Chapter Text
Date night was over hours before it started. When Clint barrel rolled into the street and accidentally dumped 80 bucks worth of duck breasts down a storm drain.
It was supposed to be his day off. He was supposed to "make time for us". No gym going. No Avenging. No paperwork. More Phil. He'd been to three different butcher shops, bought half the turnips at Gristedes, and made it halfway home before a poisonous snake shot past his head like a bullet.
He evaded, rolled into the street, and watched his dinner spill across 1st Avenue. Loki had already appeared and antagonized the monster before Clint could pull the weapons hidden in his boots.
One silver tipped arrow did the trick. The gorgon simply cracked, shattering and raining down thousands of silvery shards while Clint and Loki stood on the street. A smoking crater and a dainty tiara where the slithering beast once stood.
They both made their move.
Clint's arrow was easily dodged, but the explosion beside Loki's ear provided a proper distraction. He ran, slid into the tiara. Kicked it away. He nocked another arrow and watched the tiara explode, becoming fine diamond dust like the monster that had worn it.
Loki clapped sarcastically.
"Well done, Clint. Hawkeye. Mr Barton. Bang up job."
"You pout over your crown. I'm going home and making dinner."
"I didn't want it! It's hideous," Loki brushed glittering powder off his sleeve. "It's cursed. Now terrible things will befall everyone you love. I was going to take for safe keeping. But tell me, Hawkeye, do you love me?"
Clint folded up his bow. "Loki, of all the men that've been inside me, I like you the least."
"Oh thank the gods!" He blew a kiss up to the sky.
"Aren't you a god?"
Loki smiled, pleased Clint remembered. "And I'm thankful for it every day."
Then he was gone.
-
Debriefing was quick and painless. Demon harpie thwarted, Loki held at bay, good times all around. Clint filled out a few triplicate forms and got the thumbs up from medical before dinner.
Phil leaned against a wall, tucked away in their usual place. Alarmingly rakish for a man finishing up 12 hours of desk duties.
Clint dipped into the shadows when he knew the hallway was empty, ran a finger up Phil's tie.
"Hi."
"Of all the guys who've been inside you?" Phil shook his head.
"You heard that?"
"I hear everything once you activate that portable bow."
"It's not like it's a long list," Clint grabbed two fists of suit and pulled him in. Phil still looked over his shoulder before allowing himself a self-conscious peck.
"Hey," he brushed off the creases he made in Phil's jacket. "I fucked up dinner. Hero shit, you know?"
"Another night," Phil smiled, tired lines forming around his eyes. "Go join the others tonight if you want."
"I don't like the others."
"You don't like anyone." The light beside the elevator glowed, illuminating Phil like the patron saint of dutiful employees.
"I like you."
"Just like or -," Phil took a deep step back when he heard employees empty out of the elevator. He pursed his lips and nodded at Clint, business mode activated.
"Clint!" Wanda's voice echoed down the hallway. She threw both arms around his neck. "You are just in time! We're slicing fruits."
He shot a worried look to Phil.
"They're carving pumpkins. Upstairs." If Coulson ever had to suppress a laugh, it never showed. "Ms Maximoff, good to see you."
-
Stark Tower was officially at capacity. Thor squeezed Clint so hard he spilt half his beer. Peter Parker was avoiding homework by carving pumpkins and eating miniature Butterfingers by the handful.
"Robin Hood! Pick one!" Peter pointed to the dozens of gourds lining the kitchen, jumped back when the electric knife in Tony's hands buzzed to life. He gripped it with both hands and sawed into his pumpkin with a cackle.
Clint waved at no one in particular. Sam waved back, half a dozen interns and assistants did the same. The entire floor hummed. Someone pulled an honest to God apple pie out of an oven. Clint's shoulders finally relaxed, the smell of burnt crust luring him forward.
"Look," Natasha turned her pumpkin so he could fully inspect it. "It's a Barton pumpkin."
Clint studied it. "It looks like a regular Jack-o-lantern."
"That's what makes it a Barton pumpkin! It's painfully bland."
"Cool, nice to see you, Nat." Clint moved down the line until he reached the open wine bottle. He ignored the glare of the Jack-o-lantern beside it, crossed-eyes and a Marilyn Monroe wig stapled to it. Quill must have been here earlier.
He found a stool and watched Steve sketch triangle eyes onto a pumpkin with a marker, a cup of cider just out of arm's reach. The hands on the clock promised Phil would be home soon. Pepper had just poured him a second glass of cabernet when the conversation finally pulled him in.
"It's nothing."
Thor worked his jaw. "My brother? My brother told you the object was cursed?"
"He took over MY MIND." Clint pointed to his head. "Shit talk is his thing. He cooked up some curse because I ruined his new toy."
"My friend," Thor slapped both hands down on Clint's shoulders. "You should not take this lightly. My brother says a great many things, but he doesn't jest about curses."
Tony's head shot up, pumpkin goop smeared across his face. "He's a trickster god! Look, he was just messing with your head." Tony lifted the top off his pumpkin for emphasis. "Gypsy curses aren't real. Loki is a dick. You're gonna be fine."
"Woah!" Peter yelled with a mouthful of chocolate. "You can't just, like, ignore curses. They're curses!"
Wanda nodded. "This is serious. We should call Doctor Strange."
"Or," Clint lifted a finger. "Everyone here could mind their own fucking business."
"You should warn your loved ones," Wanda folded her arms.
"I'm fairly curse proof." Phil pushed his way into the kitchen. He swiped a turkey sandwich off a platter and finally loosened the knot of his tie.
"You know," Steve continued doodling on his pumpkin. "Jack-o-lanterns were originally brought over from the Celts. They used to carve turnips and place embers in them. Then they got to the New World, found pumpkins were easier to carve, and here we are!"
He finished drawing lips on his pumpkin and stared at it. He blinked intently and held it up.
"Huh," Steve smiled. "It kind of looks like Bucky." He looked at it harder and laughed again.
Natasha grabbed her own wine glass and walked into the living room. "Ok, sure, Steve. Movie time?"
Tiny crystals fell from his shoulders when Phil leaned against him. "So you cursed me, is that what I missed?"
"Allegedly," Clint rested his forehead against Phil's, eyed the door to their penthouse. "Want to go see if you're still lucky in there?"
"Hell no," Sam swooped in. "Hard stop, love bird. Coulson's been talking up the original Halloween for weeks. Jamie Lee Curtis. 1978." He grabbed the bottle of wine and threw himself on a couch. "You're not getting out of this."
-
Clint settled in, an arm over Phil's shoulders. Peter grinned at him from across the room, back pressed against Thor's chest and a gigantic bowl of popcorn in his arms.
Clint balanced his wine on his knee and stared at the television, discreetly signing "new?" in quick hands movements.
Natasha never looked away from the screen, hands briefly signing "maybe".
"Stop that, you two." Pepper pulled her knees up to her chest. "We all know when you're doing that."
"Doing what?" Clint grabbed one of Phil's hands and feigned ignorance.
"Uh-huh," Tony drained a full glass of wine and pressed play.
He relaxed into the couch, felt the weight of Phil's hand in his own. He was strong and warm, his thumb tracing small circles over Clint's knuckles. The eerie tones of Tubular Bells rang from the television but Clint was already fixated on the heat beside him, their legs pressed together and hands intertwined. He studied Phil's features, eyes bleary, content. A relaxed smile lingering on his lips. He hadn't even slipped out of his suit jacket.
Clint let his fingers crawl across Phil's chest. Undid a shirt button. Phil tried to concentrate on the screen, the hitch in his breath the only sign giving him away.
Clint hummed, encouraged. His lips brushed against his boyfriend's ear, soft, buzzing. Phil's exhale was a small laugh, leg bouncing against Clint's. A pair of lips found an earlobe.
"Ok!" Phil shot up from the couch. "We'll be back."
A half-hearted chorus of "yeah ok sure" was mumbled back at him while Michael Myers made his first kill. Phil wrapped his hand around Clint's and yanked him off the couch.
They'd made their way through the darkened living room and into the kitchen when they passed him, whispering to himself. Clint slowed his pace and approached with gentle steps.
"Steve?"
Steve swiveled, took a moment to register Clint and Phil standing beside him.
"Oh hey, guys!" He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time.
"Agent Rogers, were you just talking to yourself?" Phil still sounded like an officer, even with his suit disheveled and arousal flushing his cheeks.
Steve's eyebrows shot up. "What? No, of course not."
"But we heard you whispering."
"Of course, we didn't want to interrupt the movie."
Clint kept his face neutral, took controlled short breathes as his eyes swept the table for every knife or mallet. Phil crouched down, eyes level with Steve.
"Now who, exactly, is we?"
Steve looked at Coulson as if he'd grown two heads.
"Meee," he stretched the word out and poked himself in the chest with his thumb. Then pointed to the pumpkin beside him. "And Bucky. Obviously. Were we being too loud?"