Archive of Our Own ^beta

After years of being Clint Barton’s handler, Phil Coulson has developed a sixth sense for when his Specialist is lurking about. Typically directly above him. (Though there are times when it doesn’t work and Barton does manage to surprise him, the Specialist thankfully remains unaware of just how often that does actually occur.) But Coulson is never wrong about the feeling itself; if he has it, then Barton is lurking somewhere nearby.

Coulson has that feeling now. He’s had it since lunch, when he slipped off to meet Agent Carter and to collect paperwork that needs his touch on it. The only problem is that he shouldn’t have this feeling: Barton has no knowledge of this op, has no idea of his being Principal Coulson .  Which means there’s no reason for Barton to be anywhere near the school. And, yet, the feeling persists.

In fact, it only lessens slightly at the very end of the day. Coulson makes his rounds through the school, to ensure that the students have left the building and that Eugene Thompson hasn’t stuffed Mr. Parker (or any other unfortunate student) into a locker for the evening. There aren’t any lingering students (willing or otherwise) and Coulson makes a mental note to watch for any emerging patterns in student behavior. He does one last sweep of the building, just to be sure, and realizes that on Fridays even the teachers get out as fast as they can. Which explains the staff’s productivity the night prior.

Coulson returns to his office, just in time to wish the secretaries and assistant principals goodnight. It’s only when his hand lands on the door to his office that the feeling rackets back up to full. He glances through the small window as he unlocks the door, but doesn’t say a word until he steps inside and secures it behind him. “Out of my chair, Barton.”

“Damn,” the Specialist says in answer. He swivels the chair back around to smile at him. “How’d you know?”

“I always know,” Coulson replies cryptically. “Besides, I left my chair facing the door. Nice try, changing tactics. Now get out.”

Barton stood, stepping out of the way so Coulson could reclaim his chair.  “You didn’t tell me you were assigned to a new op,” he says as he settles onto the corner edge of the desk.

“It’s been a busy couple of days,” Coulson admits.  “Not that it’s actually new. Fury decided that the trainees should be immersed in a normal high school atmosphere. As their supervisor, I was transferred to a position in which I could do just that: supervise.”

“As principal of a high school?” Barton asks.

Coulson resists smiling at the dubious tone of Barton’s voice.  “The full team now attends classes here, so it makes sense.”

“So now you have even more work to do?” Barton -- no, that’s Clint -- asks mournfully.  

Phil leans back in his chair to get a better look at Clint, who is staring at his hands. He reaches out, resting his hand on Clint’s knee, and waits for Clint to look at him. Phil thought they’d put this behind them, but he should have realized that Clint’s issues weren’t going to be dealt with in a few stolen hours, especially when their mouths were occupied with one another’s skin. “Clint,” Phil starts once the man finally meets his gaze, “whatever paperwork I have to do can easily be done from my apartment.”

“I thought you gave up your apartment when you relocated,” Clint points out.

“A school principal needs an apartment,” Phil says, smiling at him.

“Oh...” Clint murmurs, ducking his head. “Didn’t think of that.”  At least this time when Clint looked away it was due to the other man’s embarrassment for not realizing that particular detail sooner. Phil may not be able to live in the mansion on this op, but he also could not live on SHIELD’s floating fortress.

“You were too busy worrying about my workload,” Phil replies. He knows that’s what Clint does.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees sheepishly.

“I do have two assistant principals to help me here,” Phil informs him, gently stroking Clint’s knee.  “My SHIELD workload has been considerably lightened. And I won’t have new projects dropped in my lap, since I’m on assignment.”

“That almost sounds like vacation for you,” Clint notes.

Phil blinks, realizing that Fury had successfully convinced to take a working vacation. “Well, we both know that Fury is more devious than he lets on,” Phil agrees, smiling at him.

Clint smiles back at him and Phil is struck with another realization: he can see Clint more often.

“Do you want me tell you where the apartment is or do you want to find it for yourself?” Phil asks, because he knows how Clint likes to show off for him, even though Phil never allows himself to be outwardly impressed.

“I...” Clint hesitates.

“I ask, because you’ve traditionally just broken into my apartment.” Phil adds, “Not that I’ve minded in the past, but I’m in no way opposed to just giving you a key.”

“Yeah?” Clint asks, sounding like he hardly believes that Phil is offering him that.

“Of course. You can come stay with me whenever you want,” Phil replies, grabbing a hold of Clint’s jeans to tug on them. Clint rises and Phil slides his hand to the back of Clint’s knees, guiding him until Clint slides into his lap. With his other hand, he reaches up to cup Clint’s cheek and pulls him into a kiss, soft and slow.

Maybe he has been neglecting his lover lately. They’ve gone from seeing one another daily to being lucky to meet once a week. He can’t blame Clint for his hesitation or disbelief, given how many issues he’s hiding beneath that cocky exterior. Despite being a member of the Avengers, and impressively the only one without any actual super powers, Clint somehow thinks Phil is too good for him. Really, Phil is the lucky one and he’s going to make up for neglecting him.

“Clint,” Phil murmurs. He pulls away to search Clint’s pockets.

“Looking for something?” Clint asks, sounding amused.

“I highly doubt that you tracked me down and didn’t bring any supplies with you,” Phil informs him.  “I know you, Barton.”

Clint grins, opening his jacket up to pull out the lube and two condoms out of an inside pocket.  “Easier clean up,” he explains, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Can we try out this new chair?”

“Lock the door and lose the pants,” Phil says by way of agreement.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Clint replies with a huge smile, moving to lock the door.  

Phil takes the time to admire the way his jeans fit. Clint glances back, before bending over to untie his boots. (Phil still hasn’t figured how Barton can move so quietly in those things. But, like many of Barton’s non-sniper related skills, he figures Natasha has had a hand in it somehow.)  

“Show off,” Phil grumbles good-naturedly as reaches with one hand to undo his own pants and shove them down, not taking his eyes off of Clint’s ass. He wraps his hand around his cock, stroking as he watches Clint shimmy out of his jeans -- no underwear, Phil is neither surprised nor shocked.  

Phil is also not surprised when Clint leans against the door, takes his own cock in hand, and starts moaning Phil’s name. Clint Barton was once a showman, after all, and -- despite preferring to be in the shadows now -- he still seems to love showing off for Phil.

“Get over here, Barton,” Phil growls.

“I love it when you get all bossy,” Clint purrs, making his way back to Phil.

Phil tugs him back onto his lap once he within reach and kisses him, hand running down Clint’s back, then up under his shirt.

Clint busies himself with loosening Phil’s tie and popping a few buttons so that he can get to a part of Phil’s neck that won’t be seen.  “So many fucking layers, Coulson.”

“You love it, making me dirrty,” Phil pants.  “Especially in the suit.”

“Yeah, I do,” Clint agrees with a smirk.  “Love getting you all rumpled.”

Phil smiles, reaching for the lube.  He slicks his fingers to press into Clint’s body, watches as Clint moans and works himself down on them. “That’s it,” he murmurs, tugging the other man into another kiss.

“C’mon,” Clint encourages against Phil’s lips after a few slow kisses, “I’m ready.”

“You are not,” Phil replies.

“I am too,” Clint whines.  “I wanna feel you Phil, know that I’m yours.”

“You are mine,” Phil whispers, “And I take good care of my things. I don’t hurt them through lack of preparation.”

“Damn,” Clint growls, “Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

“Because you obviously need to hear it,” Phil says, surprisingly dry for someone with his fingers up another man’s ass. He curls them slightly, listens to Clint’s gasps as he thrusts down on him.  Only when he’s sure that Clint is prepared properly does he remove his fingers.  “Condoms,” he instructs, reaching for the pair.  He offers one to Clint, who takes it.

“What, no ‘thank you’ for bringing two?” Clint asks, opening his wrapper.

“You’d either not be coming until we got home or you’d be walking home with my come dripping out of your ass if you didn’t bring two,” Phil informs him, watching as Clint’s eyes widen slightly.

“Fuck,” Clint says as he fumbles with the wrapper.

Phil is not surprised that Clint reaches for Phil’s cock to put it on, but he always forgets how good Clint’s calloused fingers feel wrapped around him. He gets distracted by the feeling, by Clint, and tilts his head back, moaning softly.

“Yeah,” Clint encourages. He leans in to lick and nuzzle at Phil’s exposed neck.

It takes all of Phil’s concentration to reach down and wrap his own hand around Clint’s cock to get his attention, “I thought you wanted me in you?”

“I do,” Clint says and Phil can feel Clint’s smirk against his neck.  “Distracted?”

“Yes,” Phil admits, because there’s only one man that can distract him like this.

Clint huffs a hot breath against his neck, “I’m not sorry.”

“It would surprise me if you were,” Phil says, finally managing to open the second condom and rolls it over Clint’s cock. “C’mon.”

Clint smiles at him as he lines himself up and sinks down onto Phil’s cock. Phil loves the look on Clint’s face, wide-eyed in amazement, as Phil pushes into him.

Once Clint is fully seated, he moves his hands to rest on the top of the chair, and Phil takes the time to appreciate the way his arms flex as Clint begins to move, up and down. Judging by the smirk on Clint’s face, he’s well aware of Phil’s opinion on his arms (they rank in the top three of Phil’s favorite Clint parts). “Phil,” Clint groans, reaching down to catch his lips in a kiss.

Phil wraps his hand around Clint’s cock, stroking the other man. Clint makes breathy little noises of encouragement as he drives himself downward into the touch. Clint is gorgeous at moments like this, all rippling muscles driving them both toward completion. Phil reaches up, tugging Clint in for another kiss, needing to kiss the other man again, and they meet in a steamy kiss, tongues dueling between them.

Clint’s cock twitches in Phil’s hand as he pulls away to gasp, “Phil.”

“Come on, Clint. You know you want to,” Phil encourages. He grunts, pushing his hips into Clint. “I’m close.”

Clint’s breath hitches slightly and his head tilts back just before he comes. Phil thrusts up a few more times into Clint’s clenching ass and follows him with a low moan.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing, Phil suggests, “We should head home.”

“Home?” Clint repeats, nuzzling at Phil’s neck from where he’s settled on his shoulder.

“My apartment,” Phil clarifies.  “So I can give you that spare key.”

“Oh, yeah,” Clint agrees, lifting his head to smile at Phil. “We could do that.”

“Then let’s do that,” Phil says, echoing Clint’s wide smile.  Its such a small thing to do and obviously means something to Clint. The idea of having more time and more of Clint makes this whole ‘principal’ op so much better.