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They’d scored themselves an undercover assignment. A gay club of all places, could you be any more cliché? But Clint was a professional, and hey, so was Coulson. Plus, the guy and his competence did things to Clint so he wasn’t going to complain if he got the chance to put his hands all over him. There were worse undercover assignments for sure.
Coulson wasn’t out in the field much these days, being Clint’s handler most of the time, but they’d been asked for assistance by the FBI of all people. And they’d specifically asked for Coulson on this op, so S.H.I.E.L.D. had obliged.
And Coulson had requested him.
So here they were now, dressed to impress, so to speak. Well, Coulson didn’t look much different than usual in his pristine suit and tie combo, but Clint couldn’t say he rocked the suit outfit very often. Or ever. But that’s what he was wearing and he looked damn fine too, if he said so himself.
Because this wasn’t an ordinary gay club. This was a prestigious, high roller gay club for the elite. And the elite, Clint found out pretty fast, were kinkier than any whore he’d ever met.
Clint was playing Coulson’s boy toy which, admittedly, was a bit of a stretch. Coulson wasn’t that old, and Clint certainly wasn’t young enough anymore to qualify as a twink. But hey, it seemed to work, and anyway it was the dynamic that had to be believable and Clint certainly knew how to follow Coulson’s lead.
This wasn’t going to be just a one time op, but a longer thing if they could manage to weasel their way into the inner circle of the club’s clientele. So when they entered, with the order in the back of their heads to infiltrate and make some friends, they didn’t hesitate for even a second. After giving the concierge the invitation they’d scored via channels Clint would rather not think about too hard, Coulson’s hand slid over Clint’s back and to his hip, pulling him closer and squeezing him quickly before guiding them both inside. Clint, getting into his headspace of playing the adoring boyfriend, pressed himself against Coulson’s side and slung his arm around the man’s waist.
They would call each other by their first names for this op, which was going to be weird for Clint. When he’d first started to be attracted to his handler and had entertained idle fantasies about them doing the nasty, he’d separated those fantasies from reality by calling him Phil in his head. He never would’ve thought he’d be forced to call him that on the job too. Man, he was going to have some real problems on his hand after this was all over and done.
They were eyed when they entered the main room of the club, as most crowds tended to do when there were new people around in their exclusive circles. But most of them seemed intrigued and maybe a little bit curious about the newcomers. Nobody approached them, so Coulson - no, he had to call him Phil from now on until the end of the night - led Clint over to a comfortable looking couch. Clint, as per his role, followed without resistance.
They’d just gotten their drinks when Phil leaned over and, under the pretense of kissing his ear, mumbled quietly, “We’ve got company.”
Clint didn’t turn his head, trusting Phil with the assessment and instead pretended that Phil’s mouth was doing something wicked to his earlobe. He put his head back, exposing his throat, and raised his hand to the back of Phil’s neck, drawing him closer. Maybe it was an accident or they were being watched more closely than Clint thought, but for a second Phil’s lips graced the soft skin right under his ear, sending a shock through his whole body. His eyes closed without his permission and he bit his lip when Phil’s hand came to rest on his side, his thumb drawing slow circles over part of his chest.
“Well, well. Looks like we have some new patrons,” someone said above them, pulling Clint out of the slight haze the quick contact had put him in. He’d never lost awareness of their surroundings of course - he’d be pretty bad at his job if he had - but the fact that he’d been in a haze to begin with alarmed him slightly.
Phil had lifted his head and was looking at their visitor, so Clint followed and turned his head.
The guy was unremarkable, just like any other Tom Dick or Harry from the street. Clint still recognized him from the surveillance tapes they’d been shown, and knew this was their target. If they played their cards right and managed to get into this man’s good graces, half their job was done.
True to his role, Clint slowly let go of Phil, looking sheepish for having displayed his affections so plainly in sight of everyone. Their target raised his hand immediately.
“Oh no, don’t stop on my account,” he said with a slow smile. “It’s what we’re all here for, isn’t it? To... express ourselves in a way we can’t out there?”
Clint had to suppress the urge to snort. What the fuck, was this a sales pitch and he didn’t get the memo? A quick look at Phil’s face told him that he was just as amused as Clint. Not that you could tell if you didn’t know Phil.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Phil said, his voice even and very pleasant. He was good at being bland and unassuming, putting suspects at ease. Which was probably why the FBI had been so insistent that Phil take this job. Or maybe it had something to do with that confidential part of Phil’s personnel file. No, Clint hadn’t been snooping, that one he‘d stumbled upon by sheer accident.
Clint was still unclear on why he was here but hey, still not complaining. He got to grope Phil Coulson without any repercussions, that was a pretty sweet deal in his books.
“This club has been recommended by a friend, and he assured me I wouldn’t have to fear any... repercussions for my...” Phil trailed off, looking at Clint with a warm, affectionate smile. His hand came up to run his fingers over Clint’s cheek before he finished, “For my choice in partner.”
Clint smiled back, both because his role demanded it and because he couldn’t help it when Phil was staring at him all adoring. Clint was a good actor, but he wasn’t that good.
Their target was clearing his throat. “Yes, we... I think I can safely say we’ve all been there.” He paused for a beat before he added, “Let me buy you a drink.”
And just like that, they had an in.
Of course, Clint berated himself an hour later, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was, and he’d been a fool to think otherwise. Judging by Phil’s face, he’d expected some sort of hazing ritual and didn’t seem all that surprised about it.
Clint though? Clint was very much surprised.
“So you want us to make out in front of all of you for... what, exactly?” Clint dared to ask, his voice properly diminutive as per his role, and also a little anxious. God, he was starting to hate his assumed character a little bit because all he wanted to do was roll his eyes at these creeps and tell them where to shove it.
Phil seemed to sense some of that because his hand was squeezing his knee, looking like a comforting gesture for everyone else in their circle. But Clint knew it as the warning it was intended to be. He settled back against Phil’s side, his head resting on Phil’s shoulder while he looked at the four other guys sitting with them around a low table, all of them sprawled over comfortable couches.
Their target’s partner, a man by the name of Marcus, smiled a little at him and explained, “It’s policy, you see? We’ve all gone through it, it’s a precautionary measure.”
“They want to make sure we’re not undercover cops who play at being a couple,” Phil explained, looking earnestly at him while running his hand through Clint’s hair.
Clint couldn’t help the ‘Are you kidding me?’ expression on his face, but it worked for his character so he didn’t try to suppress it. Maybe it could've used a little less sarcasm but hey, it seemed to work for Phil. He grinned at him, his hand coming to a stop to cup Clint’s cheek.
“Well then,” Clint drawled, just a little out of character now, “by all means.”
Phil didn’t waste any time to ask him if he was sure. They’d have to talk about a lot of things after this op, but doing everything to get into the circle took precedence and they were both professional enough to do everything it took.
Any anyway, it wasn’t like Clint wasn’t secretly over the moon here. This was all his fantasies coming true at once.
Without further ado, he grabbed Phil’s tie to pull him closer and pressed their lips together. The low level arousal that’d been coursing through his body all evening exploded in his gut, making him groan against Phil’s lips. He groaned again when Phil’s tongue slid into his mouth, claiming him with a strength and ferocity Clint hadn’t expected. He met it with equal force, kissed back with all the pent up longing he’d suppressed for a long time. His hand moved to Phil’s neck and drew him even closer. But then they were listing to the side and it was only his long honed reflexes that had Clint turn quickly so he landed on his back with Phil’s warm body on top of him.
His legs came up to circle Phil’s hips, drawing him even closer while Clint opened his mouth wide, his tongue sliding against Phil’s in an ever increasing dance of desperation and lust and sheer insanity. He could feel Phil’s hand on his shirt, felt him open the buttons with a swiftness Clint hadn’t been expecting, but he didn’t object, didn’t even question what Phil was doing. All he really registered were his warm body and strong hands and the multitude of emotions he’d ignited in Clint’s body.
He moaned when the fabric fell away from him, exposing his chest to the cooler air of the club and making him shiver slightly. When Phil’s mouth slid away from Clint’s and down his throat to latch on to his collar bone, Clint couldn’t help but arch his back and dig his hand hard into Phil’s back.
His mouth fell open and he panted, eyes closed and completely attuned to Phil’s mouth sucking on his collar bone. He started to fumble with Phil’s tie, trying to ease it over his head but gave it up after a moment. He loosened the knot instead until the whole construction fell apart. Phil moaned against his skin, a puff of warm air against his exposed chest that made Clint’s whole body tingle in anticipation. Phil’s head lifted to look up at him, and whatever he saw in Clint’s face motivated him to slide back up and claim his mouth once more with a deep kiss.
Clint managed to open a few of Phil’s shirt buttons before he was distracted by a hand sliding down his body to lift his leg further up. He couldn’t help the instinctive thrust upwards and was met with a deep groan from Phil, quickly followed by a graceful roll of his hips down and against Clint. And that’s when Clint finally got with the program: they were both hard as rocks, and now rutting against each other like school boys.
Clint’s own hands slid down to hold his thighs, to lift his own legs up. Phil let go and propped himself up over Clint, thrusting down in a fluid movement while he breathed against Clint’s open mouth. Clint was pretty sure he was whimpering a little before he caught Phil’s lips and kissed him wet and deep and oh god so fucking good.
“We have private rooms if you want to take this further?”
The words of their target were like a bucket of ice water. It was only his training that stopped Clint from flinching and cursing. He’d totally forgotten where they were and who they were with and that had never happened during an op before. Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was in so much trouble.
Phil’s movements had stopped at the same time as Clint’s, and his head was raised now. He was looking at Clint with an unreadable expression on his slightly flushed face before he sat up slowly, wincing a little and discretely adjusting himself.
“That won’t be necessary,” Phil said to their target and wow, his voice sounded absolutely wrecked. “I’d rather take him home.”
And... okay, what? Clint sat up now too, busying himself with closing his shirt instead of looking at Phil who was making excuses for them to leave. Was their time up already, or was Phil making the call to abort the job? Clint was so fucking confused and still horny as hell.
Fuck.
“Well, we hope you’ll come back soon,” Marcus told them with a secretive smile, his hand resting on his partner’s thigh. Clint looked at the couple first, then at Phil who didn’t let on what he was thinking. He just smiled and nodded and assured them they would before standing up and holding a hand out for Clint to help him up.
They came face to face, holding each other’s gazes for a beat too long before Phil leaned forward and pressed a lingering, chaste kiss against Clint’s lips. Clint followed him blindly when he pulled away, but caught himself in time to not make a bigger ass out of himself than he’d already managed to do.
The group waved goodbye and Clint and Phil moved to the exit, their sides still pressed against each other. Neither of them said anything until they were in their car and on their way back to base, ignoring the unmarked van parked a block away from the club.
The silence lasted for five minutes before Clint broke it to ask, “Why did we leave early?”
Phil - fuck, was he supposed to call him Coulson again now? - concentrated on the road, but answered neutrally, “Because we accomplished what we’d come to do. We’re in.”
Clint frowned. “Because we made out?”
Only his training prevented him from blushing like a schoolboy at the memories of how hot hard heavy amazing it had been to be pressed into the couch cushions by Phil’s body. And fuck it, after this he would never be able to call him Coulson again, so he wasn’t even gonna try.
Phil laughed quietly. “It helped. They will check our backgrounds thoroughly. Not that they’ll find anything, we’re good at what we do. But when they’ve done that and are satisfied with our stories, they’ll let us in.”
Phil paused, then chanced a quick look at Clint. “You up for that?”
Clint only raised his eyebrow back in answer and made Phil laugh again. “Of course, what a ridiculous question.”
Silence reigned once more while they drove down the quiet streets. Clint was in the middle of drafting a convincing story for Natasha who had no doubt been listening in on the op, when Phil said quietly, “When this is over.”
He stopped at a red light and looked over at Clint. As soon as their eyes met he finished, “You and I are going to talk. About a few things.”
Clint’s breath caught in his throat at the open, almost vulnerable look in Phil’s eyes. Could this mean what Clint thought - hoped - it meant?
He swallowed thickly, then nodded. “Okay.”
Phil looked at him a moment longer before nodding, a small smile on his lips. “Okay.”
“Okay,” Clint echoed again, grinning outright when Phil’s smile grew. The light changed and they started moving again.
Clint leaned back in his seat, staring at Phil driving the car. Maybe this whole op wasn’t going to be an unmitigated disaster. Maybe it would be the beginning of something new, something Clint hadn’t thought possible. Something he’d wanted for a very long time now.
He turned back to look out his window, running through all the possibilities in his head - and he hoped.