7. Chapter 7

Things started tumbling towards their conclusion, mostly out of sight but reverberating across the whole neighborhood. Some guys went missing, dead or on the run, and in a very surprising turn of events the FBI raided a warehouse where Grigory was known to stash various types of merchandise. The presence of the FBI really set everyone's nerves on edge, and even the guys in the shop were going around quiet and spooked.

Barney drove by occasionally "for no reason," looking stressed out. Clint thought he should feel more grief over what was happening between them, but somehow he had always known that Barney would make a play like this. Barney looked up to Trickshot, even in the end, and it made sense that he was going to go out the same way. Clint was only grateful that he wasn't the trigger man for that one. He tried to warn Barney off, just once, practically begging him to leave town, but Barney called him paranoid and ruffled his hair as if they were both kids again.

Clint was drifting and lonely, wondering if maybe he wasn't the one who should pack a bag and make a run for it. If things got as messy as he thought they were, no one would come looking for him because he was, in the grand scheme of things, nobody.

It wasn't as if he hadn't stashed a few hundred grand secretly in a back account under another name years ago. No one could ever accuse Clint Barton of NOT being paranoid, and he decided long ago that running away to the circus with nothing but the clothes on his back was a one-time deal in his life.

Phil came in a few days after their talk for a head light fixture change out. Clint didn't even strip down his coveralls for it, quickly switching the casing because he figured out a few months back to always have an extra of everything related to Phil's car on hand.

Phil stood near the car but a few feet back. "I've thought about the customization work, and made some decisions on those options you showed me," he said. His voice was calm but just loud enough for Sammy to hear, one bay over. Clint nodded.

"I'm done here, and if you want to talk about paying me money, I'm all yours. C'mon, I still have your folder on my desk." Clint looked across the shop. "Talking with McPherson in my office, Alexi. Hold things together for fifteen."

"Sure thing Boss!" Alexi yelled back.

"Don't break my shit!" Clint added as he led Phil into his office. Alexi laughed and swore at him in Russian and Clint made a show of slamming the door shut behind him.

He turned to Phil. "So what's new—ugh!" Clint was pushed up against the wall next to the door, the outdated wall calendar behind him taking the brunt of the damage as it tore loose. Phil's hands were locked on Clint's biceps as he pushed his whole body into Clint. Blinking rapidly, Clint looked directly into Phil's face, inches from his own. "Yeah?" He whispered, shocked and turned on, his hands stuttering at Phil's hips.

"Yeah." Phil nodded and closed the distance, kissing him soundly.

Clint fell into it. He had shut the door on that part of his sexuality a long time ago but it ran hot in his blood. The few guys who had tried for him had been local, unsubtle, and trashy. Clint didn't really think he deserved better than that, but he left that kind of slumming behind with the circus. Phil was sharp, though, the kind of man Clint admired in the issues of GQ that sometimes clients left behind in the waiting area. Phil wore a suit to be the enforcer of crime lord, and he walked with a self-possessed assured attitude that Clint could imitate but never capture. He knew what this was, a quikie with the hot car mechanic—Clint watched porn too—but he was too into it to put the brakes on.

Clint ripped his mouth away when he heard someone drop a heavy tool out in the shop. He laughed softly. "Great timing."

Phil ignored him and pressed closer. "You were right about everything. It's going to go badly for Barney—you should warn him." Phil whispered into his ear, his breath hot and damp, as one hand trailed over his chest and started dragging the zipper of Clint's coveralls down. "You're fucking smart, Clint Barton, and I want you out of this alive."

Clint wondered why, but didn't ask. "Just a dumb ex-carny but trust me, I want to live through it. Do I have a chance?" He dragged his hands along Phil's belt until they were at the buckle, pulling it open.

"Oh." Phil paused, pushing his hips forward hard before pulling back, and Clint bit down on a groan. "Yes. One way or another, I'll get you out." He pushed the coveralls down and Clint shook his arms free, putting himself back on the task of Phil's pants. Until Phil slid a hand into Clint's briefs, rubbing gently over his cock. Slack jawed, Clint looked up at Phil again, staring deep into determined eyes. Phil's expression was weirdly pleased, almost grinning despite the desperate hitch to his breathing, but his eyes were fierce and focused.

Clint licked his lips. "You're not in a position to promise that."

Phil nodded, as if in agreement. "But you don't know everything about me."

Clint registered that Phil's light brogue had vanished, and he took that for the message it was. "Yeah, okay, but right now there are other things you need to be getting out," Clint said through clinched teeth as Phil's hand wrapped around him, stroking. Phil laughed silently, closing it with a kiss. Clint fumbled but got back to Phil's trousers, yanking them open and shoving everything down Phil's thighs. Phil laughed into his mouth again.

"Kept thinking about this, Barton. Couldn't wait until extraction, couldn't wait, fuck, never going live this down," Phil gasped the words into Clint's mouth as he wrapped his hand around their cocks, together, holding them tight as he started pumping his hips. "You should leave. I can…can help you."

"Nuh. No. Gotta stay, leaving early will tip everyone's hands, get Barney killed. Alexi is Grigory's cousin, he a snitch, always was a plant." Clint panted, thrusting into Phil's hand, their cocks rubbing together hot and silky. "Fuck, Phil—"

"Shhhh," Phil pressed his mouth over Clint's again. Their kisses turning inelegant and raw as they met each other thrust for thrust, Phil's hand slick with sweat and pre-cum. Clint felt it slamming into him, his orgasm hitting like a freight train ramming his spine. He jerked with it, his head tipping back, exposing his neck as he ground out Phil's name in a harsh, desperate whisper while his come spilled out over Phil's hand and cock.

"Yes, so beautiful, yes, yes, oh!" Phil mouthed wetly against Clint's neck, not leaving a mark as he came hard, his hips slamming against Clint's. They held the position for a long moment as they both breathed in deeply.

"Damn." Clint closed his eyes. Phil lifted his free arm to bracket it against the wall, closing himself over Clint's body. Clint sighed into the feeling of being protected, enjoying the moment even if he knew it was false. He'd take whatever Phil gave him, and that was a peculiar sort of pathetic that the Barton boys excelled at. He sighed.

"You need to leave." Phil looked serious, worried for Clint, which was something new and weird and kind of sweet. Clint flipped him off.

"Back at ya'."

Phil laughed. He stepped back, inspecting the mess between them. Clint held up one finger and went over to a box on his desk. "Disposable shop rags. Never thought they'd be good for this, but hey." He came over and handed a few to Phil. They each cleaned up quickly, packing themselves up. Clint cracked the old window open a bit to let the room air out, although mostly he was the only one who ever set foot in his office.

"So did you purposefully bang up your car just as an excuse to come bang me?" Clint smirked, trying to put some distance to his feelings.

"My plan was to warn you, tell you to leave. This was…a welcome distraction." Phil gave him a lopsided grin.

"Things are what they are, Phil. I'm a gear head and you're an enforcer, and we both owe our souls to a twisted bastard of a Russian. Hell we don't even know each other that well." Clint sighed, checking himself as he zipped his coveralls up. He startled at the touch of Phil's hands on his face, pulling him close for a gentle kiss.

"I have an instinct for these things. You said you trust me; hold to that, Barton." He pecked Clint on the lips again then turned and walked out.