A/N: This one... got a little out of hand. My apologies.
Their first fight is on the bridge of the Helicarrier.
"Director Fury, I'd like to request that Agent Coulson remain onboard the ship during any future missions."
More than one set of eyes settle on Steve as the words leave his mouth, but the captain focuses his gaze on Fury. He most certainly does not look towards Phil.
"Captain? Might I ask what prompted this sudden request?" Phil asks, his tone crisp and professional.
"You're a liability."
To his credit, Phil doesn't look hurt or scandalized by the comment.
"Explain, Captain," Fury says, apparently willing to express the displeasure over the statement that his good eye won't.
"While Agent Coulson's expertise is appreciated and his skill notable, he presents an easy target for any potential enemies and, consequently, a distraction for the rest of the team. As evidenced during our mission today. I believe he would do a great deal more good if he were to remain off-site during future missions."
Phil had been injured during their A.I.M. base raid earlier that day. It wasn't exactly a life-threatening injury, but it was enough to have made Steve think about what mattered more. Rather than consult with his teammates, he'd decided to use the most direct approach possible and go straight to Fury.
"Please do kindly cite past examples where I have provided 'an easy target for potential enemies,'" Phil requests patiently.
"Just take a look at your medical record over the past year, Agent Coulson," Steve responds.
"Unsubstantial evidence. I'm going to have to ask you to be more specific."
"Today, for example. You were shot in the arm."
"I wasn't aware that being shot equated to being a liability."
"It does when it detracts from the team's focus."
"I see your point. You would have preferred, then, if I'd allowed Agent Barton to be shot."
"Excuse me?"
"While Hawkeye's marksmanship is indeed of a variety that I might label 'fantastic' he has yet to be able to master the art of taking out several targets in several locations all at once. He was busy watching your back. I watched his."
Steve looks to Clint for confirmation and sees the archer shrug from across the table.
"Would've had a nice bullet in my spine otherwise," the archer says. "I was engaged in close combat, our comms were down; he broke cover to take out a target that I was a little too preoccupied to take care of at the time. I guess with all the ammunition in the air, someone was bound to get shot at some point. Coulson's just got shit luck."
Clint smirks, nudging the older man with his elbow, but it's clear that Phil is not in the mood to play. The agent stares Steve down, waiting for him to say something else.
Steve's quiet for a minute. "Be that as it may, the facts remain. Do any of you disagree with me?"
As he looks around the table, everyone's eyes appear to be in different spots. Clint and Natasha are watching their handler carefully. Thor seems to be looking to Steve with something like disappointment. Tony's looking… actually he looks like he spacing out, which isn't much better than Bruce who is about two minutes away from a good nap as he stares dazedly at the conference table. Steve looks to Phil.
There is a chorus of half-committed mumbling from around the table.
"Agent Coulson, I only want what's best for—"
"Do not presume to know what's best for me. That's not your call to make," Phil snaps in the first show of emotion he's had in as long as Steve can remember. Phil always remains professional at work; this is a strange detour from the usual. "Director Fury?"
Fury observes them all calmly. Phil's face is passive but the look in his eyes is positively mutinous. There seems to be a private, wordless conversation between the two of them before the director addresses Steve.
"Request denied."
Phil rises immediately. "I have damage reports to finish."
Fury waves him out. "On your way, Coulson."
Steve is quiet and contemplative the remainder of the meeting. He had been certain the others would have his back and he'd been proven wrong. They'd all twiddled their thumbs and whistled innocently when he'd opened his mouth. He was sure they wanted what he wanted, though. Steve stays behind when they're all dismissed, noting absently that Tony does as well.
"Bad move, Cap," Tony hums.
Steve glares.
"Don't be like that Spangles. I gotta say, I kind of agreed with you… sort of," he says. "But you're not getting rid of Phil. No way, no how."
"I just wanted what was best for him," Steve sighs.
"He'd be safer, which is what I think you wanted. But it wouldn't be what's best for him," Tony corrects him. He slaps Steve on the ass and saunters out of the room, calling back at a flustered Captain America. "Mull that one over, Capsicle! You'll get it eventually!"
"You're angry," Steve says as he leans against the wall.
"You tried to persuade Fury to ground me for future missions."
"I thought it was for the best."
They're in Phil's home office. Steve watches carefully as the agent completes each form with a little more vigor than what's usual; the only sign that he's even vaguely incensed. The only sign, that is, until Phil puts his pen down, leans back in his seat and glares up at Steve. For a moment, the soldier isn't sure what to do. Phil's never looked at him like this before.
"You called me a liability. Is that what I am to you?" Phil asks.
Steve holds his arms out at his sides. "I was worried."
"You could have talked to me."
"I thought this was best."
"You went over my head, Steve."
Phil's out of his seat now, toe-to-toe with the taller man. Steve can see he's hurt the agent. Deeply, at that. But he can't help what he's feeling.
"I want you to be safe," Steve says gently.
"I didn't take this job for safety," Phil counters hotly.
"I know. But that doesn't mean…"
"What? Doesn't mean what, Steve?"
"Look, I just wanted a way to keep you safe, alright?" Steve says, feeling his own temper flare.
"I didn't ask for your protection," Phil counters.
"Well, you might want to think twice about it considering you apparently have a talent for running off and getting yourself injured," Steve growls.
"I'm not sure what you were expecting coming into this, but I'm not some damsel in distress who can't survive without his Captain," Phil says, his tone angry but the words just sounding wounded. "So you can dissuade yourself of that notion right now. If you're looking for someone to feed into your white knight complex, look somewhere else."
For a minute Steve is struck dumb by the words. He huffs out a laugh, bitter and disbelieving. "Excuse me?"
"Did I stutter?"
"You're unbelievable, do you know that?"
"Unbelievable and useless. Such high praise from you today."
"I never said you were useless!"
"You called me a liability, what else was I supposed to think?"
Steve swallows his words, tries to regain his cool as he clamps his mouth shut. He may have succeeded if Phil didn't seem ready and raring to goad him on.
"Really? Nothing to say? Because you seemed to have plenty to say to Director Fury earlier."
"I just don't want to lose you again!"
The snarled words hang in the air.
"Don't you dare," Phil says quietly, his tone beyond furious.
"Don't what?" Steve asks tiredly.
"Don't you dare use that as an excuse," Phil tells him.
Steve can't take any more.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I said that in front of everyone. I'm sorry I embarrassed you and I'm sorry I didn't talk to you first, but you were hurt today and I panicked. Do you know how… fucking horrifying it is?" Steve demands, crowding Phil against the wall, pressing his palms flat against it on either side of the man's head.
"I watch you go out there, don't I?" Phil responds.
"That's not the same, Phil. That's not the same, and you know it. You know it," Steve says, rapidly losing composure. "You're the one who died. You're the one who we thought was gone for good. You're the one whose bed I sat beside for weeks, praying every day that you'd wake up. You're the one I had to watch suffer through months of recovery. We got lucky this time, just like we got lucky the last time and the time before that, but our luck's bound to run out. I can't lose you again, do you understand that? I can't. It was hard enough to get you back, I don't think I'd survive losing you again."
Phil hesitates before he responds and that's just long enough for Steve. He crushes his lips against the agent's, all teeth and tongue and anything but gentle. And Phil gives it right back.
The soldier's hands are flighty, moving continually across the shorter man's body. At one point, he grabs the agent's wrists and pins them against the wall above his head as he grinds against him. Phil moans at that; he can feel his partner's erection pressing into his hip, hot and hard.
"I need you. Right now," Steve growls, not even waiting for a response as he grapples with Phil's belt. He makes short work of the agent's pants and shoes, tossing them aside hurriedly as he unzips his own fly.
"Lube in the bottom left drawer," Phil pants.
He's half-way towards commenting about the agent's ridiculous level of preparedness as he gathers the necessary items from the drawer, but Phil calls out to stop him. The agent nods to the items in Steve's hands.
"Leave the condom."
Steve's cock twitches at the words, his breath catching in his throat. They haven't had sex without a condom before. He opens his mouth to ask if the agent's sure, but Phil cuts him off hurriedly.
"Rogers, are you going to fuck me or not?"
Steve can't say no to that. Especially not with Phil leaning against the wall for support, his face still carrying the slightest traces of anger even as his erection peeks out from beneath his shirt.
The super soldier is back to him in a flash, lifting Phil with ease from the ground and slowly working lubed fingers inside him. His mouth is on the agent's and everything about him speaks of desperation. He works his partner open clumsily, arousal and lingering anger making his movements uncoordinated. Phil bites his lower lip—hard. He pulls back in surprise.
"That's good enough," he says breathlessly.
Ordinarily, Steve would argue that it wasn't, that he needed more preparation, but not this time. If Phil wanted it, he was going to get it. He slicks himself up with a healthy dose of lube before lining the blunt head of his cock up with Phil's entrance. The agent's fingers twist painfully in his hair as he works himself in, groaning at how impossibly tight the man is. Phil is panting steadily by the time Steve buries himself inside his partner completely. He takes a moment to relish in the feeling of nothing separating them until he feels the agent's heels digging into his lower back.
He grunts in satisfaction as he thrusts roughly upward in response and tears a startled gasp from his typically unflappable bedfellow. Steve takes him hard right from the get-go, pounding into him with enough force to rattle the books on the shelf just a few feet away. Phil seems entirely okay with that. More than okay, if he can judge from the noises the other man is making.
"Don't you ever… go try to go over my head… like that again," Phil grunts, tugging roughly on Steve's hair.
"Fine," Steve snarls right back. "Don't give me a reason to."
He reaches between them and starts stroking the agent quickly, his movements rougher than usual, loving the way Phil clenches around him in response. They're both getting close, he knows. This isn't anything like the gentle love making they've had up until this point. It's raw and sweaty and desperate and angry, meant to be like a firecracker; a sudden burst of intensity that's over before either of them realize. His pleasure addled mind manages to come up with one question, however.
"What should I do when I…?" he asks, the question dissolving into a heady moan as he moves faster, his throbbing cock driving into Phil like a piston.
"Inside," Phil manages to ground out. "Come inside me, I'm right there…"
"God yes, yes," Steve hisses, feeling the muscles around him begin to flutter tellingly.
Phil jerks in his arms and is sent shuddering through his release as Steve pulls at his cock relentlessly. The agent is shaking like a leaf as Steve continues to ride him rough, thrusting hard and fast until he feels his balls tighten and draw up and he's done, coming inside his partner with a shout. Phil groans at the sensation even as he continues to ride out his own orgasm.
He growls as Steve fills him, marks him, until they're both spent and panting as they use the wall for support. Steve's lips find his and he's being kissed slow and sweet and he can practically taste the concern on Steve's tongue. He stills as the super soldier's lips move away from his. Steve is nosing his suit coat aside to mouth at the spot on his shirt where they both know the jagged scar over his heart lies beneath. He squirms anxiously, his hands fisted in the Captain's shirt.
"Stop," he says, his tone clipped. "Steve, don't."
"I'm sorry," Steve says against his shirt. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
Phil tips his head back so it hits the wall with a thunk! He runs his hands through Steve's hair tiredly.
"Apology accepted," he murmurs.
Steve is surprised when he receives a sharp slap to the side of the head and looks up quickly. There's still anger simmering in the agent's eyes and despite the claim that his apology had been accepted, Steve knows that he's going to have to work harder to really make that happen.
"Don't do it again," Phil adds.
"I won't," Steve sighs. And despite all this, part of him still angry, still itching for a fight. "I guess that was our first fight."
"You have me pinned to a wall with your cock in my ass," Phil deadpans. "If we fight, you'll know it."
Steve clears his throat, feeling warmth spread to his cheeks. "So it wasn't a fight."
"Oh, it was."
"…Phil."
Phil takes pity on him and drops the agent-speak.
"Couples fight. We fought," he says with a slight shrug. "Yes, I'm still upset with you, just as I assume you are with me, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be screaming abuses at you for the next week and I should hope that you won't be either. I think we're both adult enough to handle this in a mature, responsible fashion.
"And if I'm being frank, today merely highlighted a certain weakness between the two of us: we don't talk. I can't be quite as angry as I feel the situation warrants because I know I'm just as guilty of not discussing things with you as you are with me. We need to work on that. Both of us."
Steve chews on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah," he agrees.
"I know I said some things…"
The agent sighs wearily.
"In the meantime," Phil says, "I think it's about time you put me down."
Steve complies, albeit slowly, careful as he pulls out and lowers Phil to the floor. He watches the agent retrieve his pants and boxers with careful, deliberate movements; a sure sign that Phil's going to be feeling this for a while yet. Steve's eyes linger on the bruises left on the other man's hips, which disappear from view as Phil pulls his pants up.
"I don't do anything unless I want to," Phil says, apparently reading his mind. "It's called make-up sex, it's not supposed to be gentle."
"Is it still make-up sex if we're not completely made-up?" Steve queries, tucking himself back in his pants.
Phil waves a dismissive hand. "Well, it's meant to be therapeutic, anyway. Now, I'm going to take a shower and finish these reports. I think it would be best if you left for the time being."
The agent is a bit cool yet, but Steve supposes that's not surprising. Still, it manages to prod the angry coals in his stomach until they burn a little hotter. He watches Phil check his paper work before he makes for the doorway. Steve draws a deep breath.
"Hey," he calls, taking a step forward.
Phil pauses, turning back with a look that says he had better make it quick.
"After you finish the reports, I'll bring dinner by," Steve says, purposely avoiding turning it into a question. "We can talk."
Phil takes a moment to process that before nodding his head. "I'll be finished at 9:30."
"And Phil?" Steve calls again, just as the agent steps out the door.
"Yes?" Phil replies, the word colored by annoyance.
"I really am sorry," Steve says simply. "You're not a liability."
Phil's expression softens marginally. "I know you are. We'll talk later."
Left standing in the office alone after Phil quickly disappears, Steve knows they're not made up. Not really. But it's a start.
They're sitting side by side on the couch, shoulders just barely touching. Plates sit empty on the coffee table in front of them as they continue their steady progress towards emptying the wine bottle Steve had thought to bring. But they haven't talked.
They've spoken but there's a very large difference between speaking and talking. That difference never seemed quite as frustrating as it does in that moment.
"How's your arm?" Steve asks, glancing sidelong from his wineglass.
"Fine," Phil answers simply.
Steve wishes he would say more.
"Finished your reports?"
"Mm."
"You have tomorrow off, don't you?"
"I have the option, but I don't think—"
"Just…"
Steve stops, catching himself. He'd interrupted, frustration easily detectible in his tone, but takes the time to draw a deep breath and calm himself.
"Take the day. Please," he says.
Phil watches him carefully before eventually offering him a small nod. "Alright."
"Thank you," Steve replies, sighing. He leans forward in his seat, setting his wine glass on the coffee table before resting his head in his hands. "This is hard."
"No one said it would be easy," Phil says.
"You're not helping," Steve snaps.
"No, I don't suppose I am," Phil admits. "Perhaps we can chalk 'unhelpful' up with 'liability.'"
Steve looks at him then, lifting his head from his hands. The word he'd used to try to convince Phil he was better off staying on the Helicarrier isn't going to go away any time soon. With the way Phil continues to dredge it up, Steve can't help but think that his accusation—however untrue—had hit a nerve.
"You said we'd talk," Steve reminds him, reining in his temper. "I'm trying to do that. You're the one not budging here."
Phil gives in, if only slightly, his lips drawn in a thin line as he glances down. At least he has the decency to look somewhat guilty. "I'm sorry. You're right, I'm not helping."
Steve reaches out, cautiously laying a hand on his partner's knee. When the agent doesn't move away or show any signs of wanting him to back off, he squeezes fondly.
"I made a mistake. I understand that now," Steve says. "I've spent all day thinking about it and I know that beyond embarrassing you in front of the others, I said something that hurt you, something that I didn't even mean and that I've never once thought to be true. You have every right to be upset with me. But I have to ask, with the way you reacted… do you think you're a liability?"
When the agent's jaw twitches and he pauses to try to come up with an answer, Steve knows he's hit the nail on the head.
"I don't believe I'm a liability," Phil tells him. He hesitates, as if unwilling to share further. When he speaks again, it's slowly, as though he has to physically pull the words out. "…but I'd told you in confidence that it's always been a fear of mine. Being useless, that is. Hearing it from you, of all people… I knew you didn't believe that I was, but hearing you say it was enough. I overreacted."
"You reacted well within your right to do so. I don't believe you're useless," Steve tells him. "You're not, you're anything but. I was afraid and..."
He pauses, knowing he has to tell Phil but wishing he didn't. He's not proud of his actions, not in the slightest. He'd used something Phil had told him, had trusted him with, against him.
"I said something that I knew would cause you to question your usefulness to the team. Because I know you always put the team first and if you thought you were what I accused you of being, you wouldn't hesitate to follow my suggestion. It was selfish and uncalled for."
"But you did make a point about my tendency—"
"To protect other people, regardless of the cost to you," Steve says, cutting him off before he can finish. "There's a difference."
"Be that as it may, it's still stressful for you and I hadn't taken that into consideration," Phil concludes. "I think we were both in the wrong today, in a way, and it's important that we have this discussion. In the future, I'd like to make sure that neither of us is hesitant to come to the other to talk. Because I think that may have been part of the problem."
Steve squeezes the agent's knee again. "We can work on it?"
"Of course," Phil answers. He frowns. "When I said you had a white knight complex I was out of line. I was very out of line. You save people because they need to be saved, not because you need to save them. You're stubborn as an ox and you frustrate me in ways I never dreamed possible… but you're a good man. You're not in it to stroke your ego and it was wrong of me to paint you in that light."
Phil maintains eye contact for the length of his speech, allowing the soldier to judge his sincerity for himself. When Steve leans in to kiss him, Phil tips his head back to meet him readily, relieved that the other man has accepted his words as truthful. The anger is gone, even if the hurt still lingers, replaced by that familiar sincerity. They have trouble talking about things like this, that's no secret to either of them, but their relationship was built on a stronger foundation than could ever be broken by that particular problem. Their willingness to fix whatever's broken will keep them together where others would fall apart, Phil's sure.
"I just," Steve says, drawing away from him suddenly. "I just wish I could take it back. I shouldn't have said it and now it's always going to be there. Every fight we have, you're just going to remember it."
"I'd like to think I'm not quite that vindictive," Phil answers with a small smile. "You say you didn't mean it and I believe you. You were concerned for me and even if you approached it the wrong way, I understand what you were trying to do. I was defensive because you managed to hit me in a weak spot, but this doesn't need to loom over us forever. Alright? We can put it behind us if we work on it."
"I'm sorry," Steve says for what feels like the hundredth time.
"So am I," Phil says. "I'm also exhausted and I know you are, too. So let's clean this up and go to bed."
Steve can't argue with that and, glad that they're both sleeping in the same bed after a day like today, follows the agent's lead without comment.
"Oh God, please," Steve moans.
He spreads his legs wider, closing his eyes and tossing his head back against the pillows. It's still early, the sun not quite risen, and despite having the day off, neither of them can quite ditch the habit of being early risers. So they'd laid in bed and talked. Talking had turned to cuddling, which had lead to fondling and Phil's insistence that yesterday had been more angry sex than anything else and that proper make-up sex was still a vital part of making up, which had ended with Steve's boxer's on the floor and Phil's lips around his cock.
Steve dares to open his eyes again. When he looks down, he has to bite his lip to stifle the loud moan threatening to emerge at the sight of the agent eagerly sucking him off. He places a hand on the back of Phil's head, not to hold him in place but for the simple fact that he needs something to keep his hands occupied, and is rewarded when his partner looks up at him with a pleased twinkle in his eye. That very nearly does him in right then and there, and it's not long after that he feels himself at the edge.
"Gonna come," he warns quickly.
The warning is essentially a courtesy at this stage in their relationship; Phil knows well enough by now when he's going to and has always managed to swallow regardless. Warnings just seem to spur Phil on, as it's doing now. The shorter man takes all of Steve in and holds position, humming around his mouthful. It's a short few moments between that and when Steve bucks upward with a gasp and blows his load. Steve pants, openmouthed, watching as Phil swallows down everything he's giving him until he's got nothing left to give.
Phil pulls back, licking his lips as he watches Steve catch his breath. But Steve's had enough of that and reaches up to drag Phil forward for a kiss. It's messy and he can taste himself on Phil's tongue and somehow that just makes him want more, despite having just come. He shifts upward at the first feeling of Phil's fingertips ghosting over his abdomen, trying move further into his partner's touch. Phil breaks away from their kiss, trailing his lips along the soldier's jawline until Steve tips his head back and exposes his throat. The agent moves in with a hunger in his eyes and latches onto a pulse point, sucking a welt onto the soldier's bared neck. They both know it will be gone before they return to work tomorrow, and Steve largely regrets not being able to wear the marks Phil gives him longer, but he loves having them while he can.
"On your stomach for me," Phil instructs before pulling away to reach to the bedside table for a condom and lube.
Steve catches his wrist, stopping him, and gets a curious look in return. He realizes what it must look like, the signals he's sending, and has to hurry to clarify.
"I want you to leave the condom," he says, mimicking Phil's instructions from the day prior.
"Steve, yesterday—"
"Is not how I want to remember our first time without using one," Steve finishes. He caresses the agent's wrist with his thumb. "Don't get me wrong; I liked that and I'd really like to try it again. But the feeling behind it was all wrong. Besides, we're both in medical on a regular basis. We're both clean and if we weren't, we'd know it. Right?"
"I can't argue with that," Phil says. "If you're sure?"
"Positive."
He releases his partner's wrist, allowing him to return to his previous task. When Phil draws back with the bottle of lube in hand, Steve complies with the order left hanging in the air and rolls onto his stomach. Phil nudges him up, just enough to place a pillow beneath his hips, before placing a hand at the small of his back. Steve closes his eyes with a small smile as he feels Phil leave a trail of kisses up the length of his spine; slowly, reverently, like he could spend the rest of his life doing just this and nothing else and be all the happier for it.
Tony had once described their relationship as 'vanilla.' It's true they're not particularly adventurous in the bedroom—not that Tony would know that… or at least Steve hopes he doesn't—but the way Phil touches him, the way Phil looks at him… he finds they really don't need to be. The agent is always so sure, so confident in his actions and Steve often finds himself lost in the feeling of steady hands moving with slow, practiced movements along the length of his body.
This is far from the first time Phil has topped him, but it doesn't stop him from feeling that spark, that thrill that comes with the agent being in control. Phil likes to talk as he works, and Steve has no problem letting the man's mild, soothing voice guide him as he feels the first slick digit enter him.
"It's been a while since we've both had a day off," Phil remarks, the slow circles his free hand rubs into Steve's lower back having an almost tranquilizing effect. "I had a few ideas for what we might do today. Did you have anything in mind?"
"Not in particular," Steve answers. If he'd had any ideas, he's certainly not capable of bringing them to mind now. "Why don't you tell me about yours?"
Phil hums his assent as he adds a second finger, careful as always, checking for signs of discomfort from his partner before proceeding.
"I figured I'd make pancakes. I bought all the ingredients a few weeks ago and some fresh eggs last weekend with the wishful thought in mind that I might get to use them," Phil explains, thrusting and curling his fingers as he does so. "So, perhaps we sleep in a little more, take a shower and I can make breakfast. After that, I figured we could get dressed, swing by the market and grab a few things to make dinner. We can stop by Central Café for a coffee and so you can say hello to Becky."
The blonde waitress had become something of a friend to Steve ever since he'd happened to take a seat in the café where she worked. He couldn't count how many times his teammates had prodded him to ask for her number, to ask her out, to do something. Interestingly enough, Becky had been the one to tell him to ask Phil out after remarking that he spent an awful lot of time sketching the agent. It's funny how things work out sometimes, he thinks. Although, now isn't the best time to be thinking about it…
"After that we can come back here, pick a movie out and after we've cooked together, we can sit down and watch it," Phil says. "With a little dessert after, perhaps. What do you think?"
Steve thinks Phil had better hurry up and get his cock in him, but decides to keep that opinion to himself. He can feel that the agent is nearly done prepping him anyway. He shifts his hips and tries to focus on speaking instead.
"Sounds good," he manages to say.
"I'm glad you approve. But before that…"
Phil's finger curl in him just right as the agent leans over him to speak just behind his ear. His tone shifts from soft and pleasant to low and gravelly, the kind of tone that he's guaranteed never to hear outside this bedroom, the one that's for his ears only.
"I'd like to see you come all over these sheets."
If Steve hadn't been fully hard before, he is now. His breath sounds too loud to his ears as Phil's fingers leave him and he hears the other man slick himself up. The sensation of Phil's hands on his hips as he slowly presses in is one that Steve is sure he'll never tire of. He groans as Phil holds position once he's fully inside him, allowing him to adjust as well as savor the feeling of the lack of barrier between them.
"Feels good, doesn't it?" Phil asks, his hands firmly gripping the soldier's hips.
"Why didn't we try this sooner?" Steve wants to know, rocking back to try to get his partner to move.
Phil only chuckles at his impatience and rolls his hips slowly. "Because we decided it was important for you to understand how safe sex between two men works and that we would take it slow. Besides which, if you ever have another partner—"
"I won't," Steve says adamantly, still attempting to get the other man to move faster.
Rather than a verbal response, Steve hears a slow, satisfied sigh from the other man. Phil's brought it up in an offhanded manner once or twice, as though he's really not certain Steve is in it for the long run, but Steve is insistent. This isn't a fling for him any more than it is for Phil. He knows the agent doesn't expect him to be unfaithful or to grow tired of him, but ever the careful planner, Phil always considers that those things aren't, strictly speaking, impossible. That doesn't worry Steve. It's not as though he hasn't worried about the very same things. But he so sure, so absolutely sure, that he couldn't possibly want or need or love anyone else as much as he does Phil Coulson.
The agent's thrusts start out shallow and slow, warming them both up. Phil typically takes his time doing so, which is why Steve is caught off guard when the other man snaps his hips sharply, pulling nearly all the way out of him before thrusting back in. Steve groans, both at the pace that's been set and the way his cock drags along the bed sheets, the only friction he's getting at the moment. It would be easy to slip a hand between his legs and take himself in hand; but that would be too easy. He wants this to last.
Apparently Phil does too, because he alters his rhythm again, delivering a handful of rapid, shallow thrusts before dialing it back to the same teasing pace he'd begun with. Steve moans beneath him, not quite sure if he loves or hates what his partner is doing.
"I was surprised the first time you bottomed for me," Phil says, his right hand lightly caressing the soldier's flank. Steve shivers at the touch and the breathless quality to the other man's voice. "I didn't think you'd want to try it."
"Didn't know it would feel this good," Steve says, trying to restrain himself from rutting against the mattress, which doesn't go as planned when Phil manages to nudge his prostate. "Fuck…! Didn't know this would feel so good either…"
Phil is mouthing at his back as he moves faster, responding, it seems, to Steve's admission.
"After dinner, assuming we're both up for it… I want to try yesterday again," Phil informs him, his thrusts turning rough and quick as he grips Steve's hips tightly. "I want you to come in me again."
Steve can only moan into the pillows in response, the added imagery serving to make it all that much more difficult to hold himself back. He swears he's about to go crazy as Phil continually alters his pace, shifting from hard and fast to slow and teasing and back again. Steve loses count of how many times this happens, and always when he least expects it. He's a hair's breadth away from begging Phil to touch him when, like a mind reader, the agent slides a hand beneath him and firmly grips his erection.
"Almost ready to come for me?" Phil grunts, steadily thumbing the head of Steve's cock.
Steve nods, his entire focus centered on the release Phil is edging him towards. Just when he thinks he's there, Phil pulls back just enough to keep him from going over the edge. But he can tell Phil's close to coming; he hears it in panting breaths and barely smothered moans, feels it in the way he's fucked fast and hard and being stroked to match.
He doesn't know who finishes first, just that he's suddenly sent hurtling over the edge, his body numb with pleasure. But he feels Phil coming, really feels him, and it's so different than when they use a condom. If it's up to him, they're never using one again, not if going without feels this good.
Eventually they collapse in a heap onto the bed. The wet spot beneath him and the warm weight of Phil pressed to his back, still inside him, send a shiver running through him.
"The only downside to this position," Phil murmurs, "is that I don't get to see your face."
"We could put a mirror above the headboard," Steve hums drowsily.
That earns him a soft chuckle. The agent lifts off of him and slowly pulls out, which allows Steve to roll onto his back. Phil takes his time inspecting the mess Steve's made of the sheets and there's something about that satisfied, barely-there smile of his that makes Steve want to grab him and pin him down and do this all over again. But he doesn't. Instead, he reaches out and curls his fingers around the agent's bicep, his thumb brushing over the wide bandages there. He can see some red beginning to appear at the sight of the wound.
"I'm going to take a shower," he announces. "And I think it's time we changed that dressing."
Phil follows his gaze and makes a short, annoyed sound, but doesn't argue. They reluctantly make their way from the bed to the bathroom and take a quick shower, drowsiness robbing them of any real desire to do much beyond a few lazy kisses. Steve helps Phil redress his wound, which doesn't look all that bad, really, before they get back to the bedroom and encounter a problem.
"In hindsight, perhaps I should have put a towel down," Phil notes as they both stare at the unavoidable damp spot in the middle of the bed.
They work together to pull the sheets from the bed before grabbing a few spare blankets from the closet. Steve maneuvers them close together, Phil's back pressed to his chest, and rests a hand on the shorter man's hip before sleep overcomes him.
When Steve wakes again, it's to an empty bed. He shoots upright, startled, but relaxes immediately when the smell of pancakes wafts in from the kitchen. That's right. Phil was going to make pancakes.
He sighs in relief, glad that the agent hadn't slipped out to return to work instead, and takes a moment to let himself fully wake up. He slides out of bed, grabbing a clean t-shirt from the dresser and pulling it on so that he doesn't walk into the kitchen in just his underwear. As he rounds the corner, he hangs back, opting to observe the agent at work.
But it's not the cooking he's interested in. Either Phil hasn't noticed him yet or is just too preoccupied to care, but either one is fine so long as Steve can linger, watching. The agent had gone to bed in just a pair of boxers, like he had, but standing before the stove now, he's adorned in Steve's discarded plaid shirt from the previous night as well as those thick-rimmed glasses of his. On top of this is the fact that the agent's hair is just slightly mussed from sleep.
Steve runs a hand through his own sleep-tousled hair as he walks over. He knows Phil can hear him approaching, but the agent doesn't turn to greet him and instead allows Steve to follow through with his plan; which is to wrap his arms around Phil's waist from behind and rest his chin on his partner's shoulder.
"We've talked about you wearing my clothes," Steve hums, nosing aside the collar of the open shirt to press a kiss to the junction between the agent's neck and shoulder. "And what it does to me."
"I grabbed the first thing I saw," Phil says innocently.
"Liar," Steve chuckles.
Phil pats one of his hands before continuing with the pancake production. Steve remains where he is, watching the agent flip them when they're ready and create a growing pile on the plate beside the stove. Yesterday already seems to have fallen into that category of seeming as though it happened both years and just hours ago. He remembers the things that were said, that he'd said to Phil, that Phil had said to him… and it still hurts. It will take a while yet to stop hurting, he knows, but he'd hoped that it would feel a little more healed than it does.
"Hey," he intones softly. "Are we okay?"
Phil keeps flipping, seemingly unperturbed by the question. "I'm okay. Are you okay?"
Steve considers the question. "Yeah. I'm okay."
"Then we're okay," Phil concludes.
The statement helps to put him at ease, but doesn't quite dispel his fears. He stays where he is until Phil has finished with the pancakes and shuts the stove off. The agent's hands rest on top of his own.
"It's normal for couples to fight. I explained that yesterday and I know that it's something you're aware of," Phil says. "It's not pleasant and I know it's going to linger for days or weeks or months in the back of our minds, but it can be healthy in some ways. It's highlighted some issues we need to work on, such as the fact that we have trouble talking to one another, how we see one another, our individual insecurities and just how much we're willing to trust each other. Being together isn't always going to be easy. There will be days when you hate me and days when I can't stand to see you… those days will come. But they'll pass, too. What's important is that we remember not to confuse what we have for what we hate. It's bad business to make promises in our line of work because so often we can't keep them. But one promise I can make to you is that I will never, ever stop caring about you. Whatever I say, whatever I do, that won't change."
Steve has barely noticed that his grip around his partner's waist has grown tighter and tighter. He's not certain why, but he knows that he can't let go just yet. Closing his eyes, he buries his face in the shorter man's shoulder.
"I love you," Steve says. "Do you know that?"
"I love you, too," Phil answers.
They're three words that Phil has trouble saying, for reasons Steve is still trying to discover, but the agent lets go of them so easily just then that he's almost caught off guard. What does manage to catch him off guard is Phil's cell vibrating against the countertop. Phil clucks his tongue, a sign of his annoyance, as he picks the device up. Over his shoulder, Steve can see there's a text from Clint.
›› I can see the hickey on your neck from here. Nice shirt, by the way.
Steve turns around, mortified that the archer has apparently been watching them from some adjacent rooftop through a pair of binoculars or by some equally unreasonable method and proceeds to detach himself from Phil in favor of angrily pulling down all the blinds in Phil's apartment. Phil, meanwhile, has his phone pressed to his ear, a placid look on his face. He places the call on speaker and sets it down on the table as he brings the plate of pancakes over as well as both their mugs, filled with piping hot coffee.
"How domestic of you, boss."
"Thank you, Agent Barton," Phil says, ignoring the jibe. "May I ask what has warranted your unwanted attention?"
"Sitwell thinks you're going to break up."
"We're not breaking up," Steve waspishly asserts.
"He's been crying about it all—"
"I'm not crying I'm just concerned. And if your emotional range was greater than that of a fucking potato, you might understand that, Barton. Hi, Phil. Steve."
"Hi, Jasper," Steve sighs, sitting in his seat, not quite believing this conversation is happening.
"We're not breaking up," Phil repeats. "And I would appreciate it if you stopped spying on us, Barton."
Phil frowns, suddenly, as something appears to occur to him.
"Jasper… are you with him?" Phil asks.
There's silence on the other end of the line, broken first by Clint's sputtering laughter.
"I was concerned."
Steve ignores Jasper's defensive statement in favor of posing a question of his own. "Just how long have you two been watching, anyway? And from where, for God's sake?"
"Apartment complex adjacent from yours," Clint says casually. "We've been up here since yesterday."
"That's all I need to know," Phil declares. "Goodbye."
Steve buries his face in his hands with a long, drawn out groan as Phil disconnects the call. "What kind of people do that?"
"Clint and Jasper," Phil answers easily. He pushes a plate full of pancakes towards Steve. "Now hurry up before those get cold."
Steve heaves a massive sigh as he picks up his fork and starts in on his pancakes. Phil is wearing a contemplative look as he glances over the newspaper and sips his coffee. He begins talking about his plans for dinner that night; what he'd like to cook, what wine he thinks will pair well with it, what movie Steve might be interested in, whether or not he thinks apple pie will go well with their dinner plans. It's listening to those seemingly simple, everyday things that he's sure.
Yeah.
They're okay.