Phil jerked a little when he heard Clint's voice. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone in the house anymore. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the fact that he'd let his guard down that much concerned him--he was losing his edge, out here in the middle of nowhere--but then the more important fact that Clint was a) wearing one of Phil's shirts and b) still in his underwear, eclipsed any worry he was feeling about his situational awareness. Suddenly he was all too aware of the situation.
He cleared his throat, averting his eyes just like he had in the bedroom. "I can't get Ace of Cakes out here. There's five channels, and two of them are news, one's a religious station, and the other two don't seem to be any identifiable network. Just... whatever shows they've bought rights to." Feeling Clint so close to him on the couch was making it hard to concentrate on the show, or even what he was saying. Had he meant to sit this close to Phil? They were nearly touching, his bare thigh just inches away from Phil's pajama-covered leg.
For a second time, he cleared his throat--desperately, as if doing it again might also clear away the need he was feeling. "Did you sleep well? You weren't in there very long." He turned to look at Clint, then regretted it, because again he was too close, and it would be so easy just to... lean forward. The hand on the opposite side of his body clenched into a tight fist, bunching up some of the couch cushion inside it.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2012-05-18 06:46 am (UTC)He cleared his throat, averting his eyes just like he had in the bedroom. "I can't get Ace of Cakes out here. There's five channels, and two of them are news, one's a religious station, and the other two don't seem to be any identifiable network. Just... whatever shows they've bought rights to." Feeling Clint so close to him on the couch was making it hard to concentrate on the show, or even what he was saying. Had he meant to sit this close to Phil? They were nearly touching, his bare thigh just inches away from Phil's pajama-covered leg.
For a second time, he cleared his throat--desperately, as if doing it again might also clear away the need he was feeling. "Did you sleep well? You weren't in there very long." He turned to look at Clint, then regretted it, because again he was too close, and it would be so easy just to... lean forward. The hand on the opposite side of his body clenched into a tight fist, bunching up some of the couch cushion inside it.