Chapter Text
The most difficult part of Monday morning for Clint was that he kept wanting to grin. Widely. Hugely, in fact. As they walked the six blocks to SHIELD Headquarters, Clint felt like everyone they passed was staring at the collar he was wearing, and at the marks on his neck and arms. They weren't, of course, but Clint knew that once they got to Headquarters there would be covert looks and whispered rumors. Clint couldn't bring himself to mind in the least, but he didn't want to do anything that would embarrass Phil, so he kept his grin under wraps and tried to go with his signature smirk, instead. He did strut, though. Just a little. Okay, maybe more than a little.
In the front lobby, Phil stopped and turned to him.
"I'm sorry we can't have lunch together today, I have an interdepartmental meeting that's scheduled to run until 13:30."
"That's okay," Clint said. He hadn't thought about them eating lunch together, but of course they would, now, regularly. The grin threatened to come out again, but he managed to corral it into a small smile at Phil.
"If there's anything, though, during the day..." Phil sounded unusually vague and hesitant. "Anything at all, I want you to come to my office. Anytime. My door's always open for you, now. Always."
In Phil's eyes, Clint saw the deep emotion behind the words, and wanted to hug him or kiss him or say 'I love you, too,' or something, but none of that was appropriate in the SHIELD main lobby, so he just nodded.
"Yeah, okay. Thanks. I guess I'll see you later, then."
"Yes. Have a good day."
"Yeah, you too." Clint briefly flashed his Dom a wide smile, then turned and headed for the gym. As he walked through the corridors, he did get stared at. People who didn't know him saw the marks on his neck and arms and then looked quickly away, trying not to be impolite. People who did know him... Some of them stared outright. Some of them did a very amusing double-take. One colleague stopped dead in his tracks, open-mouthed, his eyes glued to the collar around Clint's neck. Clint's smirk grew wider and he nodded at the man as he passed.
At the gym, he changed quickly into workout shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, carefully not stopping to look at himself in the big mirrors, though he wanted to. He went through his usual full-length cardio training and weight routine, steadfastly ignoring the surreptitious glances, pointed looks, and blatant stares. No one came up to talk to him, but he could see the whispers starting. He worked as hard at not grinning as he did at his bicep curls, and instead focused his eyes on a set of four small oval bruises on the inside of his arm, left by the pads of Phil's fingers.
Workout finished, he headed to change. As he stood by his locker and stripped off his shirt, there was an audible gasp from somewhere behind him, and a low whistle from somewhere to his left. He ignored both, wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped around the corner to the showers. The spray of hot water felt good on his bruised back, and he bit back a moan. He pushed the memories of Phil washing him from his mind, and instead tried to mimic his Dom's showering economy.
Back at his locker, he dressed in his shooting gear and grabbed his bow case. At the range, there were even more stares, which was unsurprising, because everyone at the range knew him, or at least recognized him. Everyone there knew he hadn't been wearing a collar on Friday. Clint buried his grin and set himself up in the archery lane. He felt the welts on his back and chest with every draw of his bow, but his aim never wavered. He shot for a long time, and settling back into the familiar routine of 'nock, draw, aim, release' after the upheaval of the past few days left him feeling calm and centered.
After a trip back to his locker to stow his bow and shooting gear, his stomach gave a grumble. It was almost 13:00, and a couple of toasted bagels with peanut butter at Phil's place-their place, he corrected in his head-for breakfast was less than what he was used to eating in the SHIELD cafeteria in the mornings. He put 'food shopping' on his mental list of things he needed to talk to Phil about when they started to discuss the logistics of living together. He headed for the cafeteria, head held high, and strutting more than a little.
Standing in line, he kept his eyes on his tray of food and tried to keep his grin under control. One of the servers stared at his neck, obviously wanting to say something, but keeping silent as she spooned out his portion of lasagna. He raised his head to scan the tables for a familiar face, and was relieved to spot Tyler at a table by himself.
"Hey buddy," Clint said, putting his tray down on the table and dropping into the unoccupied chair.
"Clint," Tyler smiled up at him. "So the rumors I've been hearing all morning are true, then," he said with a significant look at Clint's neck. "You've been collared."
"Yup," Clint said, and put a forkful of lasagna in his mouth.
"There was a lively discussion in the barracks this morning about starting a pool on who your new Dom was. I pointed out that it wouldn't be fair, because someone in HR is sure to leak whoever's name is on your change-of-status forms before the end of the day."
Clint let the wide grin that he'd been suppressing all morning come out.
"What makes you so sure I'd get the paperwork in right away?" he asked.
"Oh, you wouldn't. You'd get around to it next week sometime, if you remembered. But Coulson will have submitted it, complete and correct, ten minutes after he got to his office this morning."
Clint shot Tyler a hard stare, and then laughed.
"Yeah, you got it. You could've won yourself some cash though. You should have gotten in on that pool."
"Nah, no fun when it's a sure thing."
"Sure thing, huh?"
"Come on Clint, the way you talk about him-there's no way it could be anyone else. I gotta say, though, I'm surprised at how... obvious he was." Tyler waved his fork at the marks on Clint's neck and arms.
"He's got a possessive streak. He likes it. I like it."
"Good." Tyler nodded and smiled. "I'm happy for you."
"Thanks," Clint said, and turned his attention back to his meal. He was just finishing his fruit salad, and trying to ignore the fact that his dick was twitching at the memories of Phil feeding him pieces of melon, when someone came up to their table.
"Agent Barton?"
"Yes?"
"Director Fury would like to see you in his office immediately."
"What did you fuck up this time, Barton?" Tyler asked with a grin.
"Nothing that I can remember-not recently, anyway. Maybe it's a top-secret mission. Catch you later." Clint pushed his chair back and followed the admin to Fury's office.
He stood, nervous but carefully hiding it by standing perfectly still rather than shifting from foot-to-foot, while the admin knocked on Fury's door and poked her head in to announce him.
"Go ahead, Agent," she said. "The Director will see you now." Clint squared his shoulders and walked into Fury's office. His steps faltered when he saw Phil already there, facing Fury's desk with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.
"Barton, good." Fury put the papers he'd been looking at down on his desk, stood up, and gestured for Clint to stand next to Phil. Clint glanced sideways, trying to get some clue as to what was going on.
"Eyes front, Barton," Fury barked, and Clint snapped to attention and stared straight ahead. Now he was worried. Was there something wrong? Had Phil broken one of the rules by collaring him? Clint knew that Phil had some sort of personal relationship with Fury, maybe he had counted on Fury to look the other way; though that didn't sound like the Phil Coulson he knew...
"I received a call from a very concerned HR administrator an hour ago, saying that she'd had no less than three reports of a Submissive agent who appeared to be unfit for duty."
"I assure you, sir - " Phil started to say, but Fury cut him off.
"Are you suggesting that I shouldn't investigate reports of a Sub being abused, Agent Coulson?"
Clint kept his mouth shut, even though he desperately wanted to speak up, to explain that he was fine, to tell Fury how careful Phil had been to make sure that he'd be able to shoot... But Clint knew that Phil wouldn't want him to speak until he was asked a direct question, and so he didn't say anything.
"No, sir, of course not."
"Take off your shirt Agent Barton."
"Sir?" Clint's voice nearly squeaked.
"Do I have to repeat myself?"
"No sir." Clint pulled his t-shirt over his head and stood still while Fury's one eye raked across his skin. His bruised, marked skin.
"Turn around." Clint turned, and his self-control cracked.
"I know what it looks like, sir. But - "
"Did I ask you for an explanation, Agent?"
"No sir."
"I take it your bottom half is more of the same."
"Yes sir," Clint said, starting to worry. Surely Phil wouldn't be in any trouble. What a Dom did to their Sub was between them, as long as it was consensual. And he was perfectly fit for duty. Hell, anyone who'd seen him working out in the gym or shooting at the range this morning could attest to that. If only Fury would let him explain...
"Turn back around." Clint turned and now he thought he saw a sparkle in Fury's eye, and the faintest trace of a smile on his face.
"You always were an artist with a whip, Cheese," Fury said to Phil, with an admiring shake of his head, and "Put your shirt back on," to Clint.
As he was pulling his shirt back over his head he risked a sideways glance at Phil and saw that the tips of his ears were pink. Fury stood in front of Clint, regarding him steadily.
"Phillip Coulson is one of my oldest and closest friends. I don't have to tell you to be good for him, do I Barton?"
"No sir."
"Good. And as for you," Fury stepped over in front of Phil. "I'm glad you finally got your head out of your ass and sorted this out. Even if I did have to kick you in the butt to get you to do it. Don't fuck it up."
"Not planning to, sir," Phil said. Clint could hear the smile in his voice, and heaved a sigh of relief. Fury and Phil were friends. Close friends. And Fury had been messing with Phil. It was going to take Clint a while to wrap his head around that, but at least it meant Phil wasn't in trouble.
"Good. Your HR-735 change-of-status forms are officially approved by me, and I'll be reassuring HR that the Sub in question was able to shoot forty bull's-eyes in a row on the range this morning, which makes him perfectly fit for duty by my definition."
"Thank you, sir," Clint and Phil said simultaneously, and then glanced at each other, trying to smother matching grins.
"Good. Dismissed. Both of you."
Phil turned and walked out of Fury's office. Clint followed him. They headed down the corridor, walking shoulder-to-shoulder. Clint didn't bother hiding his grin anymore. He was Coulson's Sub now, and everyone knew it. Things were going to be fine. Better than fine. Things were going to be great.