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Phil Coulson has always been a man who appreciates a good suit. He's been very diligent about making Appropriate Sartorial Decisions, clothing himself in suits that were perfectly cut and excellently tailored, suits with rich fabrics and smooth lines, nothing too flashy, nothing that keeps him from blending into a crowd when he needs to.
He hadn't really given much thought, however, to the clothing decisions he'd prefer a potential partner to make, probably because he'd never really given much thought to his potential for having a partner. Then Clint showed up, and things haven't been the disaster that he keeps mentally preparing himself for, and he finds himself keeping a mental tally of The Things Clint Wears, which is not very difficult, considering.
He watches Clint put on endless pairs of hoodies and button-downs, off-black and actually black, paired with an infinite array of extremely functional trousers, and after several months of this he comes to the somewhat unhappy realization that he, Phil Coulson, SHIELD Agent, Suit Wearer, and Son of Coul, is basically married to the World's Most Dedicated Target Shopper.
When he points this out, Clint does make the obvious archer-shopping-at-Target joke for him, but he doesn't trade in the hoodies for suit jackets. Phil doesn't mind, not really, though he does wonder occasionally what Clint might look like in something different. He likes clothes, and nice clothes, at that, and after months of admiring Clint's body both in and out of the hoodies and button-downs, he's got a long list of Clothes That Clint Should Be Wearing, mostly, of course, so he can take them all right off again.
He drops hints every once in awhile, but after the third time Clint sets a copy of an archery magazine on top of Phil's perfectly placed Brioni catalogue, he abandons the mission and resolves to love Clint as he is, hoodies and all.
As it turns out, Clint's take on "different" when it comes to clothing is not exactly in line with Phil's, anyway.
Phil's known since Clint moved in that he is, affectionately speaking, a giant nerd. But that is never more clear than the day Clint comes in with a brand new sewing machine, a drafting table, and a box of tools, kisses Phil on the cheek, and proceeds to wall himself up in what had previously been Phil's study for the next seven hours, refusing to emerge before he completes his masterpiece.
His masterpiece turns out to be a Darth Vader costume, complete with functional lights and sound effects. Phil is impressed, despite his best efforts to remain nonchalant about his boyfriend strolling around their apartment dressed as a Sith Lord. Clint finally takes the helmet off when he needs to ask Phil if he thinks there's a way to get Stark to construct a functional lightsaber without letting him know what it's actually for. Phil tells him that no, he doesn't think so, and anyway, that kind of project would be highly classified, if it existed at all, which of course it doesn't.
Phil really appreciates that Clint has never even asked about the potential existence of a government-funded lightsaber R&D project. He does hate having to lie to Clint.
So they go to work every day and he's Phil Coulson, badass secret agent, and his boyfriend is Hawkeye, the world's greatest archer, and then they come home and he's still a badass secret agent, but his boyfriend is Clint Barton, dedicated cosplayer and comic-book reader, a man who lives almost exclusively in the same old functional trousers from the military surplus and button-downs and hoodies from Target. Once a year, Phil pretends not to notice that Clint trades his usual black shirt and deep grey hoodie for a maroon shirt and brown hoodie, and if pressed he would of course feign ignorance about any television shows where people with brown coats fought for independence in space.
He may not watch the shows, but Clint has Interests, and so he makes an effort, he pays attention to the details. He feels this is vital to the continued success of their relationship, even though most of his work is behind the scenes. He's used to that; he's comfortable there. And he might not ever admit it, but he needs this to work, so he diligently makes notes about the things Clint watches and reads and their relationship sails smoothly on.
With all of this quiet surveillance, Phil is not terribly surprised when Clint declares that yes, they are going to the Office Halloween Party, and yes, they are wearing costumes, and no, Phil Coulson, merely taking off the tie doesn't cut it.
"I'm not really a costume person," Phil says, because he knows that Clint loves this stuff, but he has to draw a line somewhere.
Clint sighs. "I know. But the thing is, I had a really good idea. Look what I found," he says, proudly holding up a small penlike piece of electronic equipment for Phil to inspect.
Phil can't resist fucking with him, just a little. "You stole the prototype for the world's smallest missile?"
Clint somehow manages to speak without moving any part of his body, including his lips, which is impressive, really. "Whaaa?"
"Only joking. The prototype for the world's smallest missile is three times smaller than that."
"You're a real dick sometimes, Coulson," Clint replies. He tosses the gadget towards Phil. "Come on, though, look at it, it'd be a perfect neurolyzer."
Phil blinks down at it and mentally rifles through his list of movies that Clint keeps telling him they should watch. "You want me to dress up as Will Smith?"
"I knew it," Clint crows, pointing at Phil. "I knew you watched movies."
"No," Phil says, shaking his head, "but I had to give a tour of some 'top secret' government facilities to the original producer on that film. I may or may not have irritated Director Fury the week before."
"Wait, the original producer?" Clint asks, the question hanging in the air.
Phil just shrugs eloquently, and Clint shakes his head and goes back to planning his costume for the party.
This goddamn party is really a pain in his ass, and Phil's not getting off the hook for this party unless Loki does something to sabotage it, he can already tell. The only drawback of dating someone like Barton is that guys like that, they're used to waiting, they'll sit for days in pouring rain and not be distracted from their targets. Then again, Phil has to acknowledge that this persistence turns out to be an advantage when it comes to sex, so he's not really complaining, he's just mildly irritated about having to turn up to a party with the team when they finally have a night to themselves. Clint's unquantifiable tenacity could really be put to better use than forcing Phil to put a silly gadget in his coat pocket and don a pair of Ray-Bans for an evening.
But what Barton wants, Barton gets, and they're going to the party, and Phil will wear the sunglasses, and hopefully an hour or so of listening to Stark devil Banner while Rogers stammers and blushes every time Stark comes near will earn him a free pass to slip the two of them out the door and back home, where he will make quick work of taking off whatever it is that Clint has put on.
The costume is, as usual, a big secret, and he doesn't ask questions, he doesn't snoop around, he just ticks off clues in the New York Times crossword while Clint bustles around Phil's former study, humming a tune that Phil almost recognizes, but whatever memory he might have had of it never coalesces into any actual recollection of the song's title.
When Clint steps out of bedroom dressed in very snug brown leather trousers and a battered khaki shirt, a fedora on his head and a whip on his hip, Phil realizes that it wasn't a song, it was a theme.
"Hello, Doctor Jones," he says, and Clint grins and tips his hat toward Phil.
"What do you think? You like it?"
"It's very good, not that I watch movies," Phil says, pretending to go back to the crossword.
Clint rolls his eyes and gestures up and down his body, which is really looking very extraordinary in those trousers. "It's 'very good,' really? Come on, baby, this is one-hundred percent screen accurate."
Phil's having a serious problem at this point, because of all the costumes Clint might have picked, he really had to go with one that involves trousers that trace the perfect curves of his ass, not to mention the whip and the open shirt showing off the smooth planes of his chest.
Phil definitely does not feel like sharing any of this with anybody else, not this evening and not any evening, which wouldn't be a problem but for Clint's damnable desire to be seen wearing this costume, this costume that he has clearly put considerable time and effort into making. Phil can't put his foot down, not without a fight, which is tiresome, and while makeup sex is entertaining, it really isn't what he's after tonight, not with those trousers. He'd never have suspected that leather would have this effect on him, but the proof is getting increasingly harder to ignore, and he's hoping that maybe, possibly, he can convince Clint to be fashionably late for this damn party.
He takes a quick look at his phone, then switches it to silent and sets it carefully on the desk.
"Something wrong?" Clint asks, and then he frowns and puts his hands on his hips, which is really not helping the situation at all, not that Clint seems to have noticed that there is, indeed, a situation. "Don't fucking tell me we're not going, Phil, I mean, look at this. I bled sewing part of this costume."
"We can go," Phil assures him, and before Clint can say anything else, he's across the room, his hands gripping the lapels of Clint's shirt, and he knows from the curve of Clint's lips as they press against his that Clint has taken the very pointed hint.
They're a little late to the party.
Phil would much rather have stayed in bed, or at least in the apartment, but Clint's costume is a hit with the team and Clint looks so pleased by all the compliments that Phil really can't begrudge him the time they're taking to do this, time which is mercifully cut short when Tony comes over to ask them if they've seen his missing flash drive.
"It's about as long as Steve's dick, but twice as skinny," Tony explains, miming the size of the thing with one hand. "Have you seen it?"
"It, uh, has some material of a sensitive nature on it," Steve stammers, and Phil almost feels sorry for him. Almost.
"He means it's got videos of us fucking," Tony elaborates. "I'd like to find it, it represents some of the high points of my body of work."
Clint rolls his eyes. "What's this thing look like, actually? And if it's molded in the shape of Steve's dick, Tony, god, I don't even want to know."
Tony opens his mouth, clearly intent on outdoing himself with this next one, but he takes one look at Steve's face and stops. "No, but seriously, it was in the lab and I've had Dummy look everywhere, we can't find it. Have you seen Men in Black? It looks like a neurolyzer."
"Haven't seen it," Phil says smoothly, and Clint, who has never been more perfect than he is in this moment, downs his drink and frowns apologetically at Tony and Steve.
"Sorry," he says, shrugging. "If I see it around I'll let you know."
"Thanks," Steve says earnestly, and he leads Tony away as Clint leans over to whisper in Phil's ear.
"How much of that do you think we can upload to X-tube before he figures it out?"
"I don't know, Doctor Jones," Phil says, slipping his hand into Clint's as they walk toward the door, "but I think we just found a relic that's worth preserving."
"I knew you watched movies," Clint laughs, and this time, Phil doesn't deny it: he's too preoccupied with calculating the amount of time it would take him to get Clint in and out of Indiana's Professor costume.