A/N: The theme of these tiny little fics will vary widely along with content. So the rating will start as T but will quickly move to M as some will get graphic for language and theme. I'll try to give warnings for those. Also all pairings are romantic so that includes het, M/M and F/F. Um... yeah I think that covers everything.
This is my first published fic. Reivew if you like it. Or if you don't. Reviews are love and help me improve! Hope you enjoy!
Agent Phil Coulson generally went to bed after night shift had taken over and before morning shift got started. He liked to sleep with the 45-degree military corners still tucked in and his standard issue tucked into the regulation holster hanging from the rack by his head. When a noise woke him from a dreamless sleep he had the piece in his hand and pointed, safety off, eyes straining in the dark before consciousness fully caught up with him. A shape dropped from the ceiling, landing silently in the small space of his assigned quarters on the helicarrier, a darker silhouette against the darkness of shipboard night. Phil swore and re-holstered the pistol.
"You know I hate when you do that" he said.
"Sorry. I was trying not to wake you" The silhouette proceeded to shuck his gear with no apparent concern now that the room's occupant was clearly awake. Weapons were placed onto the slim metal desk that was already covered with neat stacks of folders. Clothing, a utility vest and pants along with a T-shirt that had not been issued were tossed haphazardly onto the floor in a way Phil was glad he wouldn't be able to see the results of until morning.
"Who do you think has to repair all of the 'tunnels' you make, Barton?" Phillip asked in some irritation.
"Maintenance. " Phil could hear the other agent smirk as he yanked crisp sheets out of their geometrical precision and slid underneath them. A pair of warm arms slid around him while a cold nose buried itself into his neck. He felt himself relax in a way that he hadn't done all day. Not since he had left the comfort of the other man's warmth that morning, instantly tripping over a boot that'd been abandoned in the middle of the floor.
"Fine, maintenance. But who do you think has to put in the requisitions for repair?"
"Well I really wish you'd quit. How else do you expect me to get around?" the other agent replied, his slight drawl elongating as he drifted towards sleep.
"Doors. And hallways. Like normal people. Those ducts are meant for the ventilation and distribution of air on the carrier. Not for your personal travel."
"Are you going to complain the rest of the night? Cause I have to get up in three hours." Barton's voice was muffled and drowsy and his breath had started to puff evenly. Phil cupped the hero's neck, pulling him in for a gentle kiss into which Clint hummed.
"Goodnight Clint"
"Goodnight Phil"