Archive of Our Own ^beta

Clint Barton, all joking aside, wanted a Stony kind of love. Ask him a few weeks ago what "Stony" was, he'd think it was either a term for getting high or some sort of kidney malfunction.

He learned the word recently, when he was just lazing about one day in Stark's Tower and on the coffee table happened to be a magazine with both Captain America and Iron Man on the cover. Scratch that, they made the cover: dead center on the page there was Stark in the Iron Man suit, holding an injured Cap bridal style and about to lift off of the hill of rubble, like the cover of a limited edition comic book (when in actuality Cap was shot in the leg while avoiding falling debris, and Stark had to take advantage of his situation. The camera didn’t catch all their bickering over the intercoms). But yeah, the magazine was full of pictures of them in public, walking a little too close together, eating at a local burger joint, at PR events for both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Stark Industries. The term was all over the columns, speculating on the couple that hadn't decided to go public: "Stony".

And really, Clint could care less. Whether public or private, whatever Stark and Cap did with their relationship was their business (though Clint would still be a nosy S.O.B.). But it wasn't like he even had to look far to find things out, even if he could see better at a distance. Because the thing that did stick out to him was smacking him in the face.

Dat sex.

Now that was something he didn't want to think about, two of his teammates all naked and sweaty and humping. And Clint tried not to think about his teammates in that aspect, but it was hard to ignore when they were frequently going at it. And why not? Cap was a super soldier, the battlefield wasn’t the only place he thrived in, and Stark was, well, Stark. The guy would reach 70 before he’d need Viagra.

But Clint had this realization on that faithful day that the elevator "crashed", and this is expressed through heavy air quotes.

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"So how about that wait."

The debriefing had ended and Clint and Phil were waiting for the same elevator that Director Fury was aiming his rocket launcher at. Not really, but he did end the meeting early because of it. So there the two were, and the elevator was functioning again, so while they waited, Clint tried to start a conversation since they were supposed to be dating and all.

Phil didn't glance up from the file he was going through. "There's the staircase if you don't feel like waiting, Barton."

"Looks like you're trying to get rid of me. Nope, I'm staying."

The changes in Phil's face were subtle but Clint got good at reading them. He caught the slight, downward pull of the sides of Phil’s mouth, a frown undetectable by the human eye.

"I can assure you that you wouldn't be here if I truly wanted you gone."

"Aw Sir, that's so sweet." Clint nudged him, and Phil actually twitched. The archer was on a roll today.

"Sooo..." He leaned over, rubbing against Phil’s shoulder to see the file although he didn’t really need to get close. "What are you studying?"

Phil stumbled a bit, and with a flick of the wrist the file was shut. "That's classified, and I might need to write you up for harassment on the job."

Clint rolled his eyes but he moved away, back to standing beside Phil instead of touching him, which was just a damn shame. "Sir, you need to live a little. Loosen that starched tie of yours."

"I'll have you know that I'm perfectly capable of 'living'-" slightly stressed at the end, "-Though I don't see how chest bumping is an example of that. But today for instance." Phil straightened his already straight tie, glancing over at Clint. There was the faintest trace of a smile. "I did for a moment consider pouring my cereal before my milk."

"Wow, you are an animal-- Wait who the hell pours the milk first?"

The elevator finally reached their floor and Clint never did get his answer because of the scene that was slowly unveiled to them. Heat rolled out of the elevator like a fog and there was Cap and Stark, both flushed, sweaty, and out of breath. While Stark casually stood, jacket swung over his shoulder, Cap looked a little too rigid to be casual. Then there were the little things like the dampness of the air, the one button a third of the way down Steve's shirt that wasn't buttoned properly, Stark’s slightly wrinkled tie. Oh, and the broken shards of glass on the elevator floor, but Clint didn't know what to make of that.

"'Sup Barton, Agent," Tony nodded at them both.

"Whoa, what'd you guys do to the camera?" Or more of what was left of it.

"It bothered me. Was an eyesore to my genius. You'll thank me later."

"I'll be sure to in the comments section of your charge for it," Agent Coulson said, back to his professional self. But he knew just as well as Clint did of the mark of a Stony moment. "Captain Rogers, you seem a little winded."

"Do I?" Cap panted. "I'm fine, really I'm not--"

"He was calming me down,” Stark dismissed with a hand wave. “I'm claustrophobic. I get seasick too. On a subject that matters, you guys are doing it wrong. The meeting is that way." He pointed in the other direction.

"Fury debriefed us all separately, said there was no reason for us to wait on you guys." Clint smirked. "But he's still in there, waiting just for you two. Go on."

"Right away, c'mon Tony," Cap said, taking Stark and his tantrum and leading him away. It was amazing just how bad they were at hiding the evidence. Forget the elevator, Fury's rocket launcher had "Stony" written all over it... It must be nice.

Clint and Phil entered the elevator, the air conditioner filtering out the remains of Stony heat. It was gross, he wasn't going to lie, but he wanted to keep that heat. Keep it going he meant, actually create some of his own with Agent Coulson but he always seemed so uptight. How would he respond to his advances?

"So..." Clint decided to take it slow. Maybe something to set the mood. "Stark showed me this song the other day..." How convenient was Love in an Elevator to this moment?

The doors shut, and Clint caught Phil wrinkling his nose before jabbing one of the buttons.

"You don't say," Phil said, not sounding interested at all.

"Yep. It's a cool song..." He was feeling stupid but he pressed on. "You should listen to it sometime, it's--"

But the doors opened only a floor up and with a quick, "I'm sorry but I can't do this," Phil practically fled the elevator.

"Kay, see ya around, I guess." Clint played it off with a wave as the doors shut.

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And that was the extent of his love life, or lack of. But really, how does one try to have sex with someone who is so buttoned up all the time? So far they've done their fair share of gestures, a hand hold at a hole in the wall coffee shop Phil likes, a peck on the lips between missions, but the guy was strictly all business, all the time. Clint needed a plan, because he had his own wants and was lacking horribly in fulfilling them, and jacking off when in a relationship was just damn depressing.

Clint would need to ask for advice.

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Natasha was in Stark Tower's kitchen, toasting bread and skimming through that Stony magazine (which Clint wasn’t feeling bitter about). Although a good majority of the population looked like shit when they just wake up, there she was in a thin black spaghetti top and matching underwear, a little lace lining accenting her soft, evenly tanned skin. Even her hair fell in its usual waves, just a few loose strands out of place. What her secret was, Clint would never know.

"Hey 'Tasha, can I talk to you?"

And then it hit him like concrete how bad of an idea this was, talking to his ex about the lacking sex life of his current relationship. And Phil and her talked, they were good friends even-- what the hell was Clint thinking?

"You are now, aren't you?" The side of her mouth quirked in that coy way of hers.

"Actually, nevermind."

Clint turned around and fast-walked in the other direction before Natasha could react.

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If he was going to ask for advice, he needed to go straight to the source. It was either Stark or Cap, and there was Cap, heading down the hallway with a newspaper in hand, in a white shirt and slacks.

Would it be too awkward? Nah.

"Morning Clint--"

"Hey Cap, I gotta ask you something."

“Um, sure. What is it?” Cap looked concerned.

"How do you and Stark have sex all the time?"

He wondered if Cap heard him correctly, because he sputtered like he was stalling out. "W-what?"

"Like what do you do? How do you and Stark get in the mood all the time?"

Now he was getting a few shades darker, a shade 'Tasha's hair would be proud of. "I guess we, I-I mean it's not exactly ALL the time-- Mostly, well sometimes," Cap glanced away, then back at him, and away again, rubbing the back of his neck the whole time, "That's really Tony and I's business, Clint--"

"Oh so then I gotta ask Stark."

"No, as in that's private--"

"Thanks buddy." Clint nodded and patted Steve on the shoulder, before continuing along his way.

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"You gotta know how to push the right buttons." Stark pushed his goggles to the top of his head and wiped the grease on his jeans. "Come on, you got the eyes of the hawk, according to Thor. What are her - or his since I'm liberal - interests?" He leaned against the car he was working on, one of the many delights in his lab.

"Um... Staples. Filing things? Captain America." That really was a good question.

"Wow, that sounds boring. 'Cept for Cappy." Stark's eyes narrowed. "But he's off limits."

"I know that! Uh..." Clint scratched his head, rattling his brain for anything else. "He also likes really bad reality shows, or criticizing them at least."

"The excitement is killing me. Really, on par with steel wool, not really. Steel wool conducts electricity. Who is this live wire anyway?" Tony smirked, rummaging through his toolbox. "Bet they'd get along with Agent."

Clint shut his eyes and sighed, hearing himself respond with, "Better get Phil a mirror then."

He heard the clatter of tools hitting tools hitting the floor and the whoosh of Stark shooting to his feet. "What? Noooooo... Really?" A laugh bubbled out of him. "No. I mean, really? Thought he, budded or, I don’t know, not anything involving sex."

"He's not asexual." Though Clint wasn't so sure anymore. He stood there while Stark began to move, pressing buttons and pulling levers and checking on transparent monitors, it all looked the same to him.
Clint said after a little bit, "We've been dating for a while now. Several months.”

Stark's grin broadened. "And still no action? Guess your aim isn't so hot after all--"

"Leaving now, thanks for nothing."

"No no, you'll thank me. You're talking to the ex-playboy extraordinaire.”

“Yes cause that sounds comforting.” Clint avoided the scrap metal launched at his head.

“Respect the genius at work, peasant! Now if you're trying to seduce Agent, you need to know his-” Stark snickered, “-kinks. It's all trial and error, trying something and gauging the percentage of success. Cappy, for example, doesn’t take much. A few kisses in and he’s already cocked, ready to go. His mood helps too, boosts the success rate. Oh, no wonder you're having such a hard time. Androids don't have moods. That one slipped--”

"The hell!" Clint hurled a random object at his head, and this one actually hit its target.

"Phil has moods. Just hard to catch for a guy who uses a targeting system."

"Yeah yeah," Stark rubbed his head, eyes narrowed at Clint. He turned away and began fiddling with the screens, songs zipping by on the speaker. "So how about you and Agent...? When'd that even happen?"
Man it must be exhausting to be in Stark’s head. "A little while after you and Cap hooked up. The Battle of Manhattan didn't work wonders on just you guys." Not that Clint would wish a near global catastrophe for every hook up, but it takes a guy getting stabbed through the chest for him to understand just how much he cares. Especially when they’re in critical condition for days, and meanwhile all Clint was doing was getting "cognitively recalibrated" for being another guy's puppet. Natasha called it that, Clint calls it rescuing, or babysitting. And really, blaming himself now was overrated, and Natasha told him to avoid doing that, but he just can't pass off another's close call because of weakness on his part.

"Huh. Maybe Rock of Ages can play matchmaker now the whole 'mischief' occupation has failed." Stark finally let a song play for more than a few seconds, something about a guy dancing with himself. "So have you even tried to bed him?" he asked as he head bobbed.

"Of course I've tried!" Clint just about spat and Stark jumped. "But the guy is always busy! A kiss here, a groping there but I can't catch a break! It's always 'inappropriate' or 'against protocol.' Feh. Like dating is its own file or has a procedure."

"Fuck protocol and files. Paper cuts… My balls ache for you. Get him chocolate. Maybe strawberries-- Actually, scratch that, if he's allergic he'll tase you. What's his favorite fruit?"

"Bananas."

"Well then get him some-" Tony laughed, "Some phallic fruit and you should be good."

"Is it really that simple-- Heh, phallic fruit." Though really, handing Phil a bunch of bananas didn't seem enticing at all. He'd have to be creative somehow, since Phil wasn't one for mediocre things. And it was something Clint wanted to do for him since Phil deserved it, even if he was a workaholic and Clint hated it. Always keeping things in order, never really sleeping, just moving on standby mode instead of getting sleep. Though all Clint had to work with was paper clips and bananas.

"But enough about Agent. Bruce is off meditating. Help me with this car."

"What are you trying to do with it?"

"Give it rocket launchers, maybe heat seeking missiles. And cup holders that keep beverages warm. A cold cup of coffee is a damn shame."

"Hell yes."

“Hm?” from the opposite side of the lab Banner perked up, hidden behind the piles of scraps that were probably treasure to Stark. “Did you say something, Tony?”

“Oh, Bruce!” Stark threw up his arms. “You ninjaed in. How’d you do that?”

“I was here the whole time…”

“Of course you were. Barton wants to get nailed by Agent. Any advice?”

Banner began to stutter just like Cap. Clint considered seriously driving his own face through a desk. “Well, uh, I mean if he’s trying to do… that, maybe um, get him flowers?”

“Flowers?” Clint glanced away from the desk. “That’s not a bad idea. What kind?”

Stark rolled his eyes and headed back to his car, still mumbling about phallic fruits and how his idea was better.

“Well that depends on what he likes,” Banner said, sounding more confident. “Or the message that you’re trying to convey. The flower type combined with the color are all symbolic, and set off different neurological responses—”

“And I gotta learn all this?” Clint wasn’t getting anywhere at this rate.

Banner smiled weakly and fumbled with his pen. “Well no, but since you want something specific from Agent Coulson you should probably do your research--”

“Or go in balls deep,” Stark shouted from under the car. “Get Thor in on this, he’s courted a lot of dames and damsels, or is it dukes? He’s been around.”

And before Clint could even consider the thought, before JARVIS could even announce his arrival, the God of Thunder came barging through the glass doors of the lab with his usual armor and cheerful expression.

“I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED,” he boomed, Banner nearly falling off of his stool and Stark slamming his head against the underside of the car, on accident of course.

“Hey Thor,” Clint said with a wince, “Did you really hear your name from… Where did you come from?”

“I was on my way here, for I wished to ask Friend Tony of Friend Steve’s condition. He seemed most troubled.”

“Troubled?” Stark sat up again, rubbing the decent looking lump forming on his head. “He didn’t break another TV, did he?”

“I do not know,” Thor said. “He did not seem to want to elaborate. Said it was a private affair—”

“Oh that’s my fault.” Clint raised his hand. “I asked him for advice on… stuff.”

“You asked him about nailing Agent?” A grin slowly spread on Stark’s face.

Thor looked alarmed. “I do not understand. What has the Son of Coul done for you to plot driving a nail through his being?”

Banner sighed and began cleaning his glasses, keeping from looking at anyone in the room. “Can we call it something else?”

“Fine, fine. He wants to sleep with Agent, and he needs flowers. Be a good sport and help him out?” Stark finished off with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Or maybe Clint will revise his earlier urge, and instead slam Stark’s head through a desk. But Thor didn’t even blink as he placed a hand on Clint’s shoulder, taking the topic seriously. Clint didn’t know whether to be grateful or not.

“Ah I see. A matter for the bed chamber. Come, Eye of the Hawk, let us venture to the nearest marketplace!” And Clint allowed himself to be led through the glass door, not like he could lose any more pride.

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So now Clint’s love life was an Avengers affair. The only thing he could hope for now is if Phil didn’t find out through someone else, and if he did then Clint will probably fling himself out of a window. Without his arrows. But Thor actually helped him out a lot, explaining all the meanings and symbols as they browsed the floral shop. The shop keepers also were helpful, once they got over gawking fit a fully armored, six foot plus tall dude with Fabio hair speaking to them with an accent.

Red meant passion which, yes, that’s what Clint was going for but that just didn’t seem like Phil. And roses were too stereotypical. Pink and white were way too innocent. Yellow, well if Clint was trying to get with Thor then he’d throw a meadow of yellow flowers at him. So finally he decided on cooler colors, but after about an hour of searching and thinking Clint realized that he didn’t want any of the flowers there. Clint patted Thor on the shoulder and told him that he really was a lot of help, but he finally had an idea.

“What are you planning on doing?” Thor had asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” Clint didn’t want to lose the idea so he left the confused Thunder God by the sidewalk as he took off for the nearest Staples.

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Hours later Clint was back in S.H.I.E.L.D., sitting cross legged at the end of a hallway, dismantling and reassembling his bow. The task wasn't necessary since there were agents paid to make sure his gear was working, but call it a trust issue. He liked to know how his gear worked, understand the inner workings and he knew there wouldn't be a mistake since it was he putting it together. He was a little clumsier than usual though, just a fraction thanks to all the bandages around his fingers.

But there was another reason for this. It gave the impression that he was tending to his equipment, and not that he was on a stakeout. Also, a bag was wedged between his back and the wall but whoever did pass did not look at that, but his equipment. And finally, he was positioned just by the corner, far enough so no one about to round it would see him, but he was at just the right angle to catch the door to Phil's office. If Phil headed his way then Clint would notice and escape before Phil rounded the corner.

Fortunately, when Phil did exit his footsteps faded out in the opposing direction. Clint was on his feet and on the move, having his target sighted and bag in hand. He slipped into the room, shut the door, and switched off the lights.

It didn't take long for Phil to come back, but the door opened slower than usual. Oh yeah, he left the room in a different state, he's probably suspicious. And he had every right to be, the surrounding candles allowing just enough light for him to see Clint stooped on his desk.

And Phil started talking about fire hazards (really?), but Clint was stuck on how Phil’s eyes took in the candlelight and did things with it. Good things of course, really it fascinated him.

"I got you something."

Clint hopped off the desk and held out a bouquet of flowers. Or more of metal wire stems that wrapped around colored folded paper, blues since Phil was calm all the time, green for good health and resilience (yes please) and a little purple for success, though Clint maybe needed that more than Phil.

Phil's brow rose, and Clint swore he broke his deadpan for a softer expression. "Or more of I made it." Clint added.

Phil took the bouquet but froze when his fingers grazed Clint's bandages. "You don't say?"

"Took a few tries," Clint coughed-grumbled. “I got you more stuff.”

Phil peered over Clint's shoulder. “Is that a bottle of wine on my desk?"

"Yeah. You like red, right? Didn’t know half the brands out there so--"

"I do. Barton, what is all this for?" Phil held the flowers a little closer.

"What? A guy can't do something nice for someone he cares about?" Smooth like sandpaper. Maybe Clint was coming on too strong. "What I mean is that we’ve been together for a few months—”
“Three months and fifteen days if you’re keeping track.”

“That. And we haven’t really done a lot of things together that aren’t work related. I feel like, well.” An awkward knot formed in Clint’s chest. This was just weird, talking about his feelings. He felt naked and not in a good way. “Sir, I feel like a chaste daughter in white.”

Phil didn’t make eye contact. Maybe he was thinking about what Clint was trying to say here. “That’s a crude way of putting it, but understandable,” he finally said. “We should set aside some time for relationship affairs.”

“Y-yeah! We should, we so should. So how ‘bout it Sir?” Clint grinned. “Can I pour you a glass?"

"Drinking is prohibited on the job, Agent Barton."

And Clint felt that like an arrow to the knee.

Did Phil see the crack Clint felt in his face? Or maybe he felt just how badly he wanted to flip his desk and all of the paperwork, Thor style.

Without even looking his way Phil ran a finger along the edges of the flowers. "Great eye for detail, as usual. With nimbler fingers, maybe you could open a store."

Clint's mouth twitched. He grabbed Phil by the shoulders, trying so hard not to shake him. "I'm glad you think so, Sir. Now can you tell me if wanting to be with my guy, who's a workaholic and has absolutely NO libido despite only being thirty something and pretty damn awesome, is prohibited too? Can you tell me that, Sir?"

"Actually, I'm 48, but you flatter me."

Clint just wanted to scream.

And he just about did, teeth gritted as tight as he could to keep from going off like a car alarm, when Phil added, "And of course not, especially when such suggestive actions are behind closed doors."
Clint's face dropped, like a flame just going out, he's fizzled out and left as an empty, gawking shell while Phil stared back with the most innocent smile, so. Freakin. Amused.

"W-what.”

“Let me clarify for you: I am not against tarnishing the chaste daughter in white.”

“B-but, no. No, you can't be that simple, you're always so busy—"

"That's an assumption. I can easily move things around on my calendar."

"But my passes, I've made passes! Like that Sunday, after the diner, with the waitress with the gap and freckles-"

"We were called in for a mission immediately after."

"On the couch in Stark's Tower, we were watching that terrible movie-"

"And Natasha was sitting next to you, if you forgot."

"The elevator!" Clint just about shouted. "Just the other day, in the elevator where Stony just happened--"

"Stony?"

"Steve and Tony, it's their couple name. Now don't change the subject!" Clint bunched up the cloth of Phil’s shoulders between shaking fingers. "I was trying to talk to you in that elevator!"

"That was an attempt? And on that note: You were attempting to seduce me in the same elevator that Stark diddled Captain Rogers?" Phil's nose wrinkled.

"Okay fine, my tactics could use some fine tuning. But don't tell me you didn't notice ANY of those attempts!"

"I never said I didn't."

There were some double negatives and stuff going on with that sentence so Clint chewed on his tongue, daring Phil to elaborate.

Phil sighed. "First off, you choose to engage me at either random or inconvenient times, so I'm not sure what you expected the outcome to be otherwise. Other times I’ll admit that I was oblivious to your passes, but I’ll also state that for an Agent that sees what most others can’t, you have a, unique, way of communicating your findings. And finally..." Phil planted a swift kiss on Clint's taut mouth. "I enjoy watching you squirm, which doesn't take much effort at all."

Clint's mind flat-lined, and seconds passed in silence as he stared at Phil and his now dubbed, "Epic Troll Smile". One that just begged the question "You mad bro?" Yes. He was very VERY mad, so mad that he pushed Phil back against his desk and he was kissing him, flowers crushed between their bodies. But Phil didn't move away, and he could have knocked Clint off if he wanted to so the lack of protests meant something. There they were with the door closed in a dimly lit room, pressed together, tongues mingling and Clint messing with Phil's tie, feeling giddy without alcohol, almost afraid of pushing too far because the moment felt too good to be real.

They pulled away about the same time, breathing heavily but staying close. Despite Phil's ironclad patience (or troll nature) his blown pupils told Clint that he was hurting just as bad.

Phil set the flowers down next to the wine, and Clint couldn't help but ask, "So, so does this mean we can have a Stony kind of love?"

"No." Clint twitched but Phil began to loosen his own tie. "We'll have our own kind instead."

“Yes!” Clint threw his arms into the air, “Go, uh… We need a name. Go Phlint!”

“You’re ruining the moment, and that name is awful.”

“I’ll work on it.” Clint grinned and tipped Phil back, hands cupping Phil’s hips perfectly.

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It was the following morning and Clint was in the kitchen in just his boxers, cooking some eggs and whistling away.

"I'm guessing you slept well last night." Natasha sauntered over because she didn't just walk like regular people.

"Best I've had in a long while." With quick motions of the wrist the eggs were flipped, and he caught the toast as it popped out of the toaster.

"I could say the same for Phil." Natasha rested her elbows on the counter. "He seemed well rested, even before his morning coffee."

Not that Clint and Phil weren't secretive, but it took another who read deadpan to notice the signs. "Well we had a very active day that didn't stop once we got home." Why hide it? They were adults, and Clint had leftover giddiness in him.

"I'm happy for you," she said, maybe amused, maybe sarcastic, but Clint didn't mind either way. "For the record, I could have told you that Phil wanted you as much as you wanted him. Ask me next time."

“Yeah, my bad.” So if Clint stuck with his gut feeling, he could have avoided going through all of the Avengers for advice. He hoped Natasha didn’t take it personally. “No really, just go to you first. Got it.”

“Good. By the way, Phil knows about your pestering of the other members.”

Or maybe she did.

“We discuss quite a bit during our morning coffee.” And Natasha felt that was the perfect time to leave, with his pilfered toast. All there was left was burnt eggs.

Time to find that window.