9. Chapter 9

Since the show was not going live for another four days, the dress rehearsal was followed by a private "launch party" at Stark's Bar. The show staff was joined by employees of Stark's, the Malibu, and SHIELD along with their dates and Natasha's purse dog, a Chihuahua named Brutus. The small dive was packed.

Phil had decided to ditch the whole thing, but ended up stuffed in an SUV between Jasper and Maria while Fury drove. His "Plan B" was to hide in a dark corner and drink heavily, but life, the universe and Nick Fury were out to sabotage Phil at every turn. He found himself at the bar, Pepper pouring him a drink, while Fury looked out over the crowd.

"It's going to be a hit," Phil said, saluting Pepper who tapped his glass with her beer bottle before wandering off.

"Damn straight. I knew it all along."

"Of course you did, Boss."

"Sassing me? Really? Has it come to that, asshole?" Fury grinned at him.

"Never."

Fury turned towards him, the better to talk over the noise of the crowd. "You got a favorite act?"

Phil glared at him. Fury never asked idle questions. "They're all good."

"Especially Hawkeye. Guy's stacked."

"Like you'd notice? The Black Widow is more your speed."

Fury snorted. "That woman would eat me up and spit me out."

"She does have a reputation," Phil nodded.

"So do you."

Phil raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. A reputation for being a tight ass who needs to get laid."

Phil coughed and Fury slapped him on the back a few times hard enough to bruise.

"What'd he do now?" Clint's voice slammed into Phil. He looked up and saw Clint being led through the crowd by Natasha to the bar. He had his cane but it was folded up and he was cradling Brutus in one arm while Natasha cleared the way. Clint grinned in his general direction. "I heard Phil coughing and Fury beating the shit out of him."

Natasha shoved him up against the bar next to Phil, who tried to scoot away respectfully but was blocked by Fury at his side. Fury snorted. "Nothing, just trying to beat some sense into him."

"Good luck," Natasha said, her voice bordering between cryptic and amused. Which, Phil admitted, was her personality in a nutshell. She turned to Clint. "Gimme."

Clint and Natasha traded off the dog and Clint put his cane on the bar. Then suddenly Fury and Natasha were gone, disappearing into the crowd in separate directions. Clint got his beer from Pepper, who gave Phil a very pointed look that he had no idea how to interpret.

Clint took a swig of his drink. They were both facing the bar, more or less, and tilted towards each other. "What'd you think of the show?"

"You're fucking amazing," Phil blurted before he could stop himself. He stared at his drink, wondering if Pepper had spiked it.

"Hey, thanks. It took a lot of work." Clint nodded.

"No, I mean, you were amazing." Phil put his drink down. He was committed now, and if being a Ranger had taught him one important thing, it was to follow through with what you started. "The act is great. But you…you make it incredible."

Clint paused, his expression shrouded by his sunglasses. "Was that hard for you to admit?"

Phil smiled to himself. "No." He took a sip of his drink. "I've wanted to say it since I first saw you on the pole, here."

Clint's finger rubbed over the mouth of his beer bottled. "But you didn't."

"You thought I was a jerk. Not without reason." Phil took a deep swallow from his own drink.

"I did?" Clint smirked at him.

"I'm jaded by this profession sometimes. We've got a good team, the best team, and while I feel 'The Avengers' is possibly the worst show name in the history of burlesque, you are all the most professional and talented people I have ever worked with. Let's just say that wasn't always the case."

"Yeah, I heard about Loki."

Phil grimaced at the memory of the charming, friendly showman who had stabbed Phil in the back with his treachery, stolen directly out of Fury's pocket and nearly burned the whole club to the ground. Part of Thor's contract was to pay remuneration back to SHIELD for what his brother had done—not technically legal but he had insisted.

"Water under the bridge." Phil finished his drink. "But I understand. I made a bad first impression. I'm glad you, ah, gave me a second chance." Phil really hoped that did not sound like a come-on, but then, he also kind of hoped it did.

"I never hated you. Sure I didn't trust you at first but you proved me wrong. And without you, I wouldn't even be a part of the show. The silks was a stroke of genius."

"You're the one who turned them into a hell of a performance."

"Hey, I'm good for something." Clint saluted him with his beer and a wry grin. He was still a little flushed from his performance, his muscles under his tight tee shirt bulging and rippling as he moved. Despite it all, though, Clint was laid back and easy to talk to. Phil very rarely felt the kind of pull he had towards Clint Barton, and it was more intoxicating than the drink in his hands.

"Come home with me," Phil said without thinking.

Clint slowly lowered the bottle to the bar top and stood still.

"Or not." Phil sighed. "I'm sorry, I let myself get carried away. I'll head out." Mentally head slapping himself, Phil pushed off the bar stool but Clint grabbed his arm.

He leaned close, dropping his voice. "You think I need a pity fuck?"

Phil's brain derailed but he mustered some indignation. "What? No. I'm not that kind of asshole."

Clint didn't let go. "So what was that about? I thought we were having a friendly chat."

"Look, if anyone here needs a pity fuck, it's me. Just ask Fury." Phil rubbed his face but didn't push Clint away. "I wasn't lying, you are amazing. You've been amazing to me since the first night I saw you. I figured you thought I was a jerk so I kept my distance, like the god damn professional I am. You don't have to make this a big embarrassing production about turning me down."

"I'm not turning you down."

"What?" Phil tried to parse each word separately.

Clint snorted and let go of him, reaching (unerringly) for his beer and finishing it all in one go. "I'm not turning you down. Let's blow this joint."

Keys keys keys I need car keys oh shit! Phil's brain stumbled around logistics. "Wait, I need…I rode with Nick. Fury. I mean, I rode with Fury, he drove. Just, fuck, give me a second. I'll be right back."

Clint withdrew. "You're not just being clever about leaving me hanging?" His voice was calm and casual but his body was held tensely, as if waiting to be hit.

Phil looked at him for a long moment before making up his mind. He stepped in close and grabbed Clint's shoulders, his magnificent shoulders, and kissed him. He put everything his repressed libido could dredge up into the kiss, tilting his head to let Clint have the upper hand. Clint kissed back, firm lips not parting for Phil but moving against his softly. Phil pulled back a little. "I'm too smart to be that stupid."

Clint settled against the bar again. "Yeah, okay. I'll be here."

"Right. One second." Phil looked around and spotted Fury, sitting like a king on a throne at a table with Maria and Jasper. He marched up and stuck his hand out. "Give me your keys and no one gets hurt."

Maria burst out laughing as Nick slowly dragged his car keys out of his pocket without comment, handing them over with a tilt to his head.

Phil nodded once and then turned back around to bee-line it to the bar, where of all miracles, Clint was still waiting for him. "Keys acquired. Let's go."

"You stole Fury's keys?" Clint laughed as Phil looped his arm through Clint's to lead him through the crowd.

"He owes me several lifetimes of favors."

Clint was quiet for a moment as they navigated their way out. "Why do think you mean that literally?"

Phil shrugged, knowing Clint would sense it through their linked arms.

"So, your place?" Clint asked when they finally got settled into Fury's SUV.

"Is that okay?"

"Mine's a dump I share with Natasha. She's not coming home tonight, she's going to wrestle Barnes to the ground at long fucking last but it's still a dump with thin walls. Unless you enjoy slumming?" Clint stretched out after buckling up, running his hands up and down his thighs with intent. Phil was grateful that he was able to keep steering the car.

"You think I'm slumming with you?" Phil asked, unsure of why except for a certain tone in Clint's voice. He headed for his place, though, because at home he could pamper Clint. Maybe he'd let Phil give him a bath. He tried not to crash the car at the thought.

"It's okay, man, I'm used to it. The perks of being from the wrong side of the tracks is that I know how to show you a good time. Don't worry about it."

Phil had no idea what to say to that, and Clint didn't expect an answer, so they drove in silence for a few minutes. Finally Phil shook his head. "I promised myself I wouldn't hit on you tonight, because I knew you'd be surrounded by beautiful people who would want to sleep with you. I also know that when this show goes on the road you'll get groupies trying to paw at you by the dozen. I have no illusions about that, or myself. I'm not slumming and this isn't a pity fuck, it's me trying to grab at the best thing I've ever laid eyes on, while he's willing to let me. I'm not asking for a love song but don't think for a second that I don't know how fucking lucky I am right now."

Even behind his shades, Clint looked stunned. "Shit. Phil, I—"

"Shut up and let me drive." Phil clinched his teeth and hit the gas, promising himself that later he would not track down every fucker who had ever made Clint feel cheap or unwanted. Although part of him thought it would be a shame to let all of his special ops training go to waste.