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Clint Barton snapped awake and absolutely did not panic.
On his chest, the warm, heavy weight that had woken him shifted again. Swallowing a strangled yelp, Clint tried a little frantically to figure out what was going on. His brain was still muddled with sleep, but Clint was pretty sure it wasn’t a burglar, and it definitely wasn’t Natasha, which left who? AIM? HYDRA? There didn’t seem to be enough yelling and shooting to be those deranged minions of darkness. Clint wondered if he could get to the bow beside his bed, or the knife wedged between the headboard and his mattress, before whatever it was attacked.
Carefully, he risked cracking open an eye, and came nose-to-snout with a dragon.
An actual motherfucking dragon.
Clint’s breath froze in his lungs, and his brain descended into incoherent babbling. Mornings had never been his best time of day, but holy shit this was a terrifying way to wake up - even if the dragon was only the size of a housecat and not actively trying to eat him. Clint swallowed around the heart lodged in his throat, and stared up into bright, intelligent blue eyes. The dragon stared back.
“Um…” Clint said finally, because the silence was starting to creep him out. “Hello?”
The dragon chirped and leaned in close. Then it hiccupped, sending a little plume of smoke towards Clint’s face. Instinctively, Clint jerked back with an involuntary shout. Flailing his arms to the side, Clint tried to scramble out from underneath the dragon. Only, the result was less than graceful, and he ended up tangled in the blankets as the little dragon tumbled onto the mattress with a soft wail. Trying to free himself, Clint flailed again, before suddenly everything was sliding sideways, and he crashed ass-first to the floor. For a stunned moment, Clint stared up at the ceiling. “Ow,” he muttered petulantly.
How had this become his life?
On the bed, Clint heard a rustle, before the dragon’s head popped over the side with an inquisitive chirp. Clint glared at it. “You know, waking up with a dragon on my chest is more stress than I need in my life,” he told it.
The dragon ducked its head at Clint’s words and gave a sad little croon. Clint tried not to be charmed by it. He sighed. “I need coffee,” he said.
The dragon perked up and chirped happily. Clint paused in the middle of climbing to his feet, and blinked at it. The dragon blinked back and chirped again. “What makes you think you’re getting any?” Clint asked it.
Narrowing its eyes, the dragon gave a low growl. Swallowing hard, Clint pushed himself the rest of the way up and took a wary step backwards. Right. Okay. Don’t piss off the little dragon.
Wisely, Clint the decided to retreat to the kitchen, barely managing to grab a pair of jeans on the way. The dragon followed, its claws clicking on the floor as it darted around, exploring. With a little distance between himself and the magical creature in his living room, Clint’s heart slowly began to calm its pounding beat. The routine of setting up the coffee pot and turning it on also helped, and as the coffee percolated, Clint reached for the phone and dialled a familiar number.
“Wow, Barton, and it’s not even noon,” Natasha Romanoff drawled in greeting when she picked up.
Clint glanced at the clock. It was only eight in the morning. Huh. “There’s a dragon in my living room,” Clint told her. “I don’t think I’m on the menu yet, but it’s sitting on my couch, Nat, watching me.”
There was a beat of ominous silence on the other end of the phone. “A dragon,” Natasha said flatly.
“Yes. A dragon,” Clint replied. His uninvited guest was definitely a dragon. It reminded Clint of a mini-Smaug from the latest Hobbit movie, only the little dragon was a sort of deep purple. Its scales glittered in the light, and each foot ended in a set of wicked looking black claws. It even had a set of leathery wings curled up on its back.
“Have you been watching too much Game of Thrones, Daenerys?” Natasha asked.
“Nat,” Clint said helplessly. “I woke up with it sitting on me, and I actually fear for my life if I don’t let it have any coffee.”
Okay, there was the panic again.
“I’ll be right there,” Natasha said, and hung up.
~*~
Fifteen minutes later, Natasha was standing in Clint’s kitchen. The little dragon was now standing on the benchtop, having freaked Clint out by proving its wings weren’t just for show. After pouring it a cup of coffee, Clint had immediately backed up near the sink, keeping well out of claw range, and making the dragon give that sad little croon again. Clint refused to feel guilty. Thankfully, the coffee had grabbed the dragon’s attention not long after, even if it seemed to be confused about how to get to it.
“So it’s definitely a dragon,” Natasha said.
Clint crossed his arms and glared at her. “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” he grumbled.
Natasha rolled her eyes.
Across from them, the dragon finally stuck its snout into the coffee cup. A second later, it stumbled backwards and sneezed, before levelling a pretty fearsome glare at the mug. Natasha gave an amused huff. Reaching up into the cupboard behind Clint, she pulled out a small bowl and walked over to the dragon. The dragon backed up a step and sat down on its haunches, its tail flicking from side to side as Natasha set the bowl down, but it didn’t look especially angry. More impatient, really. It cocked its head when Natasha picked up the mug, and then chirped happily when Natasha poured the coffee into the bowl. Rather than rushing forward like Clint expected, the dragon waited until Natasha had set down the cup, before brushing past her fingers. When Natasha scratched its scales, the little dragon started up a deep, rumbling purr like an excessively scaley cat. After a few moments of scratches, the dragon deemed it had shown enough appreciation, and went to drink its coffee.
“We’re going to have to tell SHIELD about this, aren’t we?” Clint asked softly.
Natasha shrugged, and Clint knew she’d keep the dragon a secret if he wanted her to. “Coulson would,” she said.
Clint sighed at the mention of their handler. Senior Agent Phil Coulson was the kind of guy who was almost always dealing with several things at once, and generally being an all-around badass. Unfortunately, for the next three weeks, Coulson was being competent and dangerous somewhere else. After the most recent Strike Team Delta mission, Coulson had gotten himself temporarily reassigned to the SHIELD Academy, proving once again that nothing good ever came from pissing off Director Fury. Clint had missed most of the argument because he’d been in Medical having his latest injuries patched up, but Natasha assured him it had been epic. Apparently, Coulson had been pissed because he’d been stuck in the temporary command centre while Clint had pulled off a thrilling escape by jumping off a building. Coulson had demanded Fury let him into the field properly next time and grumbled something about spending too much time behind a desk. In retaliation, Fury had sent Coulson to the Academy to “refresh his skills”, and now Coulson was stuck teaching survival techniques to junior agents in the middle of the wilderness somewhere. He was outside of phone range too, so Clint couldn’t even text Coulson when he was bored.
Natasha poked him in the shoulder. “Stop brooding,” she said.
Clint sighed, and caught himself just before he used his bad hand to rub his face. His injuries weren’t serious - just a sprained wrist, a wrenched shoulder and a whole lot of bruises - but it was enough to keep him out of the field. As a result, Clint would be stuck helping out the analysts after the weekend, which would be far less enjoyable without Coulson to bitch to about everything. He glanced back over at the dragon. “Fury is going to kill me, isn’t he?” he groaned.
“That depends,” Natasha replied with a smirk. “We could always tie a bow around your new friend and leave it on Fury’s desk.”
“No way,” Clint said immediately. Fury would probably send the dragon straight to the genius squad, and the idea of R&D getting free reign on the little thing sent all of Clint’s protective instincts clamouring. The dragon could probably take care of itself, but Clint still wasn’t about to leave it at anyone else’s mercy.
Natasha sighed. “If you’re adopting it, it’s going to need a name.”
Clint glanced at the dragon, only to find it watching him. “I don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl dragon,” he protested. Then he blinked, and turned to Natasha with wide eyes. “Do dragons even have genders?”
“Why are you asking me?” Natasha replied.
Helplessly, Clint turned back to the dragon. “I don’t suppose you have anything to say?” he asked it.
The dragon let out a series of warbling trills, before snapping its snout shut with a frustrated huff.
“Okaaaay. Since I don’t speak dragon, how about we keep things simple?” Clint tried to decide how Coulson would handle a situation like this. “Two chirps for yes, one for no?”
The dragon chirped twice.
Clint let out a rough breath. Okay, so the little thing could understand him. Great. “Are you a girl dragon?” he asked.
In reply, the dragon chirped once.
“Are you a boy dragon?” Clint asked.
This time, the dragon hesitated. Opening its mouth, it gave a sort of warbling chirp. Then it huffed. Clint had no idea what that meant.
“Come on, Khaleesi,” Natasha said. “Let’s go freak out the scientists at SHIELD. You can ask it more questions on the way.”
~*~
That was how Clint found himself sitting in one of the many R&D labs with a dragon in his lap three hours later. Most of the scientists were huddled on the far side of the lab, but every time the head of the research team, Dr Williams, walked close, the little dragon shivered. Clint figured it had something to do with the gleam in Williams’ eye every time he took a blood sample. Brushing his fingers soothingly along the dragon’s side, Clint decided the second Williams reached for a scalpel, they were out of there.
“Agent Barton,” Williams said, walking over with yet another needle. “Do you not have anywhere else to be? We have plenty of adequate cages for the creature.”
Clint’s hands tightened protectively around the dragon. “No one is putting anyone in a cage,” he growled.
Williams raised both his eyebrows. “I know you’ve become attached to the lizard, but until we figure out what it is, there is no point…”
“It’s a dragon, not a lizard,” Clint snapped, interrupting the scientist. “It’s also intelligent. So maybe let’s not piss it off by sticking it in a cage and dissecting it.”
Pursing his lips, Williams glared at Clint. “Last time I checked, Agent Barton, the only thing you were an expert in was shooting things,” Williams retorted, the condescension so thick in his voice Clint could almost cut it with a knife. “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”
Clenching his jaw, Clint took a deep breath and reminded himself that Fury got mad when he punched his fellow agents, even when they were giant assholes. Yet, before he could reply, the little dragon in his hands reared up, spread its wings, and blew a small fireball right at Williams’ face. The scientist stumbled backward with a shout, but the fireball had barely touched him. Even so, Clint had to bite back a smile when Williams tripped over his own feet and crashed to the floor. Blinking down at the dragon in his lap, Clint watched in amazement as it settled back down again, purring smugly as it glared down at Williams. Clint decided now was probably a good time to leave, before Williams started yelling about cages again. There were muffled sniggers from the back of the room. “On that note, we’re out of here,” he said, gathering the dragon to his chest and jumping off the exam table he’d been sitting on. “We’ll check back in two hours, Doc.”
“You can’t just take that… that thing… and leave!” Williams protested.
The dragon snorted. Then it very carefully climbed up so it could sit on Clint’s shoulder, its tail gently curling around Clint’s neck for balance. Clint had to bite back another smirk at the dragon’s clear dismissal of Williams. With amusement, Clint noted that one of Williams’ eyebrows was a little singed. “You already said you don’t need my uneducated opinion, Doc,” he drawled. “I just thought I’d leave things to your clear expertise.”
Leaving a spluttering Williams behind him, Clint walked out of the lab. It took him a moment, but Clint was startled to realize the low, rasping sound in his ear was the dragon’s version of laughter.
~*~
It was just after lunch by the time Natasha found them both in Coulson’s office. She didn’t look surprised to find them in there, despite the locked door, which was only fair considering she’d broken in too. When she arched an eyebrow at Clint, he shifted his feet so Natasha could join him on the couch. For a silent moment, they watched the little dragon happily explore the knickknacks Coulson had displayed around his office.
“You know,” Clint said quietly. “Coulson should be here. He’s a big enough nerd that he’d lose his shit at seeing an actual dragon.”
Natasha sighed. “You know what would make Coulson lose his shit even more?” she replied. “You finally asking him out for coffee.”
The dragon gave a loud squawk and knocked over one of Coulson’s gizmos. Saved by the interruption, Clint got up to it help it untangle itself. “Careful, okay?” Clint told the dragon as he stood the old walkie-talkie wristwatch back up on its stand and checked it over for scratches. “Coulson loves this stuff, and if you break something, Coulson’s going to be sad, and then I’m going to have to do something ridiculous to cheer him up that will make Jasper and Natasha laugh at me.”
The dragon crooned and nuzzled Clint’s fingers, so Clint obligingly scratched it behind its ears.
“You need to tell him, Clint,” Natasha said from the couch, undeterred.
“No, I don’t,” Clint shot back.
Natasha sighed. “You’re in love with Coulson. And it’s not fleeting, or temporary, or a crush. I know you, Clint. Don’t you think Coulson deserves to know that someone out there loves him that much?”
“I don’t want to ruin everything,” Clint said softly. He so rarely got to keep things he loved, and Clint would settle for Coulson as his friend and handler instead of nothing.
The dragon gave a soft croon, breaking into Clint’s thoughts. When Clint turned back to it, he had to blink at the small piece of chocolate fudge it was nudging towards him with its snout. “Hey, Nat,” Clint said with a grin that was only half forced. “The dragon found Coulson’s secret snack chamber.”
Narrowing her eyes, Natasha regarded the dragon for a moment. “Really?” she said. “That’s interesting.”
Clint wasn’t sure what she was getting at, so he decided to ignore it for now. Natasha generally had a lot of suspicions about a lot of things, and if they were important for Clint to know, she’d tell him. Instead, Clint took the offered fudge from the dragon and let the chocolatey-goodness melt across his tongue. Nuzzling Clint’s fingers again, the dragon pushed another piece of fudge against his hand. Then Clint felt the tentative grip of dragon claws as his new friend attempted to climb up Clint’s arm. Smiling, Clint opened his eyes and gave the dragon a little push to help it settle itself on Clint’s shoulder. The dragon nuzzled Clint’s jaw in thanks, purring faintly. Clint let his fingers linger on its scales, the little dragon a warm and surprisingly comforting weight against his neck.
Natasha poked him in the shoulder, appearing silently at his side. “I’m going to leave you both to… cuddle,” she told him. “I’m due to meet May in the gym. Don’t forget to check back in with R&D.”
Clint rolled his eyes. “I won’t,” he insisted, before cramming the second piece of fudge in his mouth.
With a disbelieving arch of her eyebrow, Natasha just looked at him for a moment, before leaving with a wave over her shoulder. Clint shrugged, careful not to unbalance the dragon. “So…” he said to it. “How do you feel about naps?”
The dragon chirped twice.
“Yeah,” Clint said with a grin, scratching it under its chin. “Me too.”
~*~
Smothering a yawn, Clint let Natasha drag him down to the labs again just over an hour later. He’d slept for longer than he’d expected, soothed by the familiarity of Coulson’s couch and the warmth of the little dragon curled up on his chest. It was hard to believe he’d only met the dragon that morning. Like before, the dragon was perched on Clint’s shoulder, its tail wrapped around Clint’s neck for balance, and Clint had to admit that the double-takes from some of the junior agents were hilarious.
When they reached the lab, Clint’s footsteps faltered for a beat at the sight of both Director Fury and Commander Hill waiting for them. Which, of course, didn’t go unnoticed. Snorting, Fury rolled his eye. “Relax, Barton,” he said. “We’re just here to see if the rumours are true.”
Grudgingly, Hill handed over what looked like a dollar bill to Fury. “If you start wearing tights or a cape, I’m firing you,” she told Clint when she caught Clint watching.
Natasha arched an eyebrow. “You have seen his old circus costume, right?”
Hill smirked, her eyes lit up with some unholy kind of glee. “Oh, I have,” she agreed.
Helplessly, Clint glanced over at Fury, who just sent him an unimpressed look in reply. “So,” Clint said, trying to change the subject and ignoring the way the dragon was doing the rasping laughter thing in his ear again. “Have the geniuses come up with anything yet?” And he meant that unironically. SHIELD really did recruit geniuses for their research labs.
“Dr Williams?” Fury asked, turning his unnerving stare towards the scientist.
“Uh, well,” Williams hedged. He cleared his throat. “It’s definitely a reptile. The armoured scales appear to be able to withstand a great deal of force, and the teeth and claws indicate it’s at least partially carnivorous and capable of hunting.” Williams paused again, glancing at Clint. “Ah, um… it can breathe fire.”
Fury’s unimpressed expression went up several notches. “So what you’re telling me, Doctor, is that the dragon is actually a dragon?”
“Well… yes,” Williams replied.
“It’s more than that!” a new voice called in an English accent from the back of the room.
Clint looked over to see a pretty brunette straightening her shoulders with a determined frown, while the curly-haired young man next to her took a step back and ducked behind her shoulder. The dragon gave a curious little chirp in Clint’s ear, and when he glanced back at it, he could see the dragon was staring intently at the brunette too.
“And you are?” Fury asked.
“Doctor Jemma Simmons, sir,” she replied with a hopeful smile that quickly faded under the weight of Fury’s gaze.
“Well then, Doctor Simmons,” Fury said. “Care to explain what you mean by ‘more’?”
“Um, okay,” Simmons said, ducking her head slightly when she realized everyone was staring at her. “I noticed something in one of the blood samples when I was trying to understand the dragon’s physiology, which is really quite fascinating… and also really not important right now. But… well, sir, the dragon’s blood cells seem to be emitting a very low level of radiation of a type I’ve never seen before.”
“Radiation?” Hill echoed, immediately wary.
“Oh, it’s nothing serious,” Simmons said brightly. “More strange, really. And completely unlike anything I’ve seen…”
“How does the radiation relate to the dragon being more than a dragon, Doctor?” Fury interrupted.
“Um, well,” Simmons said. “I had Fitz help me and we…” She trailed off as Fury glared. “I don’t think the dragon is a dragon, sir.”
At Simmons’ words, the little dragon dug its claws into the t-shirt at Clint’s shoulder and let out an excited, warbling chirp.
“So what is it?” Hill asked, now eyeing the dragon as if it was about to explode.
“It would have to be something very large, with a corresponding mass…” Simmons said.
“A person!” the curly-haired man beside her - presumably Fitz - blurted. “We think it’s a transformed person.”
Everyone’s eyes turned to the dragon. At the scrutiny, it warbled again, before scrambling down Clint’s arm to land on a nearby lab bench. Pacing up and down, its tail flicking, the dragon growled, before it sat down and curled its tail around its feet, staring up at Clint beseechingly. What it wanted, Clint had no fucking clue.
Thankfully, the unintentional stare-down was interrupted about thirty seconds later as Agent Jasper Sitwell rushed into the room. “Sir, we have a problem,” he told Fury.
The dragon chirped happily at Jasper’s entrance and Clint absolutely did not feel jealous.
“What kind of problem, Agent Sitwell?” Fury asked as Jasper blinked several times at the dragon.
At the question, Jasper glanced at the scientists, before turning back to Fury. “It’s about Agent Coulson, sir,” he replied.
Sudden and agonising dread squeezed Clint’s heart. He barely heard the dragon’s pained wail next to him as his pulse thundered deafeningly in his ears. “What about Agent Coulson?” he demanded, his voice rough and a million terrible scenarios spinning around in his mind.
“Not here,” Fury said. “Doctor Simmons, send someone to contact me as soon as you learn anything else about our new friend. Barton, Sitwell, my office.”
Gritting his teeth, Clint bit back a wave of protests and held his arm out for the dragon. As soon as it scrambled up into his arms, Clint could feel the shivers wracking the little dragon’s entire body. Ignoring its soft growl, Clint cuddled it protectively to his chest. An idea was forming in the back of Clint’s mind, but he wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet. He wasn’t sure he could take it if he was wrong. Instead, he stayed silent the whole way to Fury’s office, fear twisting his stomach, and Natasha a reassuring presence by his side. Fury gave him a sharp look when Clint walked in with the dragon, but Clint just glared back until Fury relented with a sigh.
“What happened to Coulson?” Hill asked as soon as the door was shut.
With a wary look at the dragon, Jasper frowned. “Well, what little we know is that Coulson left the Academy with his group of junior agents as scheduled, due to be out of contact until Friday. He radioed in that they’d reached the training site coordinates just over twenty four hours ago, and was going radio silent except for emergencies,” he explained. “Then, half an hour ago, two of the agents Coulson was supposed to be training turned up back on the Academy’s grounds. They reported a bright flash of light in the middle of last night, and when they checked, Coulson had completely disappeared.”
Clint cursed loudly. Fuck. Coulson had disappeared. The words made Clint want to rage and shout, and start tearing things apart until Coulson was found and safe. In his arms, the little dragon warbled again, its tail flicking sharply from side to side.
“Why didn’t we hear about this sooner?” Hill snapped.
“The junior agents thought it was part of the exercise,” Jasper replied, wincing slightly at Hill’s furious look.
“Sir…” Clint began, glancing towards Fury.
“Before you say it, Barton, the answer is no,” Fury interrupted. “You’re on medical leave for a reason, and we don’t even know what happened yet.” Clint scowled, and Fury sighed again. “Ask me again when he have an extraction plan,” Fury added resignedly.
With a sort of growl-chirp, the dragon wriggled out of Clint’s grip and landed on Fury’s desk, its wings outstretched. Its claws clicked on the wood as it paced, scattering papers in its wake. When it reached the edge, it glared up at Fury and gave a long, trilling warble.
“We don’t need an extraction plan,” Natasha said, and the idea that had been solidifying in Clint’s mind snapped together.
He stared down at the dragon. That wasn’t possible. There was no way in hell that the dragon was actually his handler. Except, it made a weird sort of sense. In the part of his brain that wasn’t completely numb with shock, Clint cringed at everything Coulson had overheard as a dragon, because Clint had no hope of pretending his feelings were purely platonic now - but at the same time, it was Coulson. Coulson was honest and kind, and Clint trusted the other agent with his life.
Even if he was currently a dragon.
Natasha’s hand on his arm helped quiet the urge to flee. “I’m pretty sure sharing his fudge is a Coulson mating ritual,” she said quietly.
“I don’t suppose you’d care to fill the rest of us in, Agent Romanoff?” Fury interrupted dryly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw Natasha arch her eyebrow and shrug carelessly. “The dragon is Agent Coulson,” she said.
The dragon crooned softly, dropping his head to rest on his feet and stare morosely up at Clint. Clint swallowed. Coulson looked adorably pathetic, but Clint still had no idea what the hell to say.
“So let me get this straight,” Hill said in the tone of voice she usually reserved for particularly stupid junior agents. “The dragon Agents Fitz and Simmons believe was once a person is actually Agent Coulson, and the first thing he does after being transformed by an unknown force into a dragon is to fly to Barton?” She turned to face the dragon with an incredulous expression. “Phil, that is pathetic, even for you. This is not junior high. Use your fucking words, you asshole.”
Clint blinked as the dragon whined pitifully. “Um, what?” he said.
Fury snorted. “Oh no, we are not being involved in this bullshit anymore than we already are,” he said, jabbing a finger at both Clint and the dragon. “Ask Coulson when he’s capable of English again.” Fury walked over to his desk, giving Coulson a brief scratch on the way. Coulson leaned into the touch. “Put me through to Doctor Simmons,” Fury ordered after he picked up the phone.
Clint blinked down at the dragon - at Coulson - as he listened absently to Fury’s phone call. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea that the dragon was actually his handler - or apparently that Coulson coming to him first meant Coulson thought of Clint as more than just a trusted agent. “Stop brooding,” Natasha whispered, leaning against Clint’s side for a moment. “Things will work out, I promise.”
A spark of hope warmed Clint’s chest. He could only hope that Coulson’s sad puppy expression meant Clint wasn’t about to get his heart broken.
“Barton,” Fury said, breaking into Clint’s thoughts. “Fitzsimmons believe Coulson should change back to human somewhere in the next twelve to forty eight hours.” Clint blinked, before he realized ‘Fitzsimmons’ meant Agents Fitz and Simmons. “You’re on babysitting duty until then. I don’t care where you go, but you’re responsible for keeping Coulson out of any more trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” Clint replied automatically. Then his brain caught up. “But… doesn’t Coulson need monitoring, sir? By someone who knows what’s going on?”
“No one knows what’s going on,” Fury said. “Doctor Simmons informed me that she would love to have access to Agent Coulson for tests, both prior to and during the transformation. However, I know that Coulson will hate that more than he hates decaf, but it’s your call, Barton.”
“My call?” Clint echoed, shocked Fury was letting him choose.
“He turned up at your apartment,” Fury said.
Coulson gave a sad little croon. “Aww, man,” Jasper said. “Those eyes are lethal.”
Clint had to agree. Coulson looked all kinds of adorably miserable. Not that Clint had ever considered not taking Coulson home. “Two conditions,” he said, his pulse speeding up at the insanity of what he was about to say. “You let me have the rest of your fudge stash, and we actually have a conversation about this when you’re human again.” Clint was pretty sure he wouldn’t actually survive a conversation with Coulson about his feelings, but his secret was out now. Even if Coulson hadn’t worked all of it out yet, he would. The man was scarily smart. Clint needed to know how this changed things, before he drove himself crazy.
Very solemnly, Coulson chirped twice.
~*~
Clint wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d taken Coulson home again, but things weren’t as awkward as he’d imagined. Compared to the SHIELD-level weird that was Clint’s day to day life, it wasn’t even all that strange. Now that he knew who the dragon was, Clint could see a lot of Coulson-the-human’s mannerisms in Coulson-the-dragon - like the growling before Clint had given him coffee. Of course, the downside to knowing Coulson was the dragon was that now Clint was on edge and over analyzing every movement and gesture. He was exhausted already and they'd only been home ten minutes. Mentally, Clint smacked himself. This was Coulson. If Coulson hadn’t run away screaming yet, the sight of the dirty clothes in Clint’s hamper probably wasn’t going to change anything.
Trying to give himself something to do, Clint headed for the kitchen to check what they had for dinner. “Okay,” he said, surveying the lone beer and jar of pickles in his fridge. “Can dragons eat pizza?”
From where he sat on the kitchen counter, Coulson gave a series of chirps.
“Is that a yes or a no?” Clint asked, shutting the fridge door.
With a narrow-eyed glare, Coulson chirped twice very deliberately. Smiling, Clint dug out his phone and dialed the pizza place, not needing to ask Coulson what he wanted on his half of the pizza. If Clint pretended really hard, it almost felt like the normal easy rhythm between them the few times Coulson had hung out at Clint’s between missions. Or like all the times Coulson had dragged him to some hole-in-the-wall diner or another on Jasper’s recommendation. The only thing missing was Coulson’s dry voice talking hockey or basketball, or about the latest stupid stunt by a junior agent trying to prove they were better than Coulson. Clint missed the sound, but still managed to tease Coulson about the dainty way he picked off the pepperoni on his slices of pizza so he could eat them separately. He did that as a human too.
After the pizza was gone, Clint slumped down in one corner of the couch, cuing up Star Wars on the TV to hopefully stop his mind dwelling on tomorrow. Coulson waited until Clint was settled, before unabashedly walking over and curling up on Clint’s chest like a cat. Clint raised an eyebrow, but didn’t stop his fingers reaching out to scratch along Coulson’s scales. At the touch, Coulson snuggled down further and started to purr. Clint smiled. Coulson was very warm, and it was kind of nice, really, to be allowed to touch. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Clint knew, bright light was filling the room and the weight on his chest was suddenly a lot heavier.
Blinking away the dots dancing across his vision, Clint slowly focused on the bright, intelligent blue eyes staring down at him. This time, however, they were surrounded by an achingly familiar and human face. Clint smiled. Somehow, his hand was fisted in the soft cotton of Coulson’s black t-shirt, and he could feel the reassuringly steady beat of Coulson’s heart against the back of his fingers. “Welcome back, boss,” he said. “Happy to be human again?”
“Yes,” Coulson said roughly, before clearing his throat. “Very. It’s rather frustrating to not be able to communicate the way you want to.”
Clint hummed in understanding, his mind going back to Strike Team Delta’s mission in Marrakech where he’d been stuck with a comm that was only half working. He’d spent three days listening to Coulson’s calm voice in his ear trying to get him out of the shitstorm that had erupted with no way of talking back. It had been incredibly frustrating.
“At least I’m not naked,” Coulson added wryly. Then his brain seemed to catch up with what he’d said, and he blushed faintly. Clint grinned. He hadn’t even known Coulson could do that. “I, uh…” Coulson stammered. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”
Pasting a smile on his face, Clint hoped his suddenly racing heartbeat wasn’t too obvious. “No problem, boss,” he said.
Coulson cleared his throat, clearly trying for a semblance of professionalism. The blush kind of ruined it, but Clint wasn’t about to say so. “We should probably head to SHIELD,” Coulson said, glancing away. “Make sure everything checks out.”
“Okay,” Clint agreed. He could only imagine what it felt like to be turned into another creature for a day. Coulson probably needed to get his equilibrium back, and Clint could use a little time himself. Just so that he didn’t make a complete ass of himself at some point in the near future.
Carefully, Coulson extracted himself from their tangled sprawl on the couch, and Clint told himself that immediately missing the solid warmth of Coulson on top of him was stupid. He accepted the hand Coulson offered, and let the other man pull him to his feet. For a moment, Coulson looked awkward, standing in the middle of Clint’s living room in his training gear and not-quite twisting his fingers in the fabric of his cargo pants. Taking pity on him, Clint bumped Coulson’s shoulder with his. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive.”
~*~
When they got to SHIELD, Dr Simmons, Fitz and half of Medical happily checked Coulson out, seemingly uncaring of the fact it was the middle of the night. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for Coulson to be declared completely back to normal, and he celebrated by changing back into a suit, getting a cup of coffee, and dragging Jasper into a debrief. Clint rolled his eyes and left them to it. He already knew they wouldn’t find an easy answer for Coulson’s stint as a dragon. Transformations into non-human creatures happened more often than the junior agents thought - and no one knew why for at least half the cases. Clint had aliens down as the cause in the betting pool.
And if Clint was slightly hurt that Coulson had disappeared so fast, well, he wasn’t admitting it to anyone.
Feeling a little like an axe was about to fall, Clint headed back to his apartment, where he could pace in circles without the junior agents gawping at him. His mind happily conjured all the reasons why Coulson had disappeared into a debrief to avoid talking to Clint, and uncertainty twisted Clint’s stomach into knots. No matter how many times he told himself Coulson wasn’t like that, Clint couldn’t help the part of his brain that was convinced Coulson wasn’t actually interested.
Huffing out a breath, Clint scrubbed his hand over his face. When he turned around to pace some more, he wasn’t really surprised to see Natasha perched on his couch. “Hey, Nat,” he greeted tiredly. “Come to tell me I’m being stupid?”
Natasha cocked her head. “I sensed a disturbance in the Force,” she agreed.
Blinking, Clint stared at her for a minute. “You know, no one believes me when I tell them you’re a giant dork.”
Shrugging, Natasha smiled. “What’s the use of an international reputation if you can’t use it to terrify people?” she asked.
Clint smiled, which had no doubt been Natasha’s goal all along. Giving up on the pacing, he padded over to slump down next to Natasha on the couch. “You really think Coulson likes me back?” he said softly.
Natasha snorted. “Well, we can always looks at the evidence,” she replied. “One, he apparently flew straight to you after being turned into a dragon, instead of, you know, SHIELD or Fury. Two, he voluntarily gave you fudge. Fudge he’s almost maimed other agents for even looking at funny. And three, he’s spent roughly the last two years staring at your ass when you’re not looking.”
The air got stuck in Clint’s lungs for a second. “Um, what?” he said when he could breathe again. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Shrugging, Natasha glanced away. “I figured if it was just sex, the two of you would sort it out yourselves,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know it was more than that.”
“Well,” Clint said. “I didn’t really notice either.”
They sat in silence for a while, Natasha presence calming Clint’s jangling nerves. He didn’t quite realize how much her quiet company helped, until he bolted upright again to the sound of his phone ringing. Wiping the drool away from the corner of his mouth, he ignored Natasha’s smirk as he dug his phone out of his pocket. “...‘lo?” he grunted, still groggy.
There was a moment of silence on the other end. “I’m sorry, Clint,” Coulson said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Clint blinked. “Did you just apologize?” he asked, his mouth leaping ahead of his brain.
Coulson was silent again. “Yes?”
Trying to wake himself up, Clint slapped a hand to his face, and then cursed as his injured wrist throbbed. At least the pain helped clear his head a little.
“I can come back later if now is not a good time?” Coulson added.
“No, no. Now’s good,” Clint said hurriedly. Stumbling to his feet, he buzzed the door. “Come on up.”
Yawning, Clint blinked as Natasha climbed gracefully to her feet. “This is my cue to leave,” she said.
Glancing down, Clint winced at little at his clothes. His t-shirt was rumpled beyond help, and he was pretty sure his hair was sticking up at odd angles. He was just scrubbing a hand through it when there was a soft knock at the door. Still smirking, Natasha beat him to it, her expression only growing more sly at Coulson’s blink of surprise. He was still wearing the suit he’d changed into, but the tie was loose, and the top button of his shirt was undone. Clint felt his eyebrows rise. He usually only saw Coulson this dishevelled when someone was bleeding. “Don’t worry,” Natasha said. “I was just leaving.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to Coulson’s cheek, before whispering something in his ear that Clint couldn’t catch.
To Clint’s amazement, Coulson blushed. “Yes, thank you, Agent Romanoff,” he said dryly. “I have the situation under control.”
Rolling her eyes, Natasha slipped around him with a silent wave to Clint. God, he loved her.
Meeting Coulson’s gaze, Clint shrugged. Coulson smiled hopefully in reply and held up a cardboard tray holding two large coffees. “I brought caffeine,” he said, before lifting the bag he carried in his other hand. “And your fudge.”
Ducking his head, Clint smiled. Padding over, Clint reached for a coffee, taking the one on the left when Coulson turned the tray. Then he stepped back, and waved Coulson into his apartment. With a hesitant smile, Coulson detoured to the kitchen, and when he came back out he was clutching his own coffee cup and the bag of fudge had disappeared. Clint had retreated back to the couch, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table in a easy sprawl he didn’t feel, and waved for Coulson to join him.
“So…?” Clint drawled when Coulson perched awkwardly on the other end of the couch, before shoving his coffee cup in his mouth to keep from saying something stupid.
“So,” Coulson echoed. “There’s a few things I’ve neglected to tell you, and it has recently been brought to my attention that this might have been bad judgement on my part.”
Trying not to choke on his mouthful of coffee, Clint glanced over at Coulson with wide eyes, and tried to force his muscles to unlock. “Okay?” he replied.
With a deep breath, Coulson straightened his shoulders. His jaw was tense and his eyes direct as he watched Clint, just like he was about to give a briefing. “Barton…” he began. “Clint. Before I say what I need to say, I just want you to know that I have no expectations for this conversation, and things never have to go any further or impact our professional relationship. It’s just between us.” He smiled, but the expression was somehow brittle. “Also, whatever Fury and Hill told you is probably full of shit.”
Clint let out a startled bark of laughter. “Don’t let them hear you say that, sir,” he said. “Phil,” he amended at Coulson’s wince.
“In that case…” Coulson trailed off, and cleared his throat. As he watched Coulson swallow nervously, Clint felt his entire world lurch on its axis. Somehow, he’d never figured Coulson would be the scared and vulnerable one. Not that Coulson wasn’t human - he was. He was just also the competent and confident one, who always seemed to have his shit sorted. It was both a little terrifying and a little reassuring to know that he didn’t. “In that case,” he repeated more firmly, “you need to know that my feelings for you go a long way past merely professional. I care about you, Clint, very much.”
Bright, warm hope burst through Clint’s chest, filling the cracks Clint feared might have been cold forever. “Nat said sharing fudge was a Coulson mating ritual,” he said softly. “And I’ve always known Coulsons mate for life when they find the right person. But, ah… what you might need to know, is that Hawkeyes do too. Mate for life when they find the right person.”
Coulson arched an eyebrow, his eyes bright with amusement. “Is that so?” he said.
Clint ducked his head, fighting a blush. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled, even though he was pretty sure his smile ruined the effect. “I’ve been stuck in my apartment watching nature documentaries out of boredom.”
Coulson’s smile was infinitely fond. “While I may not be a penguin, the, uh, sentiment is correct,” he said, glancing away for a second. Then, with a deep breath, he looked up again. “I love you, Clint.” His shoulders shrugged with a small, helpless twitch. All of his defenses were gone, Agent Coulson stripped away, leaving just Phil with all his fears and insecurities. For all that Clint loved the badass in the impeccable suit, the weary, slightly worn man sitting on the other end of his couch was worth so much more, and Clint wanted to keep him forever.
“Really?” Clint whispered back, embarrassed by his needy tone and the tears prickling his eyes.
“Yes,” Phil said fervently. Putting down his coffee, Phil shifted close enough to take the cup from Clint’s unresisting hands and set it down, before his hand came up to cup Clint’s jaw. “I love you so much it’s ridiculous.”
“Shit, Phil,” Clint gasped, feeling like the air had been punched out of his lungs.
When Phil quirked his lips into a little half smile, there was nothing else for Clint to do, but pull him in for a kiss. The angle was a little awkward, but then Phil shifted, and everything turned warm and perfect. Clint slid his hands into Phil’s jacket, tugging Phil more firmly against him. Underneath the soft cotton of his shirt, the muscles of Phil’s back were solid and familiar, and Clint had a sharp urge to shove the material out of the way and feel the heat of Phil’s skin. Phil’s low, shaky moan almost vapourized Clint’s control, and he arched closer, Phil’s hands tangled in his hair. When Phil parted his lips, Clint needed no further invitation. His mouth slanted possessively over Phil’s as their tongues battled. Phil tasted like coffee and a trace of chocolate, and Clint gave a rough groan of his own.
Clint lost the thread of time after that, until Phil pulled back, muttering a curse under his breath. By the time Clint gathered his thoughts again, he was lying on his back with Phil sprawled across his chest, panting up at the ceiling. “Phil?” he asked hesitantly.
Phil smiled, his thumb stroking over Clint’s cheek. Heat simmered in Phil’s eyes, and Clint wanted nothing more than to tug him back down again, but something in Phil’s expression made him pause. “I want to do this properly,” Phil said softly.
Blinking to clear his head, Clint fixed him with a small frown. “What does properly mean?” he asked.
“It means I want to take you out to dinner, and show you my favourite coffee shop and where I found the fudge you like…” Phil said.
Clint rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m not disagreeing with this plan, because I kind of like it,” he replied, “but you do know that if we stick this this proper, slow plan of yours, I’m not actually going to see you naked any time this decade? We’re SHIELD agents. We’re never going to get that much time off even if we sell our souls to the Director. Maybe especially if we sell our souls to the Director.”
Laughing, Phil dropped his head to Clint’s collarbone. “You may have a point,” he said, his voice muffled.
Suppressing the urge to wiggle, Clint carded his fingers through the hair at the back of Phil’s head, just to see what Phil would do. He grinned when Phil shivered. “I assume you have a counter offer?” Phil asked when he raised his head.
Clint pointedly arched his hips. Then he yawned, which completely ruined the mood he was going for. Phil laughed softly again. “Sleep isn’t a bad idea,” he said softly.
“And then sex later?” Clint asked hopefully.
Phil was still smiling when he pressed another kiss to Clint’s lips. “And then sex later,” he agreed.
“Awesome,” Clint said, and let himself be tugged towards the bedroom.
~*~
Grunting, Clint slowly woke up as something warm and heavy shifted on his chest. For a second, panic speared through his stomach and he snapped open his eyes, half expecting to see a little dragon curled up on his chest again. Then Clint’s sleepy brain registered the leg tangled between his, and the prickle of Phil’s chest hair as he burrowed closer and buried his face in Clint’s shoulder with a muffled grumble. Relaxing bonelessly in relief, Clint grinned up at the ceiling. Phil tightened his arm around Clint’s waist, as if he was willing to trap Clint in bed with sheer force of his will. Burrowing his fingers into the hair at Phil’s nape, Clint scratched lightly and Phil hummed. “Five more minutes,” Phil murmured.
If you’d asked Clint a few days ago, he never would have believed Phil Coulson was a secret snuggle monster. He was happy to discover the truth, though. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, Clint felt his smile widen. It was almost ten, which was later than Clint had ever seen Phil sleep when he hadn’t gone to sleep at dawn. As it was Sunday, Clint didn’t give a fuck, and he was pretty sure Phil didn’t care either.
“I thought you’d want to get up and do things,” Clint said, his eyes sliding shut again.
“Nope,” Phil muttered into the skin at Clint’s shoulder, still mostly asleep.
Clint chuckled softly. “Oh, if only the junior agents knew Agent Coulson hated mornings,” he teased.
He felt Phil's eyelashes brush his skin as Phil cracked open an eye. “Give me one good reason why I should get up,” he grumbled. “I’m warm, I’m comfortable, nothing is blowing up, and you’re naked. Right now, this bed seems perfect.”
Clint was mostly glad that Phil closed his eyes again, because his face was probably doing something stupid. “Well, when you put it like that…” he replied.
“Ssh,” Phil huffed grumpily.
Giving in, Clint let his own eyes drift shut, lulled into another nap by the solid warmth of Phil curled around him, and the soft comfort of his bed. The next time he fuzzily blinked awake, it was definitely afternoon. Yawning widely, Clint moved to get up, but Phil’s grip tightened as he shifted. “Come on, Phil,” he coaxed. “I’m hungry.”
“Five more minutes,” Phil grumbled.
Clint chuckled softly. “You said that three hours ago,” he said.
Muttering under his breath, Phil grudgingly rolled away to shove his face into Clint’s spare pillow. Rolling his eyes, Clint got up and stretched lazily. Tugging on his rumpled jeans, Clint headed for the kitchen to flip on the coffee maker and maybe grab a slice of cold pizza. He really was starving, but he was also pretty sure he was still out of groceries. Maybe he could convince Phil to go out for an early dinner to the Thai place down the block.
By the time Clint wandered back into the bedroom, the scent of coffee had woken Phil, and he was sitting propped up against the pillows, looking a little more alert. Clint resisted the urge to climb back into bed, but only because his stomach was growling. He wanted to wake up to Phil every morning for the rest of his life, just like this, with Phil looking mussed, a faint smile curved his lips, and softening his face.
“Coffee?” Clint offered, holding out his second favourite purple mug.
“God yes,” Phil replied, practically making grabby hands.
Clint snorted, but handed over the coffee all the same. “You know, you’re lucky I didn’t pour it into a bowl for you,” he said, remembering Phil-the-dragon’s difficulties in getting to his preferred beverage.
Phil glared at him over the rim of the mug. The whole thing was very domestic, but instead of making Clint itch to flee, it felt right. Like home. But then, Phil had always been the exception to most of Clint’s rules.
“If the next words out of your mouth are a dragon pun, there will be trouble,” Phil warned, as he sat up a little more.
Whatever flippant comment Clint was going to make in reply vapourized from his head as the sheet slipped down to pool around Phil’s waist. Clint was suddenly very aware that Phil was still naked. Without the armour of his suits, there was nothing to disguise the breadth of Phil’s shoulders, or the strong muscles of his arms. Clint knew, intimately, what it felt like to be curled around the solid, very warm bulk of Phil’s chest, that was only just getting a little soft. The punch of lust hit Clint low in his stomach and drove the breath from his lungs.
He was not going to jump Phil. He wasn’t. Not without asking first, anyway. They were rational adults, and Clint was totally going to show how mature he was by having an actual conversation. He certainly wasn’t going to give into temptation and run a hand over those strong shoulders and across that freckled skin. Nope.
Without his brain’s permission, Clint found himself settling down his own coffee and padding silently across the carpet. He’d always been more a man of action, anyway. Reaching out, Clint took the mug from Phil’s hand and shoved it towards the bedside table, before shamelessly crawling into Phil’s lap. Phil blinked, but he couldn’t hide the way his eyes darkened. “It’s like that, huh?” he said.
Clint smirked. “Oh yeah,” he muttered, before pulling Phil into a kiss.
Fin.