Phil took a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the curve of Clint's back as he stretched. Now Clint was just playing with him. He gave him a Look. "It's commonly accepted practice, yes." Despite his every wish to the contrary, he was starting to get a bit hard. He'd spent hours with Clint, knew his face and his body as well as anybody could, but there was still a line that they'd never crossed. He knew what those arms and that back looked like, but he didn't know what they felt like under his fingers. And God help him, he wanted to.

The last point of conscious thought before his body apparently made the decision for him was that Clint could, at least, push him off with impressive force if he wanted to. Phil actually braced a little for the impact as he shifted and turned toward Clint, putting a hand on his shoulder and kissing him, roughly. A split-second later, his mind caught up with what his body was doing, and he jerked his lips back, gasping, "I'm sorry--damn it."