shit, Jessica.”
Kate sighed. “And if you’ve essentially forgotten about her throughout all of this, then I think you have your answer. Jessica is a good person, Clint. She deserves better than this.”
“I... no, you’re right. I know you’re right. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do, how to tell her. I was going to write a letter, that’s what Grills said to do, but...” he scrubbed the towel over his face, and then over his hair and neck, and dropped it back into the sink. Kate winced at the complete lack of hygiene. “I should just man up and go talk to her.”
“You should,” Kate agreed. “And then, after, you should decide what you’re going to do about Phil Coulson.” She hestitated. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, Clint,” she ignored him when he huffed disbelievingly, “but if you love someone like that... well, people deserve to know. Too many people go through life convinced that no one wants them, and just to know that someone likes you... people like to hear that.”
Clint seemed to listen, but then shook his head. “I don’t want to create an obligation, Katie. I understand what you’re saying, but – it would makes things weird.”
She raised an eyebrow, looking over his blotched face, tear-stained shirt, and Lucky still sitting on the floor, looking miserable. “I think things are already weird.”
“Yeah,” Clint confessed, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
*
Clint didn’t want to, but he went to the Avengers Mansion after that. He debated taking a shower first, but he figured he’d just lose his nerve and he’d wasted enough time already. Katie was right – Jess deserved better than him, she always had, which was why...
He sighed, splashed some water on his face, and left. Kate said she’d walk Lucky, so Clint went straight to the Mansion. It looked pretty empty when he walked in, which was exactly what he wanted.
Jarvis appeared a moment after he stepped inside, efficent as usual.
“Uh,” Clint asked, feeling self-conscious. He wondered if his face was still blotchy. He probably should have looked in a mirror before he left the apartment. “Is Jess in?”
Jarvis gave him a look that could have been sympathetic, but still made Clint feel about two feet tall. “I’ll find her, sir.”
Clint scuffed a toe against the hardwood floor. “Thanks.”
He didn’t want to walk further into the Mansion and run into somebody, but he didn’t want to just loiter in the foyer, either. Clint walked to the corner study, some kind of reading nook, and paced in front of the windows.
“Clint,” Jess said from the doorway. She sounded pissed. Clint turned around to find her watching him with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Hey, uh. Hey, Jess.” Now that he was here, he had absolutely no idea what to say. Probably he should have practiced this first.
“What do you want?”
“I... I want to apologize,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “I just – I treated you shitty, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”
That didn’t seem to be the right thing to say. Jess looked angry. “Oh, so you know what you’re apologizing for, now?”
Clint looked at the floor and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I think – I think I finally do.” He took a deep breath. “I should never have started anything with you. I’ve got, there’s... I’ve got some things to work out, and I should have done that before getting involved. With you. Or, or anyone, really.”
He couldn’t look up, but he didn’t think her expression had changed. “‘Some things’,” Jess quoted back to him. “What kind of things, Clint? The part where you are a terrible human being?”
Clint could feel his shoulders slump. He wished he could just sink into the ground. “Yeah, those kinds of things.”
“Or is this really about someone, Clint? Someone like that Penny girl, maybe. Is that it? Was I your thing on the side?”
“What!” Clint had to look up then – Jess looked furious. “No!” he protested. “No, Jess. Jesus. I didn’t think...”
“You didn’t think we were ever actually together,” Jess finished for him. “You thought we were just fooling around. You never thought I actually cared about you, did you, Clint?”
He stared at her. “No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
“Because that is so fucking unbelieveable!” Jess threw her hands in the air. “Isn’t it, Clint? It’s so impossible to believe that I could care?”
“Uh, yeah. Kinda.”
She blinked and stared at him. Her anger seemed to abruptly drain away. “Shit. It is, isn’t it? Is that what this is all about?”
Okay, now she’d lost him. “What?”
Jess sighed, her hands falling to her side. “You didn’t think, even for one second, that I actually liked you? You thought I was just, what? Using you? For sex?”
“Well... yeah.”
“Jesus,” she said, collapsing into a loveseat.
“Because, I mean, I was just using you,” Clint hurried to say, realizing as he opened his mouth that there was probably a more tactful way to explain this. “I mean – I mean, I should have told you, right from the start, that I was kind of in love with someone else. Not you. And... and I was kind of using you for sex. And, you know, for a good time. I didn’t think, honestly, Jess, I didn’t think you... you could ever... with me, and...”
She shook her head, and oh shit – her eyes were shiny. She was going to cry. Clint never knew what to do when a girl cried.
“Aw, shit, I’m sorry,” he said, hurrying to her side. He collapsed to the floor under her chair and knew that words weren’t going to be good enough. “I am so fucking sorry.”
Jess blinked her tears away, and shook her head. “I know. I know you are, Clint. But that doesn’t – you get that it doesn’t actually make things better, right?”
“Yeah,” Clint said miserably, because he did. “I know.”
She blew out a breath, then rubbed a hand over her face. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Jess finally said, “So... spill the beans, already. You’re in love with someone else. Tell me who. Who is she? I think I deserve to know.”
Clint squirmed, but he owed her this much. “It’s... it’s not a ‘she’.”
In the chair above him, Jess went still. “What?”
Clint felt his heart start to beat, really fast. “It’s not a she,” he said again. “It’s a man.”
Jess leaned down so she could peer into his eyes. “Clint Barton – are you gay?”
“No!” Clint said, then shook his head. “I think I’m, like, bi, or whatever. I like girls. I was in love with Bobbi, no matter what anyone says, but... But I also think I like guys. A guy. This guy.”
Jess didn’t say anything for a minute. “How long?”
Clint sighed. Katie had asked the exact same question. What was it with girls and dates? “I don’t know, a while. Years, probably.”
Jess nodded, but her gaze was far away. After a minute, she asked, “Is it Phil Coulson?”
Clint choked on his own spit. “Jesus! Was there another fucking memo? How the hell do you people guess this so quickly?” He looked around frantically. “He’s not here, is he?”
“No,” Jess said, but she obviously wasn’t paying attention, her eyes blinking as she thought things through. “I didn’t really know you before the Battle Of New York, but everyone talks about how much you’ve changed. I thought it was just because of the Loki thing, which, you know, totally makes sense. But Natasha was always very careful not to say anything, and I notice things like that. And then yesterday, when she got word he was alive, her first question was if anyone had told you yet. Then today you come in here, and say this, and – “ she shook her head. “It just made sense.”
Clint sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s my problem – I date women who are too fucking smart.”
“It’s a common failing around here,” Jess said with a smile. It only lasted a moment though, and then she frowned. “We’re not dating any more, Clint.”
He looked up quickly. “I know that.”
“I won’t play second fiddle to anyone. I really wish you had told me, back at the beginning, but I get why you didn’t. He was dead, and you were trying to get over him, right?”
Clint closed his eyes. He hadn’t really thought of it that way. He hadn’t really thought of it at all, which was likely the problem. “I guess so.”
“But he’s back now, and if you really do love him, you should say something,” Jess went on gently. “Or you’re just going to sit here and torture yourself endlessly. Trust me,” she said with a wry smile. “I know. Better to try and get it off your chest then sit and mope.”
Clint leaned back on his hands. He couldn’t help but smile at her. “Like I said – too fucking smart.”
Jess smiled back. It was watery, but it was real. “Damn straight.”
“What do I say? ‘Oh hi, glad you’re alive, it really fucked me up when you died, so don’t do that again and, uh – let’s have coffee?’”
Jess glared at him. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, no?”
“Oh, no. We are not doing this. We just broke up. I am not giving your pathetic ass relationship advice, Barton. I’ve said my peice, take it or leave it.”
“Jess,” he tried to whine.
“Absolutely not,” she said, but she was smiling. “Get up off the floor and ask him to coffee. Say what you just said, or whatever. I don’t really care.”
“You do, though,” Clint said. He knew it was an asshole thing to say, but it was still kind of amazing to him that it was true.
“I do,” Jess sighed, “for about twenty more seconds. Then I’m going to get annoyed. Go!”
“I’m going, I’m going!” Clint leaped off the floor, and headed toward the open door. He stopped at the entrance to the hall, and looked back. “Hey, Jess?” he said, more quietly. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. She hadn’t moved from the couch. “Go.”
Clint flashed her a grin, and went.
*
He practically skipped into the entrance hall, and then abruptly stopped.
Phil Coulson was standing in the middle of the hall, looking gobsmacked.
Their eyes met, and Clint felt all the blood drain from his face. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing Phil again – even though Jesus, Phil – it was the absolute knowledge that Phil had heard everything he’d just said to Jess.
Neither of them said anything. Clint saw himself, as from a great distance, walk around Phil. He went to the door, opened it, and stepped outside.
He wasn’t quite sure what happened next. It seemed like only a moment later that Clint was blinking into the dim light of his apartment, the sun going down through the windows even though it had only been three o’clock in the afternoon a few minutes ago. He realized abruptly that he was sweating, and his legs were shaking. He must have run, then, all the way back to his apartment from the mansion.
Phil... Phil had...
Fuck.
Without stopping to think too much about it, Clint started grabbing things from around his apartment. A backpack, his wallet. He didn’t need pots or pans. A spare leash for Lucky – should he take Lucky? No, Clint didn’t know where he was going or what he was doing, yet. Better to leave Lucky with Kate, ask her to look after him for a couple of days. Or a year. However long it took for Clint to be able to look himself in the mirror again without puking.
At this moment, it didn’t feel like that was going to happen anytime soon.
The apartment door behind him opened. Clint didn’t bother turning around. “Katie, this really isn’t a good time.”
“I’m not Katie.”
Clint dropped his bag and spun around. Phil Coulson stood just inside the doorway, his lips quirked in a half-smile. “Can I come in?”
Clint swallowed. He tried for words, but they wouldn’t come, so he just gestured inside. Phil walked in and closed the door behind him, looking around. He hadn’t seen the apartment before, Clint realized. He’d only gotten it after the Battle of New York.
After Phil.
He saw Phil’s glance take everything in – the peeling paint, the archery range set up in the corner, the dirty coffee pot Clint had never seemed to get around to cleaning. His gazed rested longest on the bag at Clint’s feet.
“You’re running away?”
“No,” Clint protested, turning to pick up the bag and finish pushing things inside it. Clothes. He should probably take clothes. “I’m just going to... go away for a while.”
“So you’re running away? Without even trying to talk to me first?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Clint was absolutely was not going to panic; he’d done enough of that today. “I was finally going to man up and have that discussion and everything. Then you just – just listened in like a Peeping Tom, and that’s. That’s fine. Whatever. Discussion over.”
“You were going to talk to me. Really?” It sounded like Phil was getting closer. “After apparently avoiding the entire topic, and half the time avoiding me, for what sounds like years, you were finally going to talk to me about it?”
“Don’t sound so fucking surprised,” Clint shot back. He found a hoodie on the kitchen counter and shoved it into his bag without having to turn around. “It’s not every day someone comes back from the dead, even if it was a week ago and nobody told me.”
“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Phil said, definitely closer now. “I honestly didn’t know you cared.”
“Yeah, well, I do. I did. Whatever.” Clint’s hands stilled on his bag, and he sighed. “But I get that you didn’t know that. Nobody did. I shouldn’t blame you for it.”
“You can, though, you know – blame me. I’ll understand. Feelings aren’t always logical.”
Clint huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Behind him, Phil sounded almost hesitant. “I really thought that you were straight.”
“I am straight,” Clint said, then had to confess. “Mostly. I like you, though. I have for a long time.”
“I’m getting that,” Phil agreed. He paused. “Please turn around, Clint.”
Clint closed his eyes, but he couldn’t resist it when Phil used his name. He did as asked.
Phil looked – oh god, he looked so good. He looked alive which was definitely a plus, but also whole and mostly healthy. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he’d lost about twenty pounds, but he looked good. From what Clint understood, Fury had literally put him on ice until they could figure out a way to save him. Only without the supersoldier serum, Phil’s body hadn’t weathered the freezing as well as Rogers’.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” Phil said, after a moment. Clint realized he was staring back as hungrily as Clint was devouring the sight of him. “Loki took you, and I had to leave you, and I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I tried,” Clint started, and then his voice broke. He remembered Loki’s face, the spear, and the horrible, crushing weight of it all. Things he hadn’t allowed himself to feel before now, things he had blocked out completely except for the nightmares that came without warning. Clint couldn’t help it – the memories were just too strong. He sobbed. Phil crossed the last of the distance between them and reached out, holding him tightly by both shoulders as if just the pressure of his hands could hold Clint together.
“I tried to fight him, Phil. I tried so hard. He asked about you, and he asked about Nat, and I tried to hold things back, but I couldn’t. He was so fucking strong, Phil.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I know. I don’t blame you, Clint. I’ve never blamed you. He took you, and we couldn’t get you back. I don’t blame you.”
Clint was crying again. Fucking hell, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do this. “I killed you. I killed you.”
“No.” Phil’s voice was strong. “No, Clint. Listen to me – you didn’t. Do you hear me? You didn’t. That was Loki. It was no one but Loki. Even if you’d stabbed me yourself, even if you’d shot me with one of your arrows. It. Wasn’t. You.”
They were on the floor again. Goddamn it, why did he spend so much time on this floor? It wasn’t even a nice floor.
“Sorry,” Clint said, hiccuping. Phil had somehow followed him down.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
“No, I mean,” Clint said, indicating the linoleum. “Sorry about the stickiness. I dropped some juice, or something, when Natasha told me. I don’t remember.”
“I don’t care about the floor.”
“But your suit...”
“I don’t care about the suit.”
Clint stopped and looked up, meeting his eyes. “Phil...”
Phil’s eyes closed. “Say it again.”
“Your suit – I’m sorry.”
“No,” Phil opened his eyes and looked at him. “The part where you said my name.”
Clint smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Phil.”
Phil closed his eyes again. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that, how many times you said ‘Coulson’ or ‘boss’ and I’d grit my teeth just imagining what it would sound like to hear you say my name.”
Clint stared at him. “But... you were married...”
“And I loved my wife,” Phil agreed, opening his eyes to stare at Clint. “Very much. Like you loved Bobbi, I guess. But it didn’t work out. And I think I know the reason why.”
Clint couldn’t say anything. The words dried up in his throat.
Somehow, Phil heard the question anyway. “How long?”
Clint laughed, because yeah – apparently, it was a very important question. He got it, now. He nodded.
“Too long,” Phil admitted. “Too long lying at night in my apartment, dreaming of you, wishing I could tell you how I felt, wishing I could make you understand, make you give me a chance...” His eyes went unfocused. “I had all these scenarios, Clint. HYDRA bases and coffee runs and I’d say ‘trust me’ and you’d say ‘I do’ and I’d say ‘then have coffee with me’ and you’d be surprised but agree...”
He shook his head. “You probably think I’m an idiot.”
“Aw, no,” Clint protested. He felt ashamed. “I didn’t even get that far. You were too out of my league, too high to even imagine. Except,” he confessed, “at night, every once in a while, especially after you did something particularly badass or charming or sweet. That’s the only time I’d let myself dream.”
“We’re both idiots,” Phil told him, very seriously.
Clint had to laugh. “Not the mighty Phil Coulson,” he joked.
Phil didn’t smile, though. “There is no mighty Phil Coulson,” he said. “Just... just a middle-aged man with thinning hair, who collects comic books and action figures and doesn’t know how to cook. I watch bad television and have no life to speak of. All I do is work, or worry about work, or obsess about you. That’s...” he shook his head. “There’s nothing special about me, Clint. Not like you.”
“Like me?” Clint echoed softly. “I’m an orphan raised by carnies. I have so many issues I want to give you headstart and five minutes to run if you’re even thinking of being in a relationship with me. I say stupid things and I never think before I talk. I won’t tell you when something’s wrong and have been accused of having the emotional stability of a five year old. I’m not that much younger than you are, and a helluva lot more stupid.”
He hesitated. “But I like comic books, and I have action figures, and I know how to cook. I like bad television and if you’ve been on ice for the past two years, you’ve probably never seen Dog Cops. All I do is work, or worry about work, or get into trouble when I’m trying not to work.”
He met Phil’s eyes. “I’m not a good catch, just ask Jessica. But I... I’ve been in love with you for years, and I never thought you could feel the same. If you can, or do, then, well – I want to try.” He swallowed. “If you want.”
“I want,” Phil promised him, staring. “I want – very much.”
“Okay, then,” Clint said. He took a deep breath in and let it out, then stretched his hand forward, palm up, towards Phil.
Phil took his hand, held it for a moment, and then pulled it closer to his chest. He bent down and kissed Clint’s knuckles. That was enough for Clint to lean in closer, until their heads were almost touching.
“I don’t... just so you know, I don’t have a lot of experience with this. With a guy.”
“That’s okay,” Phil said, softly. “Neither do I.”
They kissed.
It was good.