Work Text:
“Barton, with me.”
Clint shivers; he knows that tone.
The door's barely shut before Phil's ripping his tie off and barking, “Keep your uniform on.”
Phil’s eyes are dark and heated. Clint can tell from the rigid set of his shoulders he's tense. Phil needs this; Clint craves feeling needed. He unbuckles his belt, shimmies his pants to his knees, and that's it.
They moan together as Phil slides inside him.
“You have to stop being so reckless. I can’t watch it. I won’t.”
“That’s just ridiculous, sir.”
“Hardly,” Phil gasps. They don't say another word; words are too much.