It's ten minutes to midnight when Phil gets home.
Shrugging off his suit jacket, he makes his way towards the couch. Clint is asleep, afghan clutched to his chest like a security teddy, and Phil smiles as he feels the stress of the day melt away.
He reaches over to run his fingers in Clint's hair, watching as Clint murmurs something in his sleep before he slowly blinks awake.
"Hi." Clint smiles sleepily up at Phil, voice raspy. "What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight," Phil replies.
Clint frowns and sits up, stretches. "What did Tony do this time?" He deadpans before getting up and heading towards the kitchen.
The frayed t-shirt hanging off his shoulders reveals more than it conceals, and Phil casts an appreciative glance over Clint's bared legs, an expanse of sculpted muscle dusted with dark hairs. "Let's just say he had a… Cap-related crisis."
He catches Clint rolling his eyes and grins. Tony's not-so-secretive pining for Steve is common knowledge among the team except, it seems, to Steve himself, who is endearingly oblivious even as he tries his hardest to be friends with Tony. Tony's eager infatuation and dread whenever he comes within ten paces of Steve is a source of endless hilarity for the rest of the team.
"For a self-declared playboy, Tony sure lacks balls. We should just lock them up in a closet somewhere and not let them out till they settle this… whatever that's between them."
Clint turns from where he was rummaging around in the fridge with a small cake covered with chocolate icing and sets it on the kitchen table. "Happy birthday, Phil. Even though it's nearly over." He grins and gestures with a knife he digs out of a nearby drawer. "You want to do the honors, or shall I?"
Phil shrugs, seating himself at the table. "No candles?" He reaches out and swipes off a bit of the icing with a finger, licking it clean. "Betty Crocker, yum." He steals another fingerful and grins around it when Clint abandons his knife and follows suit.
"It's really good," Clint mumbles around a mouthful of cake as crumbs spill from his lips, and Phil snorts in amused agreement. There's a bit of icing on the corner of Clint's mouth, and Phil reaches out with a thumb to clean it off before sucking on it, watching in satisfaction as Clint's pupils dilate. The kiss that follows is needy and forceful, and Phil groans at the burst of chocolate and Clint, heady and arousing.
Their lips part with a wet pop and Phil becomes aware of the hand rubbing on his groin. "Bedroom, now." Clint kisses him again, then hauls him up bodily, dragging him in the direction of their bedroom while stealing more kisses on the way.
"Birthday sex?" Phil murmurs, and laughs breathlessly at Clint's answering leer. "What about the cake?"
A soft shove and he falls backwards onto the bed, grinning as Clint looms over him, knees on either side of his hips. "The cake can wait," Clint growls, and leans down to kiss him hard on the mouth, before reaching for his tie and tugging it loose. "First you get your present."
And that's logic Phil really can't argue with.