"Project Tesseract," Clint hisses into the seeminglyempty hallway. Natasha is in the air vents and he's familiar enough with the sounds of sneaking around to know what that particular groan from the support beams signifies. It's the last thing he says before he slips into the seeminglyempty office.

There are a lot of seeminglys in spy work and there is a lot of spy work when you trying to outwit the U.S. Military in the 1990s.

The office is dark and damp, it smells of mold which makes sense; the base has remained unused for decades. The only reason their troops occupy it now is because they were headed South at 06:00, through trenches no one has trenched through since Vietnam.

A slim hand slides over Clint's shoulder and he resists the urge to grab the wrist and twist so the owner of the hand is locked in pain, arm behind back. But this isn't an intruder, his mind processes the owner of the hand as quickly as it calculates the trajectory of an arrow.

Phil's hand lowers, sliding over Clint's pecs to pull his chest against Phil's muscular frame. Lips trail from the base of his neck to the soft flesh of his ear and when Phil whispers, "It's been too long," a shiver runs through Clint's body.

"Yes, Sir," Clint agrees, breathless. Phil chuckles and drags Clint's body against his, strong arm pressing around Clint's waist. He could picture the quirked half-smile that would match Phil's teasing words. "Was it hard waiting the two weeks for us to get to base?"

"God," Clint hisses. "You know it was." Clint smirks and drags his hips against the other man's. "How hardit is to see you up with the officers, unable to do more than smile and raise an eyebrow at me, when all I want is-"

Phil spins him and Clint can barely make out the shape of his body in the dark, let alone the blue of his kind eyes. He's hushing Clint now, a hand pressing Clint's head into Phil's neck and he can smell him, even if he can't see him, and the scent calms as much as it frustrates.

"I missed you," Phil mutters into Clint's hair.

Clint pushes back, wishing that he could make out the blue of Phil's eyes in the darkness. He smiles at the man but knows Phil can't see so he makes sure the flirtation rides thick in his tone, "You have seen me everyday, Sir. Can't have missed my face or my voice - since we spoke plenty, too. Maybe you missed this..."

And then Clint is on him. Their lips crash together, his tongue on Phil's slightly chapped skin and then, finally, the taste of him. Phil moans in response, grabbing Clint tighter, sliding their hips together. Clint has to pull back to unbuckle Phil's belt but the man does not stay still. Instead, he tears off Clint's shirt, throws it to the floor and runs his hands down Clint's naked chest.

Fuck. Clint is on fire and Phil is still clothed. His hand slips on the buckle when Phil twists at his nipple and fuckhe's so hungry for this, so needy. It's been too damn long and now Phil is chuckling, taking his belt buckle from Clint's hands and unlatching it himself.

Phil's chuckle is dark and filthy and it drives Clint right to his knees.

Phil moans at the mere thought of what Clint is about to do but doesn't pause for a second. Clint hears the zipper, feels the firm hand on the back of his head.

"Open up, Barton." It's an order, one of his favorites, and he hardens fully in response. He still can't see but that's okay, Phil will take care of him, Phil always does.

Clint feels the head of Phil's cock trace against his lips. He opens up his mouth but Phil takes his time. He loves the act of feeding Clint his cock. Even when they've been at their most rushed, Phil makes time for this.

They both groan when the head slips past his lips and into Clint's warm mouth.

"My good boy," Phil murmurs. "Always so good to me, always know how to make me feel just right. You put this smart mouth to good use, Clint."

Clint snorts at that, chases it with a hum that pulls a moan out of Phil. Clint always had a smart mouth.

###

Six months earlier

It is fucking hot outside. Clint can hardly see beyond the sun as he exits the school bus turned army transport. A line of officers waits for them, nondescript in their camo and Ranger gear. Clint knew they were officers, knew it in his bones like he knew where to rest a bow for an arrow to hit the bulls-eye.

Officers always stood a little straighter because they all had sticks up their asses.

"Soldiers, form a line," orders a tall, imposing, black man with a patch over his eye. Clint wants to know the story behind that patch but knows it is way above his paygrade. His place is in line.

As he stands there, he wishes someone had told him back in Iowa how much being in the army meant waiting in line.

"Welcome to the Rangers," the man continues. "I'm Colonel Fury. These are my Lieutenants, Coulson and Hill. You're here because someone somewhere saw something special in you. Do not disappoint me."

Colonel Fury's two officers survey the crowd, eyes scanning without a single movement from the rest of their body. "Rangers with last names A through L, you're with Coulson. The rest, Hill. I hope to only see you again when you're ready for Ops. Dismissed."

Clint suppresses his snort. He's never been an army man, he's only here because the alternatives after the circus were to enlist or starve. He has gotten used to taking orders but nobody could stop the litany of snark he kept running through his head. And, to be fair, he wasn't really the best Soldier in the world when it came to taking orders, either.

"Follow me," Coulson says before turning his back and walking around the base. The base was comprised of one main building and two wooden cabins. Coulson led them to the cabin on the left while Hill led her group to the right.

"Between the dame and the stiff we had to get the stiff, huh Barton? Just our luck."

"Shut up, Barnes," Clint replies, but it lacks any sting because he's distracted. Clint's eye is on Coulson's form, the way this particular officer carries the stick up his ass. They all had one. Except, it looked like Coulson's came with a calm confidence that led to a professional swagger.

Sometimes you just notice a person and he had certainly noticed Coulson.

When they enter the cabin, the soldiers fan out and claim a bunk. Clint gets the last one. It is, of course, the one closest to the room Coulson will use. Officers have their own space with a dividing wall but no door. Even Lieutenants have limits on their privacy. That thought makes Clint chuckle to himself as he places his duffle bag on the bed.

"Is something funny, Sergeant…" Coulson trails off, waiting for Clint.

"Barton, Sergeant Clint Barton. And, no sir."

"Well good, Barton, because we are about to be neighbors."

Clint watches the man cock his head, eyes squinting. He's about the same height as Clint but less broad in the soldiers. Through his thin Rangers t-shirt, Clint could see that he was all muscle. He would seem as foreboding as the Colonel if not for his eyes. They are blue, a perfectly normal color but these seem to twinkle with each expression, and damn were there so many expressions flickering in and out the longer he looks. He's amused, Clint realizes.

Clint did not know what to say to the man, so he simply saluted. Saluting, Clint learned early on, is always a safe bet.

He did not expect Coulson's responding chuckle and damn did Clint want to ask the man what he was laughing about. But that was insubordination or, worse, flirting. Because even after only twenty minutes, Clint knows this man is his type to a T. With Coulson's kind eyes and hard body and the way he looks at Clint with an eyebrow raised, he's the kindhearted, reliable, pencil-pusher type and Clint knows he's screwed.

Coulson's eyes narrow with questions he doesn't ask before turning to the other eleven soldiers.

"In the trunk at the foot of your bunks you'll find a Rangers shirt and fatigues. Change and we'll begin our morning drills."

Coulson stays for a moment, watching until the men begin changing before walking around the cement block partition into his own bunk.

###

When Coulson first met Clint Barton, he noticed immediately that the younger man vibrated with sarcasm. Phil knew that he'd have to keep an eye on him. In the week that follows, keeping an eye on Barton proves to be surprisingly simple, it's tearing his eyes away from him that is difficult.

It's hot in this godforsaken bit of America and his soldiers are on their fourth hour of running drills. Each and every one of them is sweating through their Rangers shirts, Barton included.

Phil can't figure out what it is about the soldier. He can't keep his eyes from the man's form for more than five minutes. Barton runs laps gracefully, slides under the barb wire obstacle course with such precision, Phil can't help but stare. Hell, he isn't even the only one. Clint is as lithe as a snake, hips working just as much as his forearms to get him through the course in record time. The man's shirt rides up, mud encircling his waist and he is flicking some off of his shoulder when he runs past Phil.

Phil's mouth has gone dry and he has to clear his throat before he could deliver his customary, "Good job, soldier."

Clint's eyes widen a fraction in surprise, his cheeks may redden too but the man's face is already flush from the heat. The smile he replies with, though, almost blinds Phil. "Thank you, Lieutenant Coulson. If you think that's something, wait till they put a bow in my hand."

Phil's mouth quirks with amusement as Clint gloats. Phil is actually having to strain himself against a fully-formed grin. He wonders if the younger man is gloating because he's seeking Phil's validation or that of his commanding officer. Either way, when Phil finally gives in to his smile, he discovers that he loves the way he makes the soldier's eyes dart to the floor. Yup, Clint's definitely blushing.

"I look forward to it, Barton."

Looking back that was the moment Phil knew, he was well and truly fucked.

Clint is gorgeous with the bow. Archery is after the obstacle course and if he focuses on the way the soldier's muscles dance when he pulls back the bowstring, Phil excuses himself. He is merely analyzing the man's form because he's the Lieutenant and that's exactly what he was supposedto be doing. God, he is so young.

"He's not bad," a soft voice carrying the hint of a Russian accent interrupts Phil's analyzing.

"Romanov." He nods.

"Coulson." She nods before she walks away. He hasn't taken his eye off Clint during the exchange and he watches as the small crowd that gathers only continues to grow.

Clint is on his seventh bulls-eye.

"Where'd this guy come from?" Phil hears someone from the group ask. He decides it's time to step in.

"Don't you have something to do, Rangers? Get back to your own lanes."

They scatter quickly, it's only the first week and everyone is on their best behavior. Clint has lowered his bow and now turns to Phil, hands clasped behind his back and practically swaying. "So?"

Phil's lips thin, finally winning in the fight against his smile and he keeps his tone level. "Good job, Soldier."

He can see the flash of disappointment flood the younger man's eyes and Phil's corresponding guilt is further evidence that something is growing very inappropriate with this situation, especially if treating this Ranger like any other Ranger made him feel guilty.

###

Five weeks into the six weeks of basic training they receive their Supervising Officer assignments. It was the fourth week and it was all anyone could talk about.

"I have a feeling I'm going to get Lieutenant Rogers," Barnes tells the table. He's sitting in the mess hall with a few of his friends, or soldiers-in-arms, or whatever they were supposed to be to Clint. He's known Barnes for years and the rest of them didn't suck.

"Why's that?" Banner asks, always with a hundred questions. "Isn't he your friend from back home? That seems to be a conflict of interest."

"Not to mention fraternization," Clint supplies. "Didn't you guys fuck on our last tour in Iraq?"

Barnes kicks Clint under the table. "Haven't you heard of Don't Ask Don't Tell?"

Clint shrugs. He's never heard of anyone getting in trouble for whatever they did to get through the sand, or the jungle, or the tundra and he trusts everyone at this table. "I didn't ask and you didn't tell. Problem solved."

"So, you think you're going to get this Rogers guy," Banner asks slowly, as if unsure the people around him had the intelligence to follow his conclusions. "Because you slept with him?"

Barnes rolls his eyes, "So, call it wishful thinking. Carter introduced me to the power of positive thinking."

Clint snorts, "I'm sure she did."

"Who do you think you'll get?" Banner asks Clint.

He can't stop his eyes from finding Coulson at the officers table. Clint is aware that the others notice as well but he can't bring himself to care. He is endlessly intrigued by the man and has tried to win his favor since day one. He'll sometimes find himself thinking of the man during their morning runs, he often tries to guess his first name.

Banner pushes away from the table. He lifts his tray but before he leaves he glares at both Banner and Clint. "You guys are either really good at switching 'who do you think' to 'who do you want' or you're completely delusional. Either way, I'll see you later."

Clint doesn't reallythink he will get Coulson as his Supervising Officer. Like Banner had said, he is not delusional.

So when he opens the envelope lying on his bunk the next week and he sees the name PHIL COULSON,typed in all caps on the line, he damn near falls back onto his bunk. Phil - that answered that question, at least. The name suited the man. Strong, efficient, reliable.

Clint is so fucked.

###

On the other side of the cement wall a similar letter, only with CLINT BARTONon the line, shakes in Phil's hand.

He's out the cabin door, his hand still crumpled around his assignment, before he can even process his actions. By then, he's already knocking on Colonel Fury's door.

"This better be good, Coulson."

Phil pauses for a moment, just over the threshold of the room, as he realizes he has no idea what to say to the man. He can't question a direct order, even bringing it up would seem suspicious.

But Fury is the head of the U.S. Rangers and an observant one at that. He sees the envelope Phil's assignment in fisted in Phil's hand and pins him with a stare. "Problem with Mr. Barton?"

Phil does not blush, he does not lower his eyes; he releases the tension in his hand and slides the envelope in his pocket. "No, sir."

Fury stares at him for a moment, waiting to see if Phil will be adding more to his lie. When Fury is satisfied Phil has nothing more to say, he leans back in his leather chair and crosses his arms. "He's our best recruit, your our best agent. It makes sense on paper."

"Right," Phil nods. "Of course."

"You have a problem with him?" Fury asks again, genuinely curious and Phil knows he needs to think of some reason he busted into this office like a lunatic.

Phil shakes his head, using the moment to improvise. "He's a good kid. I was just surprised. The assignment was unexpected. Especially since you want me on Ops. Has that changed? We don't usually bring people that green onto Ops right away."

Fury nods, apparently satisfied with Phil's answer. "We're making a deviation from the normal course of things, Lieutenant. You'll both be joining us. You two and a select few after training. Is that all?"

Phil hears the dismissal in the question and follows it to the door. As he walks west from the center of the base, he sees a familiar silhouette leaning against the cabin.

"You should be getting ready for lights out," Coulson reminds Barton as he walks up next to him.

Clint pushes away from the railing that runs along the cabin porch. His body flows like a wave, coming to rest in front of the door, shoulders back. He's in Phil's way. "You should be too."

"But only one of us will be disobeying a direct order if we're not in our bunk by 22:00," Phil counters. Clint crosses his arms and keeps his eye level with Phil's.

Clint looks at his wrist where an army issued watch glints in the porch light. "Good thing it's only 21:45."

Phil's eyes follow as Clint's mouth transforms into his patented smirk. He has such a wonderful mouth, plump and pink. Phil has to tear his gaze away when Clint sucks the bottom lip in between his teeth. He returns them to Clint's eyes to find them scrunched with something - nerves, confusion, consideration? Phil longs to read his expression as easily as any book.

No. He's going to have to work with this man. He's going to have to train him and monitor his vitals and provide him guidance and backup and Clint deserves better than a Supervising Officer who can't concentrate.

He still hasn't backed away either, Phil notices. He's still standing between Phil and the door to the cabin, still obviously demanding Phil's full attention.

"I imagine you saw the assignments," Phil asks, because he has to fill this silence.

"I did," Clint nods and, inexplicably, his cheeks blush.

"Colonel Fury believes we'll work well together," Phil supplies, again, and it's strange because he normally excels at silences.

"Yea, well, it's a shame," Clint says. Phil scans Clint trying to understand but it doesn't make sense because the man's smile doesn't match his words. "See," Clint continues after a deep breath. "I was planning on asking you out after we were done with this whole officer-soldier dynamic, but now we've prolonged it for a year."

On the outside, Phil freezes but inside his heart pounds hot blood through his veins in a rush. He heard the younger man, he just can't process his words. Clint's looking at him now through thick lashes, blush racing down his neck.

"It was an idea."

"An idea?" Phil asks, tone level.

Clint shrugs. "I've seen you looking."

An exhale hisses out of Phil like someone poked a small hole into a balloon. "But why did you bring this up now, even after knowing our assignment?"

He hears the reprimand in his tone, sees what it does to Clint, how he hunches forward just a hair and Phil hates himself in that moment. But Clint isn't weak, he vibrates with sarcasm, he cloaks his hurts in sass. Phil is not surprised when the younger man narrows his eyes, steps into Phil's personal space.

He is surprised when Clint crashes their lips together.

Their kiss is fast, and hard and over much too quick. Clint steps back but he's close enough that his breath brushes Phil's cheek. "Because, I've been looking too."

Then Clint steps back, his smile is wide and easy, a man with triumph under his skin. Phil's hands shoots out, stopping Clint from fluttering away and the younger man's eyes darken with fear, arousal, perhaps a mix of both. He clenches his wrist under Phil's hand but he doesn't try to pull away. "I never took you for a tease, Barton. What are you playing at here?"

He tenses next to Phil, raises his chin and connects their gaze. Phil expected to see challenge, or a fight but the man eyes soften with regret. "I've seen you looking, you've seen me looking and we can't date. I'm only so strong, sir." Clint shrugs, "I had to just-"

He looks away and Phil wants to pull him closer but he doesn't, instead he closes his eyes and the words tumble out of his mouth."Taste. You wanted a taste."

Clint nods, pulls away from where Phil's hand rests on his wrist and walks into the cabin.

###

Clint is in the shower. He is in the shower even though it's lights out in seven minutes because here he can think, here he can breath, here he doesn't share a wall with Phil - no, Coulson. His name is Coulson.

He tasted delicious. Dry skin tingled against his lips even for that split second and Clint knows, he shouldn't have done that. He's hungry now, he's tempted fate, continues to tempt fate even as he thinks about Phil, even as he replays the kiss over and over and over - it was stupid to taste. He turns the shower to the coldest setting because it'd be stupid to give in and fantasize with his hand. It will only make him hungrier.

He walks back through the cabin with a towel around his waist. The others are already in their bunks but only a few are sleeping. Barnes is next to him, awake and writing a letter. Everything is normal, no one saw - fuck, it lasted less than a second, of course no one saw.

Phil is standing in the doorway of his cement block almost-room, where he makes announcements. He has his eye on his watch but somehow Clint can still feel his focus. It makes him wish he had brought his clothes into the showers, but he didn't so now he has to search through his trunk at the foot of his bed, in just a towel, right in front of Phil. As soon as he kneels, he knows Phil is watching him.

He isn't trying to be a tease. He hopes Phil understands because the man's earlier words still wrestle in Clint's mind. He just needed to know what the man was like, if there was anything there to even miss. Clint didn't think past the action, to when he discovered that, yes, fuck, there was definitely something to miss.

He wants Phil to know he isn't being a tease so when he looks up at his Lieutenant, he keeps his gaze transparent, full of every emotion warring inside his twenty-four year old mind.

Phil smiles. It is a small, half raise smirk that slips away as Officer Coulson returns. "That's 22:00, Rangers."

The next week is hell. Clint thought the first week, with drills and obstacle courses was bad but week five is simulations.

"Hostiles on your six, Barnes," he hears Coulson in his ear and Clint turns towards his friend and places an arrow into the man sneaking up behind him.

"Nice shot, Barton," Barnes says over his shoulder.

"Yea, well, I'm not walking around this forest for the next sixteen hours all by myself, so I figured that was worth the arrow."

"Chatter," Coulson scolds over the comms as Barnes snorts.

"Cheapskate," Barnes retorts. "I'm definitely worth three arrows."

"I mean it," Coulson warns.

"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist," Barnes replies then quickly, remembering himself, adds, "Sir."

"Good one," Clint mouths as Coulson calmly adds another forty minutes to their simulation then closes the feed.

"Screw you, Barnes. Why'd I have to get paired off with such an smartmouth like you?"

Barnes smiles. "Luck, mostly, and alphabetical order."

They continue through the forest, hardly able to see the roots in the dark. It's a survival simulation with a side of surprise attackers and they just have to stay awake and alive. "I don't know what you see in him," Barnes continues.

"In Coulson?" Clint asks. He wonders if the comms are still on, even if only one-way. "He's cool."

"Cool? He's a stiff."

"So you keep saying," Clint mumbles.

"Have you seen any evidence to the contrary?" Clint is grateful the darkness conceals his reaction but his friend must have read something in the way he tripped in his steps. "Oh, you have."

"He's, uh, he's nice."

"Nice?" Barnes asks. "Oh man, you're totally sweet on him."

In the responding silence, Clint may have heard a soft chuckle across the comms.

It takes days before he's alone with Coulson again. They run simulation after simulation but it's never only the two of them. So when he finally comes face to face with the man during week six, outside his Supervising Officer Ceremony, no one can fault him for his reaction. Phil is in his dress blues. Clint has never noticed Phil's thighs before those tailored slacks. He wants to see them naked and, great, now his own dress pants felt a little less comfortable.

They both stare. They would have continued to stare if Romanov hadn't chosen that moment to walk down the stairs. Clint has trained with her enough now that he is comfortable telling her to get lost.

"You are blocking the entrance and, 'The Ceremony is being held in the mess hall and all personnel are expected to attend'," Natasha quotes the Colonel with precision. "That includes third party contractors, such as myself."

She narrows her eyes, looks back and forth between them. They are standing a respectable distance away from each other just standing there, staring. She purses her lips and turns to the mess hall doors.

"Well, that isn't good," Coulson states.

Something in Phil's voice makes Clint's stomach drop. "You think she knows about - not that there's anything to -"

"Yes," Phil interrupts.

Clint lets out a sigh that is a strange mix of relief and apprehension. "She's all right, though," Clint assures.

"And you're basing that on what, a cumulative fifteen hours of bow training?"

"Yes?"

Coulson raises his eyebrow. "Well, she seems to like you more than either myself or Fury, so maybe you will garner her favor."

"Right," Clint states, still not really sure why its a problem that Romanov saw them standing in the hallway.

"She sees more than your average spy," is all Phil says when Clint asks.

###

Phil finds Clint easily after the ceremony, he's in the center of the mess hall reception. Barnes is on one side and Banner on the other. He lets his observation of the room continue smoothly, not stopping on them but moving along to the rest of the crowd. Romanov catches his eye, again. Only this time her smirk is accompanied by an eyebrow lift.

He had two too many drinks because he lets his eyes trail back to Clint. How could he not? His back looks spectacular in his dress blues and the front looks even better. Clint turns and catches him looking but, unlike Romanov, he does not smirk. He holds Phil's gaze for a whole five seconds before turning and asking Barnes a question, a very funny question apparently.

Phil is on fire. Clint only has to look at him to set him ablaze. It's pathetic but knowing that the younger man wants him, would've pursued him - did pursue him - is pursuing him... Phil takes another sip of his drink.

Thankfully, Fury pushes into the center of the room and Phil's mind is wiped clear of Clint. It is time for their first Op. Fury wastes little time and today Phil is grateful.

"Congratulations, Rangers. You managed to pass daycare. You'll have tonight to celebrate but don't party too hard, we march out at 06:00."

Their first mission is a solo operation designed to collect important intel and test their ability to work in the field. Not all Rangers are assigned this mission, it is for the elite. A fact Coulson only knows because he was the one to deliver the mission file to Fury when it came from up above.

Clint is in his ear, he's nested up in the tree line of a nearby city. The city is expecting an ambassador and Clint is expected to bug his SUV. Coulson, the Lieutenant Ranger, tries not to judge his government for the mission but inwardly he shares the colorful sentiments Clint expressed when Phil relayed the mission to him.

"I see the target," Clint confirms through the comms.

"Good. Let him enter the venue before you descend."

"I know the plan, Coulson," Clint chuckles. "It's not that hard to follow."

"Of course," Clint would tease him about his blush if he could see it.

"I'm going in," Clint informs. "Going silent."

Phil hates when his Rangers goes silent but he finds that he hates a bit more when that Ranger was Clint. He hears the rustle of the man leaving the treeline, a silence as Clint travels through the small city. There's the sound of a car door opening, Clint entering the ambassador's SUV and, inexplicably, humming as Clint sets the bug.

A few more minutes and finally, "All clear, Sir."

Phil releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.

They have three more successful baby-missions, as Clint was calling them, before Fury orders them to travel to the airfield for an away mission. From the plane window, the forest turns to marsh and sawgrass as Clint sleeps on his shoulder. No one in the cargo plane comments. Under Fury's command they've been teamed up with Romanov for a mission. She's waiting in front of some sawgrass after they land and has both eyebrows raised.

"Ready, Sleeping Beauty?" She asks Clint.

Clint's jaw drops, surprised. "Are you a ninja? I didn't even see you on the plane!"

"Something like that," she smiles then turns to Coulson. "Does this make you Prince Charming?"

Phil feels his face heat up but Clint just laughs and laughs so Phil guesses that it is all right.

Their mission with Natasha does not go well.

He has both Natasha and Clint in his ear now and hears them bickering about sniper weaponry as they wait in their nest. Clint is steadfast about his bow, though, and his stubbornness seems to frustrate the woman.

"Obstinate, ostentatious and optimistic. No wonder you're dating your S.O.," she delivers coolly. Both men go silent over the comms. "What? It's obvious."

"We're not dating," Clint says, and Phil cringes at how breathless he sounds, how unsure.

"Yes, you are. You flirt all the time, you can't keep yours eyes off each other and you spend nearly every night together."

"That's us working -" Clint begins.

"Romanov," Phil warns at the same time.

"It's sweet," she says, simply - like any of this is simple. "I'd cover for you, if you need. Give you an alibi."

Clint's responding laugh is tinged with hysteria.

"You've misunderstood," Phil cuts in but his words are shaky and he's talking to a trained spy, he knows she sees through it.

"You both have Fury's permission to work on Project Tesseract, that could be useful as a cover."

"You know about Project Tesseract?" Coulson can't keep his disbelief out of his tone. He hadn't even told Clint yet about the alien tech currently under the Ranger's authority.

"I helped find the Tesseract," She replies.

"What's the Tesseract?" Clint asks in confusion.

###

So the Rangers are cooler than Clint had thought. He is sitting in an abandoned building discussing alien technology and, possibly, planning ways to make-out with his boss. Also, Natasha Romanov is teaching him curse words in Russian.

He should've known it wouldn't last.

The first bullets make it through the glassless window and nearly hit Romanov in the head. He watches her spin into a low crouch, weapon raised and shots firing.

"What's going on over there?" Coulson's panicked voice asks through the comms, no one answers him so he frantically repeats the question.

That is around the time Clint registers the pain in his shoulder.

"Sir, I've been shot," Clint gasps. Romanov is on him in a second, tying a tourniquet around his arm, pressing at the wound with weight and experience.

He blacks out and wakes to worried blue eyes.

"Project Tesseract," are Coulson's first words, but they aren't to him, they are to a blurry redhead over his shoulder. He must be on some heavy drugs. The blur nods, once, and heads for the door. When the blue eyes turn back to him they are so close and then Phil kisses him.

Clint leans into it, lazy and wet, but then he hears Phil's ragged breath, sharp with sobs and finds himself wanting to shush the man even as Phil alternates between murmurs of concern and light kisses pressed to his lips.

"'m fine," Clint whispers though his words mumble together. "Really, I'm okay."

"I refuse to hear you get shot again," Phil orders in his Lieutenant voice and Clint smiles wide at that.

"So I can only get shot if I'm in your line of vision?" Clint teases.

"That sounds like a fair compromise."

There's a knock on the door, a soft warning, and then a full minute passes. They have plenty of time to assume a less intimate seating arrangement than Phil practically strewn in Clint's bed.

"Thank god for Natasha," Phil whispers as the doorknob turns and Colonel Fury walks in. He looks at Phil, then at Clint, then back at Phil. Apparently he is satisfied with what he sees because he grins.

"It would be the two of you to break first blood."

Clint looks over towards Phil and sees that Coulson now standing in his place, eyes guarded and shoulders stiff as Fury explains their next mission. Clint decides he is too drugged for espionage and promptly falls asleep. Phil will fill him in, he thinks to himself, chuckling at the double entendre as he slips into a healing sleep.

He recovers quickly and it has everything to do with actually staying in bed for the duration of his sentence. If he had extra incentive in the form of Phil sitting bedside reading him Tolkien, well, everyone seemed to overlook it. No one questioned why Phil was always there - so Clint tries not to worry.

"You know, you don't have to come here everyday," Clint says one day after Phil wakes to see Clint watching him from his hospital bed. It's early, the sun barely awake and the morning colors fall over Phil's face. He looks beautiful. He smirks when Clint tell him so.

"And miss compliments like that? You underestimate yourself, Barton."

"Do I?"

"Easily, and if you weren't healing I'd show you one reason why I like coming here everyday."

Phil obviously woke in a good mood, flirty and warm. It makes Clint feel brave. He catches Phil's eye and pats the bed on the side opposite Clint's bad shoulder. "I'm pretty much healed."

Phil surprises him by finally taking Clint up on the offer and sliding into Clint's bed. He arranges them so Clint's head is resting on Phil's shoulder. Phil's leg ends up between Clint's thighs and he tries not to notice, tries to focus on Phil's warmth, his hand tracing up and down Clint's spine but he hasn't had anyone, not even his own hand, in between his thighs for weeks.

Phil stills when Clint pushes his hips into Phil's leg muscles.

"Crap," Clint groans. "Sorry, I cancontrol myself."

Phil snorts, "No you can't."

"You can for me then." Clint says and it's meant to sound sarcastic but he doesn't sell it well. He hears the hope and vulnerability and knows Phil does too. The man curls over Clint, one arm on either side of his head, leg still pressing into him but it is soon replaced by Phil's palm.

"Let me take care of you," Phil murmurs, hand sliding past Clint's hospital pants to curl around his cock. "You're almost healed and you've been so good, staying in this hospital room instead of sneaking out like Barnes had suggested."

Clint arches into Phil's hand, pleasure mounting. "I thought you were on a call, soundproof headphones."

Phil chuckles, quickening his pace. "I can read lips."

Clint laughs but it breaks off into a moan when Phil's twists his hand over the head of Clint's cock and Phil continues the move over and over until Clint comes all over Phil's hand with his words Let me take care youreplaying in his ear.

###

Fury comes to visit Clint before he is released. He asks Phil to leave the room. Clint keeps his eyes trained on the Colonel. He does not look at Phil, he does not look at Phil, then because he cannot help it, he looks at Phil.

Fury sees.

In the following days, Phil tries to draw a line between their Rangers partnership and their new relationship, but some days it's easier to whisper Project Tesseract at Romanov and instead of pulling away from Clint, he can watch Natasha stride towards Fury's office and allow them a few more moments together.

Their first mission back is in Malta, it goes perfectly and Clint is buzzing with adrenaline as soon as they return to the Ranger's base. It is nearly empty, only a small troop is even working in this country and Clint is able to push Phil against a wall in the hallway without fear of someone catching them.

"I love when you are out in the field," Clint murmurs against his neck. "I know I shouldn't, I should prefer you back here with a comm in your ear directing the plan and far from harm."

"But you don't?" Phil chuckles.

"Fuck no. Something about seeing you with that rifle strapped around your body, it's so -"

Phil spins them, pushes Clint against the wall and kisses him quiet. He knows he should move them from the hallway, and he will soon, but right now he is cherishing the rare pleasure of claiming Clint in public.

They have five missions out of Malta before traveling to Vietnam. It takes weeks to get there but when they do, they are finally reunited with Natasha. More than that, Phil is finally reunited with the feel of Clint's mouth around him.

He had scouted out the empty office as soon as Fury dismissed him and maybe that's where he slipped up - maybe that's where it all turned South. Colonel Fury must have followed him.

Phil has Clint on his knees in front of him, savoring the feeling of the man's mouth, the way he can curl his tongue and suck at the same time when - bam!

The door is open. Fury has the light of the hallway at his back, Natasha locked under his arm. They both look like they exchanged blows. In front of him, Clint is gone. He had responded to the intrusion by ducking behind the nearest desk.

Lieutenant Phil Coulson is standing in a dark office with his pants around his ankles, his cock hangs wet and hard outside the opening of his boxers. Everyone freezes as Phil puts himself back together and he wonders what will break the silence. He doesn't expect it to be Colonel Fury but the man steps forward, tosses Natasha into a nearby chair and crosses his arms.

"Project Tesseract?" He growls. Phil gulps. He can see Clint from behind the desk and motions with his head so the man knows it's okay to come out. Well, maybe not okay but the Colonel already knows the story here. "The only thing that makes this horrible, idiotic, completely inappropriate situation worse," Fury snarls, "is that you used the actual name of alien technology as an alibi. What if someone overheard, Phil? What if someone started asking questions? I expected better from you," his eyes turned to Clint and then Natasha. "I expected better from all of you."

"Sir -" Phil begins.

"No. It doesn't matter anymore. You're done. Project Tesseract officially killed your career."

Phil feels his knees give way, he's grateful for the nearby desk to lean on.

"You can't be serious," he hears Clint yell. "You can't fire him!"

He sees Fury turn his eye onto Clint, watches as Clint pales under the stare. He feels far away. His job, everything he's worked for is over, and Clint turns to look at him, his eyes broken with pain, scared and confused and so, so, alone. Phil sees only one silver lining in this situation and he will take it. He steps forward, wraps an arm around Clint and pulls him to his side.

"It's not about whether he can fire me or not, Clint," Phil whispers, rubbing his hand up and down Clint's arm. "This is the Army. He has to fire me."

Clint's breaking down, he's curling into Phil, hiding his head in his neck and Phil sees Natasha look away, even Fury diverts his eyes. "No one asked, no one told," Clint mumbles into Phil's neck.

"It's not about that," Fury says after he clears his throat. Phil wonders if he's ever seen Fury looks so uncomfortable. "He's your S.O., it breaks way too many rules to count. This is how the army works, Barton."

"I didn't know!" Clint shouts, angry now but also pleading. Phil can see it in his eyes, the panic, the bargaining.

"I knew." Clint turns to him, confusion evident in his face, "I knew and it was worth it."

Fury steps forward, pulling lightly at Phil's arm and Clint holds on in response. He is so very grateful that Natasha chooses that moment to walk over, sliding her deadly hands gently over Clint's. "Come on,myshka."

Phil feels his wrists being zip tied behind his back but it's around the time Clint lurches forward searing him with a kiss. He can't concentrate on the fact that he's about to be Court Martialed because Clint is there, making declarations between kisses on his skin. "We will see each other soon, this is not the end. There will be more, do you hear me Coulson. I'm not through with you."

Their kisses mingle with tears and Phil can't tell if they are his or Clint's and years later Phil will reflect on that moment as the most important of his life.

Fury pulls them apart, "Time to go, Coulson."

###

"This is bullshit! Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!" Clint kicks the locker next to Barnes. The man tries, and fails, not to roll his eyes.

"It's been a month, Barton, I know it sucks. It really, really, sucks that you were having an illicit romance with your boss and didn't even tell your best friend. I mean," he smirks in the face of Clint's glare. "It sucks that Coulson is gone, but it's the new normal. Adjust to the current era."

"Easy for you to say, Barnes."

"Is it?"

"The new era is you as the Winter Soldier, best Ranger of our class."

"We both know it'd be you, if Coulson was still around to act as your support."

"Yea, well, he's not," Clint kicks the locker again. "And it's bullshit."

"So you've said."

This time, Clint kicks Barnes instead. "You're being decidedly unhelpful."

"And you're complaining over something you haven't even done anything about. Have you reached out to him at all?"

"He's right," Natasha says as she forward flips into the men's locker room from the air vents. "All you've done is mope."

"You know it's easier for you to reach him than the other way around," Barnes reminds Clint, not even stopping to acknowledge Natasha's unconventional entrance. .

Barnes is right, Clint knows he's right, but a part of him was still waiting for Coulson to walk through the door, Lieutenant rank still gleaming on his shoulder. Phil fixes things, that's what he does. He's reliable, efficient - he's not coming back.

"I have to go to him," Clint says.

Barnes whoops his fist into the air, "Thank you!"

"We were wondering how long it would take for you to come to this conclusion," Romanov says.

"You already have an address, don't you?" Clint loves his friends and right now the space behind his chest warms in a way he'll never admit aloud.

Natasha nods. "And a letter waiting to send that gives you a week leave."

"We are just waiting on your go ahead," Barnes smiles.

Clint takes a deep breath, if Phil's not coming back, Clint will find him instead. "Go ahead."

A day passes and Clint is on a plane heading to Boston, Massachusetts. He has an address scribbled onto a post-it that he hands a cab driver. Forty minutes pass, and he's standing at the door of Phil's apartment building.

He knows which button to press, it's clearly written in bold ink but Clint hesitates. He just flew across the world to see someone he didn't even tell he was coming. But this wasn't just someone, this was Phil.

Clint's hand shake as he lifts it to the buzzer. What if Phil doesn't want to see him? What if it's been too late? What if? He presses the button.

It rings twice before he hears Phil's voice, a gruff, "Hello?"

His breath catches, tears actually spring to his eyes but he shakes them away. "Phil?"

There's a pause. "Clint?"

He sounds so confused, but the hope is clearly there in his name as well. "Ya, Phil, it's me. I'm here to -"

The door buzzes open and Clint pushes the door open, starts up the stairs for the seventh floor. He packed light, a duffle bag on his shoulder and it's easy to climb but he only has to go a flight of stairs before he hears the sound of feet rushing down the stairs. He skips three steps on his next stride, four on the next, and then he's running too.

They meet on the fourth floor landing and Clint is around him as soon as he sees the man, He throws his arms around his shoulders and collides their lips together. Phil claims his mouth, running his hands through Clint's hair and it's frantic and glorious. He wishes he could fuck Phil right here in the stairwell.

"How long are you here for?" Phil asks against his lips.

"A week," Clint gasps.

Phil moans. "That is simultaneously a wonderfully long period of time and not long enough."

"I think you just described every long distance relationship," Clint chuckles.

Phil pulls back, easily connecting their gaze. He has a pleased smile across his face. "If that's your way of passively asking if we are in a relationship, well, you're an idiot Clint Barton."

"And you say you're not a mind reader."

"I'm not. But I can read you like a book," Phil's says with satisfaction.

"You look far too pleased at that." Clint laughs.

"You have no idea," Phil agrees. "Let's get you upstairs."

Phil's apartment is sparse, Ikea furniture on top of wooden floors. It makes sense, the man had barely lived there. Phil leads him to the living room, practically pushing Clint onto the sofa as he stands, hands in pants pockets. "Can I get you anything, coffee, tea?"

Clint raises an eyebrow. "You can get back on this couch so we can continue doing what we started in the hallway."

"And here I thought you didn't want this anymore," Phil chuckles.

Clint goes cold. "There's nothing funny about that. I told you -"

"Then radio silence."

"Both ways," Clint reminds.

Phil ducks his head. "You're right, I thought -"

"It doesn't matter anymore, come here."

Phil follows Clint's order, with a playful, "yes, Sir," and Clint pulls him close, unable to keep his hands off the man.

"Aren't we a lucky couple," Clint asks around Phil's mouth. "That we have such a lovely, built-in, military kink?"

Phil surges forward, lowering Clint onto the leather sofa. He can feel the man on top of him, the length of his body slotting into Clint's with ease. Clint lifted his hips, causing Phil to moan and thrust back.

"I can't believe you're in my apartment," Phil says between bites on Clint's neck.

"It's a lovely apartment," Clint manages from under him too distracted by the way their hips drag together to contribute much more.

"It's very functional," Phil agrees. "I want to fuck you over the edge of this loveseat."

The words take Clint by surprise and he reacts with a snort. "Make love on the loveseat?"

"Exactly," Phil agrees and before Clint has to wonder if Phil is saying what he thinks he's saying Phil is pulling at Clint's chin until blue eyes are on him, "Making love because I love you."

Clint wants to grab this man and hold him so close that they merge as one, that's how much he loves Phil. Clint thinks it's a fine plan, then he could come back to the Rangers and everything. He feels delirious, the weight of Phil on him, his words echoing in his mind. He is going to burst, everything is too much and all he's seeing is blue. It's easy for him to say the words, "I love you too, Phil."

The rush from before ebbs as Phil trails his jaw with kisses. They have time, they have forever. In the beginning Clint had only wanted a taste but now, the hunger is sated.

At the end of the week, Clint wants to stay. He tells Phil in the early hours of his last day in Boston. Clint is surprised when the man shakes his head before Clint even finishes his sentence. "Your place is with the Rangers, but that doesn't mean we can't have this, doesn't mean one or the other."

"I know," Clint says into the man's shoulder, because he does know, they've already discussed it. "What will you do?"

Phil leans over and reaches for an envelope on the nightstand. He tosses it onto Clint's chest. It had one word typed on the front. S.H.I.E.L.D.

fin.