Chapter Text
" 'Scuse me please, coming through." Clint Barton had his bow case in one hand and a large duffle bag in the other. He was just back from a successful mission in Honduras, and wanted to get to his quarters for a long hot shower and a change of clothes before the debrief meeting started in an hour's time.
"Hey, watch where you're swinging that thing!" said the agent he was passing in the hall. Clint knew he hadn't clipped the man—he was more careful than that, especially with his bow—but he recognized the agent as a Dom. So he turned and shot a "Sorry, sir" over his shoulder as he passed.
"That's not good enough!" the agent said sharply in a tone that Barton knew meant trouble. Internally he sighed; all he wanted was a fucking shower, and now some asshole Dom who couldn't leave well enough alone was going to mess with him instead.
"Come back here, Barton, isn't it?" Clint could hear the sneer in the man's voice. He stopped, pasting a bland, inoffensive expression on his face before he turned around. Usually he was pretty good at staying under the radar and not attracting too much attention to himself. Sometimes though, being an uncollared Sub meant that any Dom who had something to prove wanted a piece of him. This looked like it was going to be one of those times.
"Someone needs to teach you some manners, Barton," the Dom said. "On your knees."
"No, sir." Clint said it calmly and quietly despite the anger that he felt.
"What did you say to me?"
"No, sir. SHIELD regulations say that I don't have to go to my knees for you, sir."
"I don't give a fuck what the regs say, Barton. You obviously need to be reminded what you are." The Dom swung a backhand blow at Clint's head. Clint ducked it, but otherwise didn't move. The Dom's expression turned murderous, and Clint realized he'd made a bad mistake. He should have just let the guy hit him, and that would have been that. Now that he'd humiliated the man by ducking his punch so easily, Clint knew he was in real trouble.
Clint kept a tight grip on both his bow case and his duffle to stop himself from instinctively hitting back when he purposely let the next blow land. Taking a beating wasn't a problem; he'd done it more times than he could count, and this Dom probably wasn't stupid enough to go too far here in a main corridor at SHIELD Headquarters.
The next punch landed on Clint’s jaw and knocked him sideways into the wall. He was shaking his head and blinking when he heard a familiar voice say sharply,
"What the hell is going on here?"
"None of your business, Coulson. I'm just teaching an uncollared Sub some manners." The Dom sounded confident, but Clint was close enough to see that the tips of his ears had gone a little pink. Clint wanted to grin at the idea that this asshole Dom was afraid of Coulson.
"Agent Barton is one of my assets, Jensen. That makes it my business. The fact that he’s an uncollared Sub doesn't give you the right to hit him. If you have a disciplinary complaint to make, I suggest you take it to HR." Coulson’s voice was cold and hard.
Jensen had turned away from Clint, and he obviously saw something dangerous in Coulson's face, because he backed down.
"Maybe I'll do just that."
"Fine. I'll wait to see the paperwork on my desk." Coulson took a step that put him between Clint was and the Dom who'd been punching him.
"I'm not through with you Barton," Jensen said over Coulson's shoulder then spun on his heel and headed down the corridor. Coulson watched him go before turning.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Clint dropped the duffle and put his bow case down so that he could wipe at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
"Let me see," said Coulson, reaching toward his face. Clint ducked his head.
"It's nothing. I'm fine."
"I said, 'let me see'." There was steel in Coulson's voice all of a sudden, and whereas Clint had had no trouble resisting the explicit order to drop to his knees from that asshole Jensen, Coulson's tone was enough to make him lower his hand and lift his chin so that Coulson could look at his face.
Coulson stepped in close and cupped Clint's uninjured cheek in one hand, tilting Clint’s head to get a better look at the injury. He drew a clean white handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it gently to the corner of Clint's mouth.
Clint was very glad of the ache in his jaw and the sting of his cut lip. They helped distract him from Coulson's gentle hand on the side of his face and the look of concern in his eyes, just inches from Clint's.
"It doesn't look too bad. Why did he hit you?" Coulson took the handkerchief away from the cut and looked into Clint's eyes with more concern than Clint figured the situation really warranted. Uncollared Subs got hassled by arrogant Doms all the time; there was nothing new about that. Hell, it happened to him regularly — though not so often in the years since Coulson became his handler. Coulson commanded a lot of respect at SHIELD, and there weren't too many Doms who thought that hassling one of Senior Agent Coulson's assets was worth the trouble.
Coulson’s hand was still very distractingly on his face, though it moved as soon as Clint started to talk.
"He accused me of clipping him with my bow case, sir," Clint said, the 'sir' coming out easily and with genuine respect now that he was talking to Coulson.
"You didn't."
"No sir," Clint said with a shadow of his usual cocky grin. “You know I respect my bow too much to be careless with it. I didn't clip him; he was just looking to hassle me. He ordered me to my knees and I refused."
"As is your right. SHIELD regulations are very clear on that."
"Yeah, he didn't seem to like me reminding him of that, either. That's when he decided to hit me. I shouldn’t have ducked."
"What do you mean, you shouldn’t have ducked?"
"I ducked his first punch out of habit. That made him mad. I let him land the next two." When Clint saw the angry expression on Coulson's face, he quickly explained, "Sometimes it's best just to take the beating. It lets them feel like they've taught you a lesson, and then things cool off."
"You shouldn't have to put up with that, especially not here, just because you're an uncollared Sub."
"Yeah, well, you know the score.” Clint shrugged, then picked up his duffle and bow case. “It's okay, it doesn't happen very often. Anyway, thanks for stopping to help."
Clint was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Coulson was still right next to him, close enough to touch. Clint could feel the warmth of his body and smell his aftershave. How the hell Coulson still managed to smell so good after six hours of sitting on a transport plane was a mystery to Clint, one he didn't want to examine too closely. At least not until he was in the privacy of his own shower cubicle.
"I'll make a report," said Coulson. "I'm not going to let him get away with treating you like this."
Clint noticed that Coulson didn't say 'treating people like this' or even 'treating Subs like this'. Coulson wanted to protect him. That, plus the memory of the gentle hand on his cheek, made his stomach clench. He wished... He clamped down on his feelings, not daring to even think about the things he wished when Coulson was standing right next to him.
"I should make you go to Medical, if only to have the injury on file," Coulson said.
Phil knew how much Barton hated Medical, but he also knew that Barton would go if he ordered him to. Phil didn’t want to pull rank. Barton trusted him not to order him to do anything unnecessary or stupid, a trust that he’d earned by never once taking advantage of the fact that his asset was a Submissive.
"I was really hoping to have the chance to shower and change before the debrief, sir," Barton said, and Phil knew it was the truth. Barton may evade a question or fail to answer, but he never lied, not to him.
"Yes, of course. Go on, then. I'll see you in debrief.” Phil figured that Barton had had enough hassle for one day, especially after a long, tiring op. “But I want you to tell me if anything like this happens again."
Clint gave him a lopsided version of his characteristic cocky grin, and pushed off the wall.
"That's an order, Barton," Phil said, realizing he needed to make it one for Barton to take it seriously. If Barton was being hassled by anyone at SHIELD, Phil not only wanted to know about it, he intended to make it his personal project to ensure that the perpetrators were dealt with. Just like he was going to deal with Jensen as soon as he possibly could.
"Yes, sir," Barton said. "And... uh, thanks again, sir. He probably would have hit me a couple more times if you hadn't shown up and stopped him."
Phil clenched his fists by his thighs to stop himself from gritting his teeth.
"You're very welcome," he said, and gave Barton a nod of dismissal. Barton smiled at him, a little crooked with his jaw already starting to swell, and headed off with a surprisingly jaunty step for someone who'd just been punched in the face by a co-worker.
What Phil wanted to do next was find Jensen and break his arm. And his fingers. One at a time. What he did instead was go to his office, call up Jensen's service record, and start to make notes about possible past... incidents until he had to leave for the post-mission debrief.
~~~~~~
Clint stood under the hot spray of the shower for as long as he dared while still giving himself enough time to dress in a clean uniform and get to the debriefing on time. He'd already jerked off to the memory of Coulson's gentle hand on his cheek, and the concerned eyes looking into his own. While he stood there with the water running over him, he let himself imagine Coulson ordering him to his knees, touching him gently on the chin to make him open his mouth, and then unzipping his fine wool suit pants... Clint's dick tried to twitch at the thought, and Clint sighed and turned off the water. Coulson ordering Clint to suck his cock was about as likely as Clint finding the courage to tell Coulson how he felt about him, and what he wanted from him. He thought about that as he toweled off quickly and dressed.
After what had happened today though, now that Coulson had made it perfectly clear that he did truly care about how Clint was treated, and had even said that he would protect him... maybe it wasn't such a crazy idea. Clint was pretty sure he hadn't been imagining the tenderness in Coulson's touch. He was sure he'd seen barely controlled anger when he'd told Coulson that Jensen would have kept on hitting him. For months now (or really, if he was going to be completely honest with himself, years) he'd been telling himself that his feelings for his handler were hopeless. That the small kindnesses were nothing more than Coulson did for any of his other assets, any other member of his team. Coulson looked out for him because it was in his nature as a Dom, sure, but also because that's the kind of man Coulson was. Honest, loyal, dependable, trustworthy...
Clint sighed, and pushed the thoughts out of his mind. The best thing to do now was to get to the debrief on time, pay attention and give a good report. If he wanted Coulson to think well of him (which he very much did) he needed to be professional and competent. Clint squared his shoulders, pasted a professional and competent expression on his face, and went to the meeting.
~~~~~~
"...Agent Barton was able to time his shot with the tranquilizer dart perfectly, so that the mark went down just as he stepped behind a wall; concealing him from any onlookers on the street and thereby enabling Agents Fisher and Kim to proceed with the extraction.” Coulson gave his report to Agent Hill and Director Fury. "Everyone on the team performed in an exemplary fashion, leading to an efficient and highly successful mission. Special commendations to Agent Ortiz for her undercover work and Agent Barton for his flawless execution of the plan."
Clint sat around the big conference table with Fisher, Kim, and Ortiz. He kept his eyes on Coulson, and felt a warm glow at the praise. Clint had never been the type of Sub to turn to mush for any Dom who told him "good boy," but praise from Coulson always made him melt, probably because Coulson never said anything unless he truly meant it.
"Sounds like another very successful operation, Agent Coulson. Congratulations, to you and your team. Have a good weekend everyone." Nick Fury swept his gaze across the room, dismissing the assembled agents.
As the meeting broke up and people filed out, Phil took Fury aside.
"Can I talk to you for a minute, boss?"
"What's on your mind, Phil?"
Coulson waited until Hill left the room and the door swung shut behind her.
"Did you notice the shiner Barton was wearing?"
"Yes, and I wondered about it. There's nothing in your mission report about him getting injured."
"That's because it didn't happen on the mission. It happened an hour ago, in the corridor just down the hall from here. Agent Jensen punched him, and would have kept on punching him if I hadn't happened by and stopped him.” Phil couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice as he spoke.
"What did Barton do?" Fury sounded resigned.
"Nothing." Coulson spat the word out and gave his friend a hard look.
"Okay, easy Cheese," Nick held up his hands. "I shouldn't have assumed, but you've got to admit that Barton has a reputation for having a bit of a mouth on him."
"So what if he does? Does that give Agent Jensen the right to assault him in a corridor?"
"No, of course it doesn’t.” Fury straightened, ready to give the incident his serious attention. “What happened?"
Phil relayed Barton's explanation of the events that led up to Phil's arrival on the scene.
"And you believe he was telling the truth?" Fury’s tone was flat, asking only for information.
"Absolutely. Barton has never lied to me, and he wouldn't — not about something like that. He'd have taken a beating without complaining even if he didn’t deserve it. Hell, if I hadn't been there, he would have taken the beating and never said a word."
"You're probably right."
"I know I am. And I know Barton deserves better than having to put up with a bully like Jensen. Hell, any Sub working for SHIELD deserves better than that.” Phil crossed his arms and looked determined, a look that Fury was all too familiar with.
"So, what do you want to do about it?"
"I want your permission to do a full investigation of Jensen's behavior towards uncollared Subs on base,” Phil said quickly, not mentioning that he’d already started the investigation, unofficially.
"Has Barton made a formal complaint?" Fury asked, surprised.
"No, but he will if I tell him to."
"Of course he will. You may proceed with your investigation, Agent Coulson.” Fury said formally, then his tone changed, his voice now angry, “Find out if the bastard's done this before, and if he has, I'll kick him out myself.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Though, you know, Phil, there's another solution to your problem." Fury leaned back now, propping one hip up on the conference table and crossing his arms. His expression softened again and he emphasized the word ‘your’.
"Oh, what's that?"
"Put a collar on your uncollared Sub asset.”
“I offered Barton a sham collar when I became his handler. I would have been happy to let people believe it was mine to stop incidents like this from happening. He turned me down.” Phil said it with his chin held high, as if he expected a reproof from Fury for breaking protocol.
“Did it ever occur to you that he turned you down because he doesn’t want a sham collar, he wants a real one? Ask him to be your Sub. Don't look at me like that, Cheese, I know you want to." Fury let his exasperation with his friend come through in his voice.
"I can't."
"Why the hell not?"
“Because I refuse to take advantage of his trust like that, not after what it took for me to earn it in the first place. I won't ask him.” It was Phil’s turn to sound resigned.
"But you know he'll say 'yes'."
"I do. And that's the problem. I won't have a Sub for the wrong reasons, Nick, and especially not him. If I'm going to put a collar on him, I need him to submit to me because he truly wants to, not just because I'm his handler and I asked him to.” The long-standing explanation for his actions—or rather, lack of action—came easily, but then Phil reddened a little and looked away. “And let's face it, why would he want to? I'm short, balding, and middle-aged. He could do a lot better than me."
"You're a lot more than that, Phil. For one thing, you're a good man."
"I try to be, sir. Which is why I want to investigate Jensen, and help get rid of him if this turns out not to be an isolated incident."
"Jensen's a good agent." Fury’s voice held regret.
"Is he so good that uncollared Subs should need to worry about being assaulted in the corridors?" Phil was back to indignant in a heartbeat.
“No, of course not. Do your investigation, Phil. "
"Thank you, sir."
"But do something for me in return?"
"Of course, sir."
"Find a way to let Barton know how you feel about him — subtly. Just let him know that you care. He might surprise you."
"I doubt that, sir - " Phil saw Fury’s expression, "But I'll do it, if only to prove you wrong."
"That's the spirit, Cheese," Fury said ruefully, shaking his head as he left the conference room.
~~~~~~
Clint woke up bright and early Saturday morning as usual. Since he lived on base, Saturdays weren't much different from weekdays, except that there were usually fewer people in the halls (unless there was a big op on) and there tended to be fewer meetings (unless there was a big op being planned). Since he'd just finished a big op, and hadn't been told there was anything else coming up soon, he went back to his regular routine. Which meant two hours practice on the range with his bow and various guns, then two hours working out in the gym, then lunch.
After lunch he settled down in the big employee lounge to write his personal after-action report for the mission in Honduras. He could work in his quarters, of course, but he preferred the lounge, with the big TV on, and people wandering through. Especially on weekends where the number of people wandering through was smaller, and the number who wanted him to change the channel was almost zero. He picked a shopping channel (it was that or The Food Network) and let the perky voices wash over him as he concentrated on his paperwork. The thing about growing up in foster homes and then the circus was that having noise and bustle around him felt normal, comfortable, even if he didn't want to be a part of it. That's why the lounge on weekends with the TV on was perfect; enough background noise not to spook him, but (usually) no one tried to talk to him.
He did his paperwork carefully. During their first six months working together, Coulson had painstakingly taught Clint how to fill in the forms to his exacting standards. He’d been gentle with his corrections and lavish with his praise, in an understated way. That was one of the things Clint liked so much about Coulson: you always knew where you stood. If you fucked up, he told you, but didn't make you feel bad about it, unless you deserved to. If you did well, he let you know he was pleased. A quiet ‘Good job, Barton’ from Coulson was often the highlight of Clint's week.
It took him two hours to finish his report, checking it over carefully for mistakes. He knew Coulson wouldn't tease him about his spelling, the way some people did, but he tried to get it right anyway. Satisfied with the report, he decided to walk over and slip it under Coulson's office door now. That way he wouldn't run the risk of forgetting to do it later. He always made a point of leaving his reports waiting for when Coulson first arrived in the morning. He had no idea that the sight of a hand written report in his loopy scrawl on the floor of his handler’s office was one of the surest ways to make Phil Coulson smile on a Monday morning...
~~~~~~
It wasn't the least bit unusual for Phil to be at SHIELD Headquarters on a Saturday. Regular nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday schedules had never been a part of his life, not when he was in the Army and certainly not as a Senior Agent with SHIELD. He’d just come off a (very successful) ten-day mission in Honduras, and sure, he could take a day to relax at home and catch up on things like laundry and cleaning the science experiments out of his fridge, but the sooner the post-mission paperwork got done, the better — while everything was still fresh in his mind. That's what he told himself when he let himself into his office at 9am on Saturday morning. He also told himself that he was going to get right to the Honduras paperwork, just as soon as he'd read through soon-to-be-former-Agent-if-he-had-anything-to-do-with-it Jensen's personnel file one more time... Phil had spent a pleasant hour before falling asleep last night imagining creatively painful ways to make Jensen regret ever having laid eyes on Clint Barton, let alone laying a hand on him. As a Dom, Phil’s tastes ran more to whips and chains rather than fear and humiliation, but he could always make an exception...
Phil's growling stomach told him it was lunchtime, and he went to get a sandwich and a piece of pie from the cafeteria. Standing in line, he saw Barton sitting at a table with Agent Tyler, one of the other snipers who lived on base, talking animatedly with his hands and smiling. Phil's stomach lurched again, this time not from hunger. He wanted... he wanted those gray-green eyes to smile up at him. He'd never put Barton on his knees. Not once. He knew most handlers put their Sub assets on their knees as a matter of formality when they started working together, and some used it as a regular disciplinary technique, but Phil had never thought that was fair. He refused to treat Barton (or any other Sub, for that matter) any differently from the Doms, Switches and Neutrals he worked with. No, the only circumstance under which Phil would ever order Barton to his knees was if he disobeyed a direct order in the field (which he had never done, not since Phil had become his handler) or if their relationship... changed. Which, regardless of what Nick seemed to think, was spectacularly unlikely.
Coulson got his lunch and slipped out of the dining hall without Barton noticing him, and headed back to his office. After his meal he spent two hours on the Honduras report, then sent out a batch of meeting requests to follow up on the clues and anomalies he'd found in Jensen's file and mission reports. He was packing up to head home when he heard a noise outside his office.
~~~~~~
Clint saw the light coming from Coulson's office and stopped, wondering what to do. Sliding his report under the door seemed a little silly when it was obvious that Coulson was there. He could knock, go in, and drop his report onto Coulson's desk. He would get Coulson's little nod of thanks and maybe a ghost of a smile, make some small talk and then he’d go — or he could sneak away and slide the report under Coulson's door later tonight. He told himself to grow a pair, and was just raising a hand to knock when the door opened and the man himself stood there, with a slightly surprised look on his face.
Clint's nerves resolved themselves into a laugh and a silly grin.
"I was just about to knock, sir. I hope I'm not interrupting anything — what are you doing in on a Saturday, anyway?"
"I was finishing up my Honduras report. Is that yours?"
"Yes, sir. Hot off the presses. Here you go." Clint tried to grin his usual cocky grin and hoped like hell it didn't look stupid or forced or unnatural.
"Thank you, Barton. I'll just…” Coulson turned and stepped back to his desk to leave the report in the center of the clean blotter. Clint hovered uncertainly in the doorway, not sure if he should just leave or what. Before he could decide, Coulson was back and asking,
"How's the lip?"
Clint tilted his head so that Coulson could see the healing cut and purpling bruise.
"Not a big deal. It'll look bad for a couple of days, but I've had worse."
"Yes. Look, I want you to know, I spoke to Director Fury yesterday after the debrief meeting and he's given me permission to do a full investigation into Agent Jensen's behavior towards uncollared Subs on base. If I find out that he's done this before, to anyone, he's gone. With prejudice."
"Sir, I..." Clint was worried — so much for staying under the radar if there was going to be a full-scale investigation. But Coulson interrupted him.
"Don't worry, Barton, it's not on you. I'm handling it, and I promise that nothing will come back to you. And no matter what the result of the investigation," Coulson's face changed and somehow got softer and more deadly at the same time, "I'm going to make sure he never hurts you again, Clint. I swear it."
Clint was stunned. Not only had Coulson just used his first name, and sworn to protect him as if he... as if he was Coulson's to protect, but he swore to do it even if the official investigation came up empty, which meant that Coulson was willing to take matters into his own hands. Against SHIELD policy. Against another Dom. For him.
"I... I don't know what to say, sir. Uh... thank you,” Clint stammered, and looked quickly away, unable to meet the intensity in Coulson's eyes.
"You're welcome." When Clint looked back up, Coulson's face had gone calm again. "Well, I'm heading out. Have a nice rest of the weekend."
"Yeah, thanks. You too, sir."
~~~~~~
Clint did not spend the entire rest of the weekend stewing about Coulson, just most of it. He turned everything over in his head again and again, but kept coming to the same damn conclusion. He wanted to be Coulson's Sub. Wanted it desperately. He’d been attracted to his handler for years. No surprise there; Coulson was handsome, intelligent, kind, and competent. But until now, he hadn’t thought much about actually offering himself to Coulson as a Sub. It had been years since he'd had a Dom, and the last couple... well, it hadn't been entirely his choice either time. He had a history of getting himself into bad situations, which was how he'd ended up at SHIELD in the first place, and since then, he'd been trying hard not to repeat past mistakes.
So he forced himself to think about this carefully, trying to be sure he wasn’t making a dumb assumption, or seeing something that wasn't there, just because he wanted it to be. Trying to be sure he wasn't about to do something incredibly stupid. But talking to Coulson in his office had been the last straw: Coulson had sworn—sworn—to protect him from Jensen. That wasn't just concern for an asset. It wasn't just looking out for a teammate. It couldn't be. It meant something, that Coulson felt something for him. Clint was sure. Well, almost sure.
Whether Clint had the balls to do anything about it, that was another thing entirely, but by the end of the weekend he'd pretty much decided that he had to, or drive himself absolutely crazy with wanting and wondering. Sunday night found him lying in bed, not sleeping, having already jerked off thinking about his handler, and refraining from banging his head against the wall only because Bukowski next door would give him hell for it tomorrow morning.
He was going to do it. He had to. He was going to walk into Coulson's office and tell him that he wanted to be his Sub. And if Coulson turned him down, then fine. Well, not fine, totally not fine, but better than this. Better than pining forever. Better than wanting and wondering and wishing and acting like a teenage girl instead of a grown-assed man. At least he'd know, and he could start getting on with his life. And if Coulson said 'yes'... Clint hardly dared imagine what it would feel like to have Coulson's hands buckle a collar around his neck, and maybe touch the side of his face gently after he did it... Clint spent a very restless night.
The next morning as soon as he got up, he turned on his SHIELD-issue laptop and checked Coulson's appointment calendar for the day. He had meetings booked until 11, seemed to be clear between 11 and 1, and then had meetings again from 1 to 4. Clint decided to skip the range, do his morning workout in the gym, go for a good long run, then be at Coulson's office a little after 11. Hopefully that would be a good time to talk to him.
Clint pushed himself hard at the gym and on his run, trying to keep his mind clear by focusing on his body. It mostly worked, and three hours later he was back in his room. He showered and shaved carefully, knowing that Coulson liked neatness, and then dressed in his newest, cleanest uniform. He even tied his boots up all the way rather than leaving them half done like he usually did when he wasn't on an active mission, and ran a comb through his hair. He looked at himself in the mirror.
'Don't be a dope, Barton. He knows what you look like. He's seen you in full dress and he's seen you naked. He's seen you sweating and he’s seen you puking and he's seen you bleeding. It's not going to make a damn bit of difference...' Clint sighed and put the comb down. He looked at his watch, then squared his shoulders and headed for Coulson's office.
Clint nodded 'Hi' to the admin who served Coulson's section and asked,
"Is he available?"
"He should be, go ahead and knock." Clint ignored the raised eyebrows at his appearance. He knocked on Coulson's office door with the distinctive 'rat-a-tat-tat' he always used, and waited.
"Come in."
Clint stepped inside but kept hold of the door. "Sir, do you have a couple of minutes?"
"Of course, Barton. Come in."
"It's, um, a personal matter, sir. Do you mind if I, uh..."
"Go right ahead and lock the door behind you." Coulson moved his keyboard aside and folded his hands on his desk, giving Clint his full attention.
Clint turned the latch for the lock. He took a deep breath and walked over to Coulson's desk. Instead of standing in front of it, or sitting in one of the two guest chairs, he walked around to the side so that he was as close as he could get to where Coulson was sitting. Coulson looked up, surprised, but Clint didn’t say anything, he just dropped gracefully to his knees and bowed his head.
"Sir," he said, keeping his voice as strong and as steady as he could, "I would be honored if you would consider taking me to be your Submissive."
Clint waited, heart pounding, for Coulson to say something. When he did, Clint cringed.
"Barton, does this have anything to do with what happened in the corridor with Jensen?"
'Fuck, he had to ask it that way,' Clint thought. 'I can't lie to him, I can't... How do I explain?'
"Indirectly, sir," he said.
"Look at me, Clint." The use of his first name startled Clint into looking up as much as the order did. Coulson had swiveled his chair so that Clint was directly in front of him. "I want you to always look at me when you talk to me, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"I can assure you that the matter with Jensen is being dealt with, but I understand if you've decided that wearing a collar is the best way to prevent such incidents from happening in the future. Like I've told you before, I'd be happy to have you wear one and let people assume it's mine, if that will help to keep you safe."
Clint forced himself to hold Coulson’s gaze and fought to keep his voice even.
"Thank you for the offer, sir, but I could only take a collar from your hand if it was real."
Phil was stunned by Barton's words. He was asking to be collared. For real. He was saying... he was saying that he truly wanted Phil to be his Dominant.
"Why is that?" The question slipped out before Phil realized he was asking it.
"Because... because I have feelings for you sir. I want..." Clint took a deep breath and, holding Coulson's eyes like he'd been ordered to, bared his soul. "You’re the best man I've ever known, sir. I respect you and I trust you. And I... care for you. The other day, in the corridor with Jensen, when you were making sure I was okay, it seemed like... well, it seemed like maybe you cared for me, too. If you do, sir, then I want to be your Sub."
"Clint, may I touch you?"
Clint laughed and his frayed nerves made it come out as a harsh bark.
"Fuck, Coulson. I've just said I want to wear your collar. You could fuck me over your desk, and you're asking permission to touch me. You've got more fucking integrity than - "
"Language, Barton."
"Sorry, sir."
"You still haven't answered my question."
"Yes. Yes, sir, you can touch me."
Coulson laid a gentle hand on Clint's cheek, just like he had in the corridor. Clint fought himself, but lost, and pressed into the touch. Coulson's hand slipped back and carded through Clint's hair.
"I do care for you, Clint. I care for you a great deal."
The words hung there and Clint listened to the silence and the unsaid 'but'. The silence was broken by a small, sad sound, and Clint's ears went pink when he realized he had made it.
Coulson's eyes widened and his hand tightened in Clint's hair just a little. He rolled his chair forward a little and spread his knees so that Clint was kneeling between them.
"I'm not saying 'no', Clint. Look at me." Clint didn't realize that he’d dropped his eyes again until he dragged them back up to Coulson's face. The hand in his hair gripped firmly, but not tightly, and it was immensely comforting and reassuring. Clint let himself sink into Coulson's hold.
"I'm not saying 'no,' but I can't tell you 'yes,' either. Not right away. This is too big, for me. It's not something I can rush into. I need to be sure. And I need to know you're sure." Phil’s heart was pounding in his chest and the fact that he was gripping Clint by the hair was the only thing that kept his hand from shaking. He wanted Clint. Had wanted him for so long, but he forced himself to be calm and collected and do this right.
"I am sure, sir. I wouldn't be here, and I sure as hell wouldn't be on my knees for you if I wasn't. I want this, sir. Very much. I want you."
Phil dragged in a breath and closed his eyes, briefly, getting himself under control. The urge to simply take what was being offered to him was almost overwhelming, but Philip J. Coulson was made of sterner stuff, and he knew himself too well to let himself repeat his own past mistakes.
"I want you too, Clint," Phil said quietly. He looked down into the gray-green eyes that were staring up at him full of hope and longing. "I've only ever collared two Subs in my life."
Clint's eyes went wide in surprise. How could that be? Coulson was... well he was Coulson. How could he not have had a Sub whenever he wanted one? Maybe he'd had really long-term relationships? That could explain why he was so hesitant, if he was used to things being a certain way, and maybe Clint was very different from his last Sub...
"The first time was when I was young, and stupid. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I didn't, and I learned the hard way. It went on for much, much longer than it should have because I kept trying to fix something that couldn't be fixed. It ended very badly. For both of us. I was gun-shy for quite a while after that.” Coulson released his grip on Clint’s hair and went back to combing his fingers though the strands for a moment, then he slid his hand around to the back of Clint’s neck and let it rest there, warm and solid. His eyes were bright as he started to speak again. “The second time was eight years ago. He was a fellow SHIELD agent. I loved him very much and we were very happy together for just over three years. He was killed in the line of duty."
"I'm sorry, sir," Clint said honestly, touched by the remembered pain he could see on Coulson's face. Coulson gave him a small nod.
"You will find that I'm an odd combination of a traditional Dom with some more modern, progressive ideas about Dom/Sub relationships. I take collaring extremely seriously, and if we do this, I would want it to be a full-time, long-term relationship."
"That's what I want too, sir."
"Glad to hear it. But I won't go into that kind of relationship with someone I barely know, Barton, I can't."
"Barely know?" Clint was confused.
"We’ve worked together for almost four years, and I know you can hit a flea on a mouse's ear at 200 yards in the pouring rain. I know you like old movies and blue-flavored Gatorade. But I also know your file. I know you've been either betrayed or abandoned by everyone you've ever been close to. I know you've been collared without your consent, and I know you've been badly abused. I don't know what that's done to you. I don't know what it will mean for us. I don't know what you like and what you want and what you need from a Dom. I don't know whether I'll be able to give you what you need. I don't know if I'll be able to get the things I need from you. I don't know if we'll be... compatible."
Clint didn't know what to say to that. He couldn't help what had happened to him in the past. He couldn't help being broken. He could promise to be a good Sub, to take whatever Coulson wanted to do to him, but he was pretty sure that wasn't what Coulson wanted to hear.
"So what... do you want us to date or something?"
Coulson smiled at that.
"Something. Come home with me tonight." Coulson’s hand slid back into Clint’s hair and gripped again, making Coulson's meaning clear. "We'll talk some more, and then I'll ask you to submit to me, and we'll see how it goes. And we'll take it from there. How does that sound to you?"
"Good, sir. Great. I'd... I'd love to go home with you."
"Okay then. Meet me here at six this evening. Bring your toothbrush."
Coulson took his hand out of Clint's hair, and Clint absolutely did not whimper at the loss of contact, though he wanted to. Coulson pushed his chair back so that he was sitting behind his desk again, and Clint rose smoothly to his feet.
"I... uh... I guess I'll see you tonight, then," Clint said, trying hard to not sound too much like an idiot.
"Yes."
"Okay." Clint sketched a wave and threw a grin over his shoulder as he left Coulson's office. He didn't collapse against the wall immediately outside. He walked, calmly (if briskly) to his quarters, locked the door behind him, and threw himself on his bunk.
Coulson wanted him! Coulson wanted him! Coulson cared about him and actually wanted him for a Sub! Clint thought his face would cramp from how widely he was smiling. He didn't really understand what Coulson was going to want from him tonight, but as far as he was concerned, Coulson could want just about anything and Clint would give it, happily. He'd submit to pretty much anything to be Coulson's collared Sub. Sure, he'd been in some bad situations in the past, he'd had Doms that were cruel and had hurt him—not in the good way—but this was Coulson. Clint trusted Coulson. He could be hard, he could be a tight-assed stickler for the rules, he could be fucking scary when he needed to be, but he was fair. And honest. And Clint trusted him with his life. He was sure it would be okay. It would work out. Please let it work out. Coulson wanted him!
~~~~~~
Phil sat behind his desk resolutely ignoring the fact that he was rock hard in his pants. He needed a clear head. He carefully went back over what had just happened, and nodded to himself, satisfied that he'd handled it as well as he possibly could have, given the fact that Barton had unexpectedly appeared in his office and asked to be his Sub.
Barton wanted him. Phil was still trying to wrap his head around it. Barton had walked into his office, gone to his knees, and asked to be collared. And not just for safety, or for protection, because Phil had offered him that, no strings attached, and Barton had declined. Barton cared about him and wanted him. He'd said those actual words. ‘I care for you, sir. I want you.'
Phil shifted in his chair, his hard-on continuing to make it difficult to think clearly, as images of Barton... of Clint naked, stretched out on his bed; of Clint on his knees, sucking him; of Clint's tight ass and broad back as he fucked him; played unbidden in Phil's mind. It had been so long since he’d had what he needed… much too long.
"Fuck it," Phil said quietly to the empty room. He got up, locked his office door, hit the 'Do Not Disturb' button on his phone, and unzipped.