Middle of nowhere
May. 9th, 2012 09:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
agent_coulsonPhil settled down into his armchair with a cup of tea. Technically it wasn't his armchair, actually, furnishings were just included in the rental, but this place was already beginning to feel like home. Or at least that's what he was telling himself. If he closed his eyes and imagined the sound of honking horns and people laughing and vendors shouting, he could almost feel like he was back in New York again.
The trouble usually started when he opened his eyes and remembered he was in Nebraska, living next to corn fields, with five channels on the television, and under strict orders not to use the phone, the internet, or let his picture be taken by anyone. That was about the time he started silently cursing at Nick Fury, although recently he'd started just cursing out loud, because no one was around to hear it anyway.
Still, he had to admit there was a certain serenity to living in the middle of farmland, miles from anyone or anything who knew the significance of the fact that he still lived and breathed, albeit sometimes painfully. Out here he was just back to being regular old Phil Coulson, the kid who'd grown up in a small Wyoming town, graduated with a class of a couple hundred, and had a dog named Soldier.
He stretched out a little and winced, setting his tea aside. The major healing was finished at this point, but he was still sore and stiff most of the time, so he tried to run through a basic physical therapy regimen every day, to get his flexibility back. The staff had just missed his heart, according to the doctors, which made him incredibly lucky, but it had ripped right through some fairly important muscles. His injuries had been nothing to laugh at, especially after finding out Fury had rubbed his trading cards in them so he could lie to the entire Avengers team.
The Avengers team. That was something else that pained him. He understood why Fury had done it, even felt like it had probably been a smart call, ruining of mint-condition trading cards aside, but the fact that they all still thought he was dead... he didn't like that. He didn't like the fact that just by continuing to sit here, in this armchair, and keep himself out of sight, he was lying to all of them.
When he'd gotten his shoulder warmed up enough to be able to lift his arm over his head, he took a break and picked up his tea, which had cooled to a good temperature. He'd picked up the morning paper from the doorstep earlier--his only link with the outside world, other than the pointless local newscasts on the television--and now he spread it open, sipping and reading, trying to pretend he wasn't more than a little homesick and restless, and if he was honest... maybe a little lonely, too.
The trouble usually started when he opened his eyes and remembered he was in Nebraska, living next to corn fields, with five channels on the television, and under strict orders not to use the phone, the internet, or let his picture be taken by anyone. That was about the time he started silently cursing at Nick Fury, although recently he'd started just cursing out loud, because no one was around to hear it anyway.
Still, he had to admit there was a certain serenity to living in the middle of farmland, miles from anyone or anything who knew the significance of the fact that he still lived and breathed, albeit sometimes painfully. Out here he was just back to being regular old Phil Coulson, the kid who'd grown up in a small Wyoming town, graduated with a class of a couple hundred, and had a dog named Soldier.
He stretched out a little and winced, setting his tea aside. The major healing was finished at this point, but he was still sore and stiff most of the time, so he tried to run through a basic physical therapy regimen every day, to get his flexibility back. The staff had just missed his heart, according to the doctors, which made him incredibly lucky, but it had ripped right through some fairly important muscles. His injuries had been nothing to laugh at, especially after finding out Fury had rubbed his trading cards in them so he could lie to the entire Avengers team.
The Avengers team. That was something else that pained him. He understood why Fury had done it, even felt like it had probably been a smart call, ruining of mint-condition trading cards aside, but the fact that they all still thought he was dead... he didn't like that. He didn't like the fact that just by continuing to sit here, in this armchair, and keep himself out of sight, he was lying to all of them.
When he'd gotten his shoulder warmed up enough to be able to lift his arm over his head, he took a break and picked up his tea, which had cooled to a good temperature. He'd picked up the morning paper from the doorstep earlier--his only link with the outside world, other than the pointless local newscasts on the television--and now he spread it open, sipping and reading, trying to pretend he wasn't more than a little homesick and restless, and if he was honest... maybe a little lonely, too.
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Date: 2012-05-13 06:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-13 05:54 pm (UTC)"I haven't actually turned a report in for him." Fury hadn't pushed him for them, either. He'd tried once. Clint had come straight off a mission, and went to the target range, and spent hour after hour sinking arrows into the bullseye. One particularly aggressive shot, that had gone through the target had stopped Fury from asking again. He picked at the edge of his sandwich, not meeting Coulson's eye. "Didn't feel like it."
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Date: 2012-05-13 06:51 pm (UTC)He sighed. "You really should cut him some slack. Agents can't close their files on an incident until every asset turns in their report. Sitwell's probably not used to having that many open files." Phil, of course, had become accustomed to having fifteen or more open at a time. He usually existed in a kind of carefully regulated chaos that seemed to stress the junior agents out when they tried to figure out and emulate his system. "And he's a good man, at heart. Just... wrapped in a particularly difficult package."
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Date: 2012-05-13 07:17 pm (UTC)He pushed the sandwich away. He'd eaten half, which was more than he'd managed in four days. It would do for now. He'd get his appetite back when his emotions didn't feel like they were jumbling around inside him, like it was a spin cycle. "He's not you."
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Date: 2012-05-13 07:32 pm (UTC)If pressed, Phil might have to admit their working relationship wasn't even that functional, really. They got the job done, but there were fewer bureaucratic headaches involved with nearly every other asset he handled. Still, it was his favorite. Had been his favorite.
There was nothing he could say back to that, nothing safe enough, that didn't take them both to a place he wasn't ready to admit existed, so he nodded at the sandwich. "How was it?"
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Date: 2012-05-14 04:56 am (UTC)"Fine, good." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling weary and drained. "Just. No appetite."
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Date: 2012-05-14 05:20 am (UTC)Inside the room, he waved his hand at the bed. "Like I said, clean sheets. Bathroom's attached through there, if you want to take a shower." He pointed at the door in the corner. "And there's clothing in the closet, mostly jeans and t-shirts, help yourself." The majority of his wardrobe here was bought at Wal-Mart, his suits all still hanging up neatly in his apartment back home. He'd gotten used to the feel of cheap fabric, but that didn't mean he was bringing any of it back with him when he finally left.
"Do you need anything else?" He hesitated in the doorway, watching Clint. It still felt like there was something he was supposed to say, some opportunity he was missing here, but he didn't trust himself to just start talking. Not when he was trying to pretend it wasn't an enormous relief just to not be alone out here any more, and the Vicodin was making him feel kind of loose and stupid.
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Date: 2012-05-17 09:36 pm (UTC)Had he been more awake, he'd've probably passed a comment on Coulson forgoing his clean, crisp suits, for faded t-shirts and jeans. He wouldn't wear something of Coulson's, not yet. As much as he knew it'd comfort him - being surrounded by something he'd worn, knowing that they were his, and he was alive - it was too soon.
He shook his head, crossing over to the bed, and running his fingers over the sheets. "Wake me up when you want to sleep. I'll move to the couch."
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Date: 2012-05-18 01:24 am (UTC)He turned to head down the hall and give Clint his privacy, settling back onto the armchair in the living room and picking up the paper again. It was hard to concentrate on reading, though, knowing that Clint was in his bedroom, just forty-odd feet away. After a half hour of not absorbing anything he was reading, he headed outside to do his daily gardening.
By the time evening fell, he'd gotten some weeding done and taken a shower--he'd tried very hard to stay quiet and not look when he snuck through the bedroom to the bathroom, but he hadn't been able to completely keep his eyes averted and seeing Clint sprawled out in his underwear had made his shower a little uncomfortable. He didn't know if it was just the drugs or the time alone that was bringing up a lot of thoughts he managed to not think most of the time, but whatever it was, they kept creeping in and making him feel somewhat ashamed and somewhat aroused.
He made himself a bowl of cereal for dinner and watched Cake Wars while he ate, then when it turned out to be a marathon, he just kept the TV on, watching episode after episode of people building enormous, intricate cakes and then dropping half of them with shrieks of horror. He chuckled to himself every time it happened.
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Date: 2012-05-18 06:00 am (UTC)He folded his clothes over once, draping them over a chair in the corner of the room, before slipping under the sheets. The pillow was cool against his skin, and his eyelids drooped heavily. The scent clinging to the fabric wasn't familiar, it was different, and he wondered it Coulson just couldn't get his usual bodywash out here. Or his usual cologne. It left him feeling a little off balance. It wasn't the biggest change, but it was different enough to make Clint take notice of it.
His sleep was dreamless and deep, both of those unusual. As an agent, he typically slept light, the chance that someone could ambush you at your most vulnerable was always hanging over your head. He couldn't dare to sleep to deeply. He thought he heard someone moving around the room, but it didn't make him stir. He just curled into the sheets some more, though he'd managed to tangle around them in his sleep, and kept on resting.
He woke barely a few hours later, certainly not after enough sleep for how long he'd been awake. He rubbed blearily at his eyes, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and getting to his feet. He grabbed the first t-shirt his hands landed on from the drawer, tugging it over his head, as he padded out into the main room. Coulson was sat, watching- huh. He'd've put money on SuperNanny. "I prefer Ace of Cakes," he said, moving over to the couch, and sinking down onto it.
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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.
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Date: 2012-05-18 10:46 pm (UTC)"That sucks," he said, sparing Coulson a side long glance. He wasn't about to get used to him being in civvies any time soon. He'd never really been around Coulson with him wearing anything other than his crisp and pristine suits. It was… novel. He kinda liked it. "That Duff guy is the best. I can get on board with his bacon-everything idea."
He grinned, briefly, but it slipped as Coulson cleared his throat a second time. There was a spike of worry at that, and he nudged his knee against Coulson's, brow furrowing. "I got enough. Don't worry about me. Need me to grab you something?"
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Date: 2012-05-19 02:17 am (UTC)"No," he managed, after a moment. "No, I'm fine. Unless you want to grab the rest of your sandwich. It's in the fridge." He'd started to feel quite legitimately warm now, and he doubted all of that was from Clint's body heat alone. More likely his own body's reaction to it was the force behind the slight flush he felt in his cheeks.
"Clint?" He cleared his throat for a third time. "Is there a reason you don't have pants on?" He said it delicately, in a tone that made it clear he was willing to accept that their might be, and was simply curious.
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Date: 2012-05-19 08:58 pm (UTC)He dropped his arms then, giving Coulson a glance. Fuck. He hadn't even really been thinking when he'd walked out in his underwear. It was just something he did. But he wasn't going to drop the opportunity for a little teasing. He hadn't been able to tease Coulson for a long time. Thought he wouldn't be able to ever again. "Hm? Should I be wearing them, sir?"
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Date: 2012-05-19 09:21 pm (UTC)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."
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Date: 2012-05-19 09:49 pm (UTC)Coulson grabbing his shoulder and pressing a rough kiss to his lips was not where he thought it would go.
It gave him a rush of adrenaline akin to the way he'd felt when he'd first learned that Coulson was still alive. He'd always felt an attraction to him, something that'd settled just beneath his skin and lingered, but he'd figured it would never go anywhere. He teased, and flirted, and pushed. Apparently Coulson could push back.
He thought he understood it. Six months out here alone, with no one and nothing, and it was bound to manifest somehow. That loneliness. Clint could give him this, at least. If Coulson wanted it. If he needed it. He liked the guy, more than he should, so he kind of wanted it too. "I'm not," he said. "Sorry, that is."
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Date: 2012-05-19 10:03 pm (UTC)He reached up to stroke his fingers through a bit of Clint's hair, just above his temple, a quiet look on his face. "This probably isn't how you imagined the first 24 hours would go if you found me alive."
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Date: 2012-05-20 11:54 am (UTC)He shrugged. "Not exactly complaining about it here, sir. So what are you waiting for?"
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Date: 2012-05-20 04:53 pm (UTC)The kiss this time was deep, firm, and he coaxed Clint's mouth open without hesitation. Now that he'd been given permission, it was like he was moving through an entire library of muscle memory that he'd been slowly building in the back of his mind: Things I Want To Do To Clint, Pt. 1. His knees settled on either side of Clint's hips, and he ground down as he kissed him, making himself gasp against Clint's lips. His fingers tangled in Clint's hair: half-caressing, half-pulling. There was something achingly intimate about doing thing on a couch, in a farmhouse, while he was in his pajamas and Clint was in his underwear.
His other hand moved down to explore Clint's chest, his arms--Phil spent a while touching his arms, stroking them, feeling the ripple of muscles he knew so well on sight. Then finally he moved back to his chest again, sliding his hand under the t-shirt to touch the lines of muscle and ribs, and carefully thumbing the two hardening nubs that sat a bit higher. He felt like he could stay like this all night, just devouring Clint with his hands and his mouth.
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Date: 2012-05-20 06:40 pm (UTC)This would be incredibly cruel if he woke up and was alone in bed - and it definitely wouldn't have been the first time - because fuck. It hit him suddenly and intensely how much he wanted and had wanted Coulson. He opened his mouth to him easily, kissing back just as firmly. He moved up into Coulson's touches and caresses, smirking when he gasped against his lips. That was a good sound. He could get used to hearing that sound.
Fuck, but then he was moving his hands under his shirt, and it was Clint's turn to make a sound. Low, in the back of his throat. He broke the kiss briefly, murmuring against his lips. "Y'know. I think I've seen this episode."
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Date: 2012-05-23 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-26 01:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-28 11:55 pm (UTC)