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Phil didn’t understand what the big deal was.
“Seriously Phil?!” came the almost indignant shout from Clint, “You’ve never had a legitimate, hands down, rub all over, feel great afterwards massage?”, the hands on his hips making it seem so much more of a problem than it really was.
The agent put his pen down and leaned back into the couch he had been occupying for the good part of 6 hours. “I just don’t see the point in going in with the pretext of something that supposedly helps with aches and pains but is ultimately a poor euphemism for sex.” Coulson stated, looking Clint square in the eyes. He wasn’t a fool and knew his partner had a habit of using different actions and topics admittedly clever covers for sex, and was surprised it had taken him so long to use the massage excuse.
“But it isn’t!” Clint spluttered, the surprise from earlier changing to frustration, “Look, while I realize I use plenty of excuses for us to have sex... GREAT sex, mind you. The reason that I want to give you a massage has nothing to do with that!” Though admittedly sex HAD been the original plan, Coulson’s reaction to the subject created a complete 180 for Clint and he honestly now just wanted his boyfriend to see that it would help him relax.
A few long seconds of tense staring led to Phil looking back to his paperwork and Clint throwing his hands in the air and grunting in frustration, leaving the living into their bedroom. Clint returned minutes later with a firm look of determination and a bottle of oil in hand. “Look Phil. We’re doing this now. You’ve made your ideas clear and it’s now my goal to prove you wrong. So drop the pen, get up, and follow me to the bedroom.”
Another tense silence followed as the agent and the archer stared each other down, each trying to stand firm in their ideals without making too big a deal about it. Eventually Coulson looked down and sighed, a slight nod of his head showing his admitted defeat in the matter. ‘At least I’m getting sex out of this,’ He thought, slowly stacking and organizing his papers, choosing to ignore the cry of joy that came from Clint who had ran into the bedroom the second Phil acknowledged temporary defeat. ‘I can hold this over his head after the sex and prove to him that it really is just another way to get into someone’s pants.’ He thought resolvedly.
Coming into their room, he strips himself down to his boxer-briefs, firmly ignoring the catcall thrown his way from the man standing on the opposite side of the bed. Coulson moves forward to lie down face-forward on the bed, his face cushioned in between the pillows.
“All right Phil, get ready to feel better than you’ve ever felt before.” Clint said, shifting Phil’s body around, putting him right at the centre of the bed, with Clint kneeling over his thighs, Clint’s own thighs bracketing around Phil creating a warm cover over his almost-nudity.
Expecting to be fondled a bit and unceremoniously manhandled into some sexual position, Phil was surprised when, after oiling his hands up, Clint began with Phil’s fingers, slowly working them into a slippery, warm mess. Slowly kneading them till he felt blood pulsing through each one, Clint moved achingly gentle to his palm, his large calloused fingers creating an amazing friction that warmed not only the skin he was touching, but also built up along his arm making him more relaxed than he had felt in a long time.
After a while of Clint working his way up Phil’s arm, pressing and pushing till the muscles gave way, turning them into a liquid, molten mass that felt so, so hot but so, so good. Phil didn’t even realize he’d zoned out till he opened his eyes and noticed a slightly damp spot where his open mouth had been drooling. Flushing in embarrassment, he tried to shift up, only to have Clint pin his arms down, having to grip a bit harder than usual due to the slippery oil.
“Don’t even think about it Phil,” Clint said, waiting for Phil to stop moving to start working his arms again, “We’re not even halfway done and I won’t have you running out on me before that.”, he pressed a bit harder than before, trying to make a point of his statement. Phil only nodded in agreement, partially realizing he had nothing to be embarrassed about, partially because he knew he’d never be able to escape Clint’s grasp in his current state.
Clint’s hands kept building up and up Phil’s arms, skittering and softening when coming across old wounds and scars, as if giving a silent apology of not protecting Phil for each one, even if he wasn’t there for many of them. Reaching his shoulders, Clint began slowly working on each knot he found, the digging pressure releasing soft breaths of pain from the ever-still Phil beneath him.
After finding and unwinding every knot he found, Clint took to softening his hands, rubbing the now-soft shoulders, his hands skating across pliant arms and across Phil’s back.
The soft movements became stronger and stronger, slowly stroking along his upper back, working their way down the small of his back, touching the top of his buttocks, only to slide back up again, hands sure in their path.
Clint stopped for a moment to bring more oil onto his hands, rubbing them into the dimples of Phil’s back. Skirting teasing hands across the insides of the agent’s underwear, he gets no response from the utterly relaxed and zoned-out Phil. Fighting a growing smile, Clint kept working lower, deftly ignoring the swell of Phil’s ass to focus on the tops of his thighs, working on the muscles there with all his focus.
Rubbing lower and lower, the archer focused his weapon-hardened hands on the last bits of Phil’s body, his strong, lean legs, his muscled calves, the strangely defined and petite ankles (which Clint loved, no matter how much Phil tried to hide them), and the scarred, knobby feet and toes. Each of them receiving smooth, even presses and pushes to make them as relaxed as possible, till Clint was satisfied with his work.
Staring at the boneless mess that was Phil Coulson, Clint quietly put the bottle of oil back in the bathroom before settling next to Phil and wrapping his hands around Phil’s shoulders to turn him over.
Soft hands gently lifting him out of the bed made Phil slowly come to the realization that it was over. But it couldn’t, could it? He felt so soft, so pliant, as if nothing could bother him, even Loki releasing a horde of giant 6 legged horses to run rampant amongst the Upper East Side (and hadn’t THAT been a fun day?).
“Up you go, Phil,” Clint said, looking him in the eyes and smiled, pure contentment radiating off him and his warm hands, leaking into Phil’s body and doing more to loosen him up than the massage ever could. “See, I told you massages don’t always lead to hanky panky.”
“I’ll reprimand you later for using ‘hanky panky’ in a legitimate sentence, but right now I’m going to sit down and finish those reports you pulled me from”, Phil said, squeezing Clint’s arms in thanks and heading out of the room into the living room, only to collapse on his own legs as soon as he stood from the bed, a gasp of shock escaping his lips.
Clint managed to catch him before he completely fell on the ground, a surprised look on his face, which slowly changed to a knowing smile as he shifted Phil’s body into his arms, making it all the more embarrassing for said agent.
“Clint what the hell did you do to me?” Came the angry grumble from Phil, “I swear to God if you temporarily paralyzed me to make me more pliant, I’m forcing you to sleep on Thor’s floor for the next 2 months.”
A hearty laugh fell from the archers’ lips as he carried the agent back into the bed, tucking him in and making sure he was completely comfortable. “You, my stick-in-the-mud friend, have experienced syncope , something that happens to people who completely relax during a massage. It’s a temporary paralysis of the muscles and I’ll take it as an extreme compliment to my massaging abilities, so I give you my thanks.” Clint smirked, vaulting onto the other side of the bed and leaning fully onto Phil.
“Yeah, thanks for making me a complete liability if we’re called into action within the next few hours, Barton” came the sarcastic remark from Phil, showing archer that any prior anger or annoyance was forgiven and forgotten, though the fact that for once he was right and Phil was wrong was something he’d definitely hold over him at a later point.
A long silence fell over them, both content and enveloped in their own thoughts and each other, a gift neither could afford too often ever since the mess that was the Avengers Initiative formed.
The small shift of Phil’s body caused Clint to look down at him, only to see Phil looking at him with a quiet and content smile on his face. “Thank you” was all that was said before Phil burrowed (no matter how much he’d deny it hours later when they woke up, but he burrowed) into Clint’s side, arm curling around the archer’s stomach and legs moving to tangle into a mess of limbs.
Long after Coulson had fallen asleep, a kiss would grace the top of his head from smiling lips and a quiet “You’re welcome, sir.” would be all the noise in the room for a long while.