Title: Someone to watch over me
Rating: PG12 (only for 1 bad word)
Summary: Clint can't wait to get back to base and back to his true handler
Featuring: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson,
Genre/warnings: deep D/s relationship, deep friendship and a slightly sarcastic and tired Hawkeye
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters of Marvel Movies. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Notes: Not entirely sure where this came from but I love the idea of Coulson taking care – real care – of Clint when they are in private. Plus I totally adore their fandom relationship. And yes just so you know as far as I am concerned Agent Coulson Lives x Anyway, as always this is unbeta'd so any mistakes you find, please, please, please forgive (I mean it PLEASE!)
Onto the story….
The helicopter ride back to base was painfully long and boringly uneventful. Keeping an arm wrapped around his aching torso, Clint rested his head against the metal interior and sighed. The mission had been hard and brutal but a success. Closing his eyes he let himself start to unwind. He'd spent three whole days on surveillance, three days and nights stuck on the ledge watching as the targets moved around beneath him. Everything ached but at least he was injury free. For once. He was just exhausted and longing to get home.
It was one of the first missions in ages where Coulson hadn't been the lead agent, where he hadn't been with him. It had felt strange not hearing those soft calm tones on the comm, and it felt even stranger knowing Coulson wasn't watching over him, keeping an eye on him as well as the mission. It was probably why he'd been so determined - suicidal even - to get the mission completed in record time, he wanted to be back under Coulson's care. He wanted to be back with his handler. With his trusted handler.
"Sir?"
He opened his eyes crack, glaring at the junior agent that was daring to him wake up.
"We're at base," explained the junior before beating a hasty retreat.
Grabbing his bag and his bow Clint scrambled off the helicopter, ducking to keep out of the down draft and headed towards the main area. He hadn't gotten three paces into the building before an all too familiar presence materialise at his elbow.
"Welcome back, Agent Barton," said Coulson, his voice calm and surprisingly soothing, as he drew level with Clint. "We're in Debrief 5," he added helpfully as he brushed past, heading for the nominated room. There was a slight pressure on Clint's hip, the fleeting warmth of a hand caressing him but then it was gone, leaving him yearning more than just that briefest of touches.
Without hesitating he followed Coulson through the dimly light corridors towards the debrief room. As he stepped inside Clint paused – Fury was already there, leafing through some papers. Without even glancing up Fury pointed to a chair and waited. Sinking into the indicate chair, Clint glanced over at his handler and sighed – Coulson looked serious, which he knew meant this was going to be a long, long debrief.
He wasn't wrong. It took four hours; four hours of him regurgitating everything he'd learnt on the mission, names, faces, locations, the number of enemy agents he'd taken down, everything. By the end of it he was barely functioning and he didn't even register when Fury stood up and, with what passed for a smile, called gruffly, "Good work out there, Barton. Now go get some rest. I do not want to see you around here for at least three days. And that means staying off the shooting range was well."
Clint didn't respond. He was having a hard enough time keeping his eyes open, let alone be alter enough to formulate a response to the growled command banning him from his beloved range. He could hear Coulson and Fury talking in low voice, the two of them standing by the doorway with their heads bent as if conspiring about something. He couldn't even bring himself to eavesdrop which was unheard of for him. But as he straightened his head, rolling out his neck, he did hear Fury growl, "I'll take care of it. You take care of him." He noticed a slight tightening of Coulson's shoulders before he nodded gravely and replied in those soft tones that Clint craved, "Yes Sir."
Fury spared Clint a final look before turning his good eye on Coulson and giving him a very meaningful glare. Waiting for the door to shut behind Fury, Clint gave a low empty chuckle. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, he looked up and called, "So, d'I do okay, Boss?" He couldn't help wincing at how rough his voice sounded is voice sounded even to his own ears.
Coulson though seemed more intent in gathering up the scattered papers than talking to Clint. Used to his handler putting paperwork before him, Clint leant back against his chair and gave a little sigh. It was only as he tilted his head back up that he realised Coulson was watching him. He cocked his head to the side, resembling the bird he was codenamed after and offered a slight smile, feeling slightly self-conscious about the look he was getting. It was the sort of possessive look Coulson normally reserved for when they were alone, in private and able to see it through without fear of being interrupted. For a moment their eyes locked and in that second everything changed.
Straightening up Coulson clicked shut the attaché case and, without speaking, he crossed over to the surveillance cameras. Swiping his card into the control panel, he worked quickly, his fingers flying over the keypad as he typed in the override code. And then, to Clint's audible amusement, he watched as the cameras slowly died. He paused before turning back and, with the softest smile curling his lips, he nodded and replied warmly, "You did more than okay, Clint. You were outstanding."
Clint gave a tired smile, basking in the warmth of the praise. He loved it when Coulson praised him, when that smooth gentle voice told him he'd got the job done, that he was worth the all the trouble he caused. He went to lean forward but his balance failed him and he wobbled slightly, wavering in his chair.
In an instant Coulson was beside him. Sliding a supportive arm around Clint's shoulders, he steadied him, soothing, "Easy, easy." He took time to look at Clint's upturned face and with a note of worry in his voice, he concluded, "They worked you too hard and too fast." He ran a hand over the side of Clint's face, his thumb trailing over grease marks and dirt smears and huffed, "Remind me to never let you go on a mission without me as the handler again. You're too valuable to be overworked like this."
"I like it when you're with me," murmured Clint, too exhausted to care what he was saying. It took a moment before his brain caught up and with a slight blush working its way over his cheek he added quickly, "Because the others' don't let me chat the way you do and I…"
"I know what you meant," soothed Coulson, caressing the back of Clint's neck as he added teasingly, "I'll remind you of that next time you're giving me grief on the comm."
"I'm sure you will, Sir," smirked Clint, yawning before he had even finished speaking. It was testament to how exhausted he was, that he didn't to even try and hide the fact he was practically dead on his feet.
"Well since you somehow managed to get back injury free, which means no trip to medical for you," he ignored the sarcastic little cheer Clint gave at that news, he asked, "You ready to get out of here?"
"Been ready for hours, Sir, but some bastards decided to play de-brief with me instead," replied Clint trying to sound his normal cocky self but failing.
"Language," corrected Coulson, although there was no heat in the reprimand. He gave Clint's shoulder a slight squeeze adding softly, "But you know the sooner we got the de-brief over with, the sooner you'd be dismissed and I get to take you home." He stroked a hand over the dirty blond hair, caressing the short strands murmuring absently, "You need a nice long bath, you're filthy."
"So would you if you'd been stuck on a ledge for three whole days," snapped Clint, certainly not nuzzling his face against Coulson's chest nor breathing in the unique scent that was his handler. He took a deep breath then releasing what Coulson had actually said he pulled back slightly and asked cheekily, "Does that mean you're gonna help me get clean, sir? Maybe scrub my back for me?"
"Of course," repaid Coulson without missing a beat, "And if you're good, I'll even wash your hair for you."
"Yey, I save the world and I get rewarded with a bubble bath," huffed Clint playfully, the grin ruining his attempt to be sarcastic.
Coulson sighed at the half-hearted sass he was being given then shaking his head he leant down and placed a gentle kiss on Clint's forehead, murmuring, "I'm so proud of you."
Clint's grin increased the way it always did when Coulson whispered thing like that in his ear. Without thinking he went to stand and all too quickly his body reminded him just how exhausted he was. He started to fall but before he pitched forward strong arms were sliding around him holding him up. He would never admit to it but he gave a little mew of delight and snuggled into the strong frame currently supporting him.
Resign his head on Coulson's shoulder, he closed his eyes. It just felt so good to be held, to be reminded that he wasn't facing the world alone any more. That he finally had someone who really did care about him and who wanted to take care of him, defects and all. He felt Coulson's breath against his neck and then a very soft barely there kiss as his public handler and his private lover, murmured, "I've got you, darling. You can let go, you're safe." That was all he needed to hear before he finally let go and allowed the exhaustion to take over, trusting Coulson completely to look after him and keep him safe from harm.
Fin x