Middle of nowhere

[agent_coulson]

Phil 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.

Comments

[aimtrue]

"Nah, I'm good," Clint said, yawning a little, and stretching his arms out over his head. He arched his back as he did it, working out any kinks from sleeping. "I'm not really hungry. Maybe in the morning, or something."

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?"

[agent_coulson]

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."

[aimtrue]

Clint had tipped his head back and laughed at the comment, a little pleased that he'd risen to the bait. It was always fun when that happened, and Clint enjoyed pushing at him, inch by inch. Trying to see how far he could go, and where it would take him.

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."

[agent_coulson]

Phil watched him closely, trying to make his own heart stop pounding. "Are you sure? I didn't mean to just... attack you." He sighed. "I think it's the medication, it's kind of... lowering my inhibitions." He laughed, with a hint of self-deprecation. This went beyond just having lessened inhibitions, into sexual harassment territory, but the fact that Clint hadn't pushed him away already, had in fact basically said he didn't mind... it was just stoking the warmth he could feel building in his stomach.

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."

[aimtrue]

"If that was you 'attacking' me..." Clint said, letting the implication linger. There was a grin, teasing at the corner of his lips. Now he was a little curious too, about what would happen if Coulson let go of those inhibitions entirely.

He shrugged. "Not exactly complaining about it here, sir. So what are you waiting for?"

[agent_coulson]

Phil sucked in a little breath and let the last thing stopping him--doubt, fear, embarrassment--fall away. Sliding an arm around Clint's waist, he grabbed him and pushed him down against the couch, moving his own body on top of him. There was a twinge of pain from the left side of his chest, but he ignored it. He was doing more important things now.

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.

[aimtrue]

Clint's breath left him in a rush, as Coulson pushed him back on the couch. He was still surprisingly strong, despite labored movements from an injury that had everyone thinking him dead. He didn't want to jerk him too much, allowing Coulson move at a pace that would keep him comfortable.

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."

[agent_coulson]

Phil laughed, weakly, too aroused to really devote much oxygen to it. That sound that Clint had made went straight through him, curling in his groin. He wanted to make Clint produce all kinds of other sounds. "Yeah, me too. They drop the Finding Nemo cake." He pulled back a little, looking at Clint with slightly blown pupils. "Bed?"

[aimtrue]

Clint stretched out underneath him, his back arching, as he fumbled to reach the remote. His fingers curled around it, tugging it into view, and he clicked the power button. He dropped the remote to the floor, not really caring where it landed, before pulling Coulson back in for another kiss. It was slow and deliberate, with all the patience that Clint usually reserved for his missions. "Would it be more comfortable for you?"

[agent_coulson]

"It--" Phil wanted to say it didn't matter, but it kind of did, right now. He hated that it was a consideration. "Probably, yes." Part of him wondered if getting up and going back to the bedroom would break whatever spell they were under out here. "Or we could just stay out here and keep doing this," he offered, kissing Clint back and settling more of his weight onto him.