Fic: Clean and Jerk
Mar. 2nd, 2012 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Clean and Jerk
Summary: When Phil comes back, Clint's not exactly... subtle about his enthusiasm.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 531
Rating/Contents: PG, effusive PDA
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: So this picture went around on the tumblr, and then there was something about arms, and then everything got out of hand.
It's hour fifty, and Clint is about fifteen seconds from absolutely flipping his shit. Patience is something he's had to learn, a useful tool of the trade, kind of vital when you're a sniper, but that doesn't mean he likes it. But there's no word, no chatter, no indication of who nabbed Phil or where he's being held, nothing for Clint to do but sit around with his thumb up his ass.
They're sitting around at central control following another update on the situation- which, once again, has consisted mostly of staring at each other. Clint is leaning back against a console, squeezing his Gripmaster hard enough that he's going to fucking break it; he knows he's doing it enough to make noise, because Natasha is sitting over there looking at him like she's going to brain him with it at any moment. Tony has trapped Steve into a conversation, because, as always, Tony's favorite pastime is baiting Steve, and Steve is too polite and overwhelmed to stop him. Thor is idly braiding his own hair, a weird tic of his, and Bruce, well, Bruce is standing in the corner looking vaguely hunted, which is Bruce's resting state.
"We've got a parachute coming in," one of the techs says suddenly, and Clint clenches down hard enough on his exerciser that his hand hurts. "Initiating defense protocols."
"Hold," Fury says. "Get eyes on it first."
"Coulson didn't have a parachute when he left," Maria points out; Clint just gives her a look.
"It looks like Coulson," another one of them reports. "Long range biometrics confirms."
"Should have baked a cake," Tony says. It's barely five minutes later when Phil walks in, looking completely normal, like he's just come in from the commissary instead of a kidnapping.
"You'd better have a good reason, Coulson," Fury says, his usual amused sarcasm in his voice.
"Of course, Director," Phil says. "Wouldn't want to have to use my sick leave." He looks down, noticing the rip in his jacket sleeve, and he sighs. "I'll be expecting reimbursement for this suit."
Clint absolutely can't take it one more minute. He strides over; Phil has already stated quite clearly that PDA- hugs and kisses and ass grabbing, those were the things mentioned- is off limits when the team is around.
He's really going to wish he'd been more thorough.
Without hesitation, Clint picks Phil clean up off the floor; Phil is very rarely surprised, but Clint's managed it this time. He lifts Phil into his arms, intent on carrying him away, for entirely nefarious purposes.
"Oh, my," Steve says softly, as shocked as ever; fuck it, Clint thinks, and out of sheer mischief he goes for the jerk, pushing Phil all the way up over his head and walking out with him, like Phil is the Stanley Cup or something. Behind him, Thor is laughing, the way only a Norse god can, and Tony is practically cackling.
"I'm going to actually kill you," Phil says plainly, as Clint carries him away.
"Oh yeah, I know," he says. "I was hoping it could wait until after the reunion sex."
Phil considers this. "I think we can work something out."
Summary: When Phil comes back, Clint's not exactly... subtle about his enthusiasm.
Fandom: Avengers
Word Count: 531
Rating/Contents: PG, effusive PDA
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: So this picture went around on the tumblr, and then there was something about arms, and then everything got out of hand.
It's hour fifty, and Clint is about fifteen seconds from absolutely flipping his shit. Patience is something he's had to learn, a useful tool of the trade, kind of vital when you're a sniper, but that doesn't mean he likes it. But there's no word, no chatter, no indication of who nabbed Phil or where he's being held, nothing for Clint to do but sit around with his thumb up his ass.
They're sitting around at central control following another update on the situation- which, once again, has consisted mostly of staring at each other. Clint is leaning back against a console, squeezing his Gripmaster hard enough that he's going to fucking break it; he knows he's doing it enough to make noise, because Natasha is sitting over there looking at him like she's going to brain him with it at any moment. Tony has trapped Steve into a conversation, because, as always, Tony's favorite pastime is baiting Steve, and Steve is too polite and overwhelmed to stop him. Thor is idly braiding his own hair, a weird tic of his, and Bruce, well, Bruce is standing in the corner looking vaguely hunted, which is Bruce's resting state.
"We've got a parachute coming in," one of the techs says suddenly, and Clint clenches down hard enough on his exerciser that his hand hurts. "Initiating defense protocols."
"Hold," Fury says. "Get eyes on it first."
"Coulson didn't have a parachute when he left," Maria points out; Clint just gives her a look.
"It looks like Coulson," another one of them reports. "Long range biometrics confirms."
"Should have baked a cake," Tony says. It's barely five minutes later when Phil walks in, looking completely normal, like he's just come in from the commissary instead of a kidnapping.
"You'd better have a good reason, Coulson," Fury says, his usual amused sarcasm in his voice.
"Of course, Director," Phil says. "Wouldn't want to have to use my sick leave." He looks down, noticing the rip in his jacket sleeve, and he sighs. "I'll be expecting reimbursement for this suit."
Clint absolutely can't take it one more minute. He strides over; Phil has already stated quite clearly that PDA- hugs and kisses and ass grabbing, those were the things mentioned- is off limits when the team is around.
He's really going to wish he'd been more thorough.
Without hesitation, Clint picks Phil clean up off the floor; Phil is very rarely surprised, but Clint's managed it this time. He lifts Phil into his arms, intent on carrying him away, for entirely nefarious purposes.
"Oh, my," Steve says softly, as shocked as ever; fuck it, Clint thinks, and out of sheer mischief he goes for the jerk, pushing Phil all the way up over his head and walking out with him, like Phil is the Stanley Cup or something. Behind him, Thor is laughing, the way only a Norse god can, and Tony is practically cackling.
"I'm going to actually kill you," Phil says plainly, as Clint carries him away.
"Oh yeah, I know," he says. "I was hoping it could wait until after the reunion sex."
Phil considers this. "I think we can work something out."
