A/N: Sequel to 'Mine', but it isn't necessary to have read that to understand this. Just be aware Clint and Coulson are in established relationship with mild D/s undertones and Clint wears a collar. Consider that a warning, and also there is alluded to spanking. This is a very, very mild M.
"Agent Barton," Phil snapped. "I need to see you in my office. Now."
Clint took a moment to make note of the sharpness in Phil's expression that he was pretty sure no one would notice but him and then he turned back to the guy he was talking to. "Duty calls," he said, shrugging apologetically, and hustled to catch up with Phil as he strode away.
"Who was that?" Phil asked as soon as they were in his office.
"Oh, new agent. Kinney. Just transferred. Didn't you know?"
"Hmm," Phil said, frowning.
Clint estimated it would take fifteen seconds after he'd left for Phil to access Agent Kinney's file.
The collar wasn't as big a deal as Clint had worried it might be. The teasing had been nowhere near as dire as he had expected. Thor had been extremely curious, wanting to know all about this Midgardian custom. Actually all the attention had made Clint feel sort of embarrassed, as he'd fumbled through an explanation while Thor listened intently. He professed it a touching gesture and wondered whether he should do such a thing for Jane, at which point Natasha stepped in and suggested that Jane might not be quite as enthusiastic about it as Clint was and perhaps Thor should buy her a necklace instead.
But anyway, no one made much of it. Well, except for Tony. Tony was acting exactly the way Clint had expected. Like he was one to talk - everyone knew who wore the pants in his relationship.
(P.S. It wasn't Tony.)
"So, do you call him 'sir' when you're at home, too? Or do you say 'master'? Are there punishments when you misbehave? I'm genuinely interested, I don't know how these things work, in actual practice. The internet lies, you know," Tony said in a conspiratorial tone. "And Pepper tells me porn isn't terribly true to life, either."
"I don't speak unless I have permission," Clint said dryly. Not exactly subtle (and also a total lie), but Tony wouldn't know subtle if it hit him in the face with a sledgehammer.
"Can we make that a rule for Tony?" Natasha suggested. There was a reason she was his favorite.
"I second it," Steve said immediately.
"Me, too, and Steve's vote counts twice," Clint said. "I think that should do it, majority and everything."
"You're stifling my scientific curiosity," Tony started to protest.
Which was when Phil stood up to make a strategic retreat. Because Phil's instincts were fantastic and he was always right, Clint decided to follow his lead.
"Going for walkies now?" Tony asked as Clint got up to follow Phil out of the room. "Is there a fancy leash to go along with that thing too?"
"There was, Mr. Stark," Phil said, perfectly straight-faced, "but I'm afraid I loaned it to your girlfriend."
Bruce snorted, face splitting in a wide grin, and even Tasha's mouth was twitching into a tiny smile.
"Well played," Tony said, with a mock salute. "Well played."
Clint hoped he was properly conveying to Phil how much sex they were going to have tonight. (All of it, by the way. All of the sex.) Judging by the faint curving at the corners of Phil's mouth, he was.
Clint was nearly positive that Agent Kinney had the hots for him. He always seemed to have time for a chat, standing too close and getting handsy. It was kind of flattering, actually, and Kinney wasn't too hard on the eyes himself, with his wavy dark hair and that great ass.
Clint wasn't sure whether the word that he was taken hadn't gotten around to Kinney yet or whether he didn't care. Technically he and Phil were a secret, but they were one of those secrets that actually everyone knew about.
The collar was kind of a giveaway, too. It was a simple thing and not overly visible when he had his ops gear on, or even the Avengers get-up, but Kinney had definitely been close enough to notice it. It didn't exactly scream, 'Property of Phil Coulson', but it should have at least communicated, 'Property of Someone'.
So Clint was going with Kinney not caring. It didn't speak highly of his intelligence because beneath the mild manners and the expensive suits, Phil was kind of a badass. It wasn't a good idea to cross him.
But, to be fair, Clint might have been guilty of flirting back at Kinney. It wasn't like he was ever going to follow through on it, but flirting was fun and Phil being jealous and possessive was even better. He wasn't really seeing the bad in it.
"There's something wrong with you," Natasha told him. No one could convey, You are a complete moron, with so little change in expression quite like she could.
"And you've just noticed this now?"
"A normal person would say, hey, I've got a boyfriend. He doesn't like other people touching his things."
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Fun for you, maybe," because you're weird and messed-up, her eyes were saying, "but you might want to tell Kinney to keep his hands off you before Coulson cuts them off."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "I don't know how Coulson puts up with you."
"That's because we never had sex, Tasha," Clint said, quite seriously. "If we had you wouldn't need to ask."
She just shook her head and got to her feet. "Barton, if we'd ever had sex I would've ruined you for anyone else."
Her hips swayed when she walked. Fair enough, Clint allowed. He'd seen her fight and dance - it didn't take much to imagine what she'd be like in bed. But he still would've rocked her world.
Someone had eaten his Chinese. "Fuck," Clint muttered and shut the refrigerator. It was probably Hill. He was starting to think she did it on purpose.
Kinney was standing by the counter. "Didn't find what you were looking for?"
"People around here have no respect for labels," Clint said, shaking his head sadly. At least not his labels - maybe he should start putting 'Coulson' on his stuff.
"I know this great little diner, they've got the best apple pie I've ever had in my life. We could go, if you want. If you have a minute."
Clint brought his hand up reflexively to his collar, rubbing it absently. "I should probably be clear; I have a boyfriend, if you hadn't heard."
"Oh, I know. It isn't like I asked you to come get a motel room with me."
"You ask that a lot?"
"Only when it's someone I'd rather not have in my apartment," Kinney said with a smile.
"So how do I rate?" Clint asked, unable to resist. "Apartment or motel?"
Kinney rested his hand against Clint's arm just in time for Phil to see them. Clint stepped back while Kinney only said, "Hello, sir."
Phil looked like he wanted to come over and break Kinney's fingers (it was kind of hot), but all he said was, "Agent Kinney, I'm surprised to see you here. Don't you have a meeting with Director Fury? He does hate to be kept waiting."
Kinney blanched and ran off, muttering his apologies.
Clint raised an inquiring eyebrow. "He was never told he had a meeting, was he?"
Phil shrugged. "There must have been some missed communication somewhere along the line, you know how it is."
He looked incredibly pleased with himself and Clint was deeply regretting their 'hands-off at work unless someone is dying' policy. He made a mental note to discuss a possible renegotiation of terms.
That night Phil made it very clear exactly who Clint belonged to, leaving Clint's ass red and sore from the flat of his hand and sucking a bruise into his arm right where Kinney had touched him. Clint wasn't going to lie, he loved it when Phil got like this. He shamelessly begged for it, pushing back into the hard snap of Phil's hips, and Phil wouldn't let him come until he thought he might actually expire from the need for release.
After, when Clint was lying on Phil's chest in the dark room, Phil's fingers playing with his hair, Clint said softly, "You know I don't want anyone besides you, right?"
"Yes," Phil answered. "But you're still a flirt and a tease."
"Just the way you like me."
"Obviously I've suffered too much head trauma," Phil said, lightly scraping his short nails up and down the back of Clint's neck, and Clint closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.
Kinney asked Clint to spar with him. Clint accepted quickly, as Natasha was away on an op and Clint was admittedly bored and restless. Steve and Thor were around, but generally Clint preferred to let them beat the shit out of each other instead of him. It was better for both his health and his ego, not to mention Steve and Thor were both like sad, kicked puppies whenever they didn't pull a punch enough. Really big puppies.
Clint had just ducked out of the way of Kinney's left hook when he heard Phil say, "You're telegraphing all your moves."
They both stopped, Kinney pushing his hair out of his face. "Me, sir?"
Phil was dressed for activity, in a pair of loose pants and a SHIELD issue T-shirt. "Mind if I step in, Agent Barton?"
"Be my guest," Clint said, getting out of their way. He grabbed a towel to wipe off his face and a water bottle and sat down on the sidelines to watch the show.
By the third time Phil knocked Kinney on his ass, even the most oblivious onlooker could have figured out this wasn't really about training. Kinney lasted one more round before he stayed on the mat for an extra minute, breathing heavily. "You know, I think I'm gonna call it a day before I end up one giant bruise. Think I'll hit the showers." He got to his feet a bit haltingly and nodded at Phil. "Thanks for the tip, sir. See you, Clint."
Clint stood up, stretching his shoulders overhead until they popped, and met Phil on the mat. If that hadn't been some kind of masculine pissing contest, Phil staking his territory, he didn't know what was. Clint was strangely okay with being the woman in this situation. "Was that really necessary?"
"Can't have him fighting like that in the field," Phil said, almost but not quite smirking.
"Of course not," Clint said, unable to stop himself rolling his eyes. "Want to take me on? Unless you're too tired?"
"You're on, Barton."
Clint grinned. Sparring with Phil was the best - they got to put their hands all over each other and no one could say anything about it.
He was probably going to have to make his shower a cold one, though.
Tony dropped down into a chair across the table from where Clint was sitting, eating a bowl of cereal in the kitchen at the mansion. "You want in on the pool?" he asked.
Clint blinked. "Sorry, what?"
"You know, the pool. How long it'll take your boyfriend to break Kinney's nose, that sort of thing. Bruce thinks you shouldn't be allowed in but I figure being the cause of it all is no reason to cut you out."
"That's thoughtful of you."
"I know, right? I am a paragon of virtue."
"You're banking on me having some insider information, aren't you?"
Tony grinned. "But that would be cheating. I never cheat."
Clint decided it was too early in the morning and ignored that. "Tell me what you've got going."
No reason he shouldn't have the chance to make money off of his boyfriend, right?
Days passed without Phil breaking Kinney's nose (yet), but that didn't mean it wasn't tense. Clint had started to scale back a bit because Kinney seemed oblivious to the fact that Phil really wouldbreak his nose if he tried anything funny. He seemed to have taken their little sparring session as an open invitation rather than the warning Phil had clearly meant it to be.
Clint had face-planted on the table in an empty conference room, trying to work up the energy to move. He would get around to it any second now, really, just as soon as he could convince himself that the benefits of a cup of coffee outweighed the merits of sitting down.
Clint sighed. He was starting to wish Kinney would just go away. He managed to straighten up and then to push his chair back far enough that he could stand, if he wanted to. Progress. "You could say that."
"Why don't you let me make you dinner tonight?" Kinney asked, his tone casual but he clearly wasn't trying to be anything other than obvious.
"You don't give up, do you?" Clint said as he forced himself to his feet, circling around the table to lean the backs of his legs against it, arms crossed.
Kinney took the opportunity to corner Clint, getting right up in his space. "Not for something I want."
Someone cleared their throat. Clint turned his head to see Phil and Natasha in the doorway, matching bland expressions on their faces, but Phil had that look in his eyes that meant he was halfway to seriously pissed. Actually, it was more like three-quarters.
Clint patted Kinney's shoulder. "I'm going to let Agent Coulson handle this." He could take care of it himself, but letting Phil do it would be so much more fun. He moved away, nodded at Phil, and said, "Nat."
Natasha stepped to the side, letting Clint through the door, and they set off down the hall. "You aren't going to watch?"
"Nah," Clint said, shaking his head. "Better if I don't."
That evening Clint got to Phil's just in time to see him paying the pizza delivery guy. He slipped past him to get inside and then stole a slice of pepperoni from the box. "Looks like I've got perfect timing, babe," he said as Phil closed the door.
"Apparently. I can never find you when I need you to file your reports, but somehow you always manage to be around when there's food."
Clint finished chewing and smacked a kiss on Phil's cheek. Phil swatted him on the ass and gave him the pizza to carry in.
They sat on the couch while they ate, Clint leaning against Phil's side, and made a start on their DVR recordings. Phil had this weird obsession with Revenge, and possibly a crush on Madeleine Stowe. (He'd always had a thing for beautiful, intelligent, controlling, borderline scary women. See: Natasha, and also Pepper.) Clint mostly just liked watching how into it Phil got; it was kind of adorable.
He waited until they'd finished the episode before saying, "So how'd it go with Agent Kinney?"
That was definitely Phil's pleased with himself face. "We had a little chat and decided he's going to be transferred again. It turned out he wasn't suited to New York, after all."
"Oh, really?" Clint asked, grinning. "Because he seemed to like it well enough."
"He wasn't a good fit," Phil said and then set about reminding Clint of exactly how good a fit they were, canting his hips against Clint's and sucking on Clint's tongue.
"Hey," Clint said, pulling back. Phil moved with him and Clint rested a hand against his chest. "Hey, tell me something first. Did you break his hand before you got him transferred? Maybe a finger?"
Phil looked confused. "No."
"Damn." There went Clint's money. "What about his nose?"
"Tony will be so disappointed."
"Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not. But if Tasha buys your drinks the next time we go out, don't be surprised." Clint really needed to stop making bets when Natasha was involved. She always won.
Phil was still looking at him like he had possibly gone a bit insane, but that wasn't unusual. It was basically his default expression. "There's something wrong with you," he said, echoing Natasha, his thumb rubbing over the front of Clint's collar.
"Probably because you stopped kissing me," Clint reasoned. "But we can fix that."
So they did.