(MCU) Sharpshooting
August 15th, 2012 21:27![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Sharpshooting
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Rating: PG
Words: 496
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "sharp".
“Agent Barton, this is a gun range.”
It’s kind of uncanny how Coulson always knows it’s him, even though his gaze is trained down the length of his Glock. Clint watches him discharge a round straight into the target’s forehead before lowering the weapon and looking Clint in the eye through the yellow-tinted safety-glasses.
“Yeah, well, I have my own style,” Clint smirks, raising his bow. He glances at the target, but his attention’s back on Coulson before the arrow’s even been released.
He doesn’t need to look to know the head will sail through Coulson’s bullet hole.
Coulson’s expression doesn’t change as he watches the arrow’s path, but there’s this spark in his eye, like he’s impressed.
Clint, damn, he lives for that. For those tiny little tics and tells that are so hard to get out of the man. For all the emotions hidden behind the placid smile and businesslike demeanour.
“So I see,” Coulson responds levelly, his attention back on Clint. “How’s that working out for you?”
Clint has to resist the urge to leer. The two of them, they’ve been doing this dance for a while, and Clint doesn’t want to screw it all up by moving too fast, too hard in the wrong direction.
But that doesn’t mean the pace isn’t killing him, doesn’t mean there isn’t a part of him that just wants his hands on Coulson already. Wants to see what it takes to make Coulson break face and get angry, get crazy, get hungry for everything Clint wants to give him.
“Never had any complaints,” he shrugs, and there’s humour in his voice but he knows his eyes are deadly serious.
“I can imagine,” Coulson says easily, and it drives Clint up the wall that even now, Coulson still won’t give him anything, not even a glimmer that this thinly-veiled flirting could be getting to him the same way it’s getting to Clint.
Clint’s stepping forward before he knows it and, oh, that’s not part of the game, not part of the rules, but apparently his body doesn’t care. Moving into Coulson’s personal space, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he imagines he can feel Coulson’s heat through their clothes.
“See, the thing about me,” Clint murmurs, pausing to wet his lips, and he wants to shiver or maybe groan when Coulson’s eyes follow the path of his tongue. “When I get a target in my sight, it doesn’t matter how far away that target is, doesn’t matter how hard I have to work to reach it. That target, it’s mine, and I stop at nothing to get it.”
Coulson eyes him for a long moment, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth that Clint wants to taste.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Coulson replies, and then he’s turning, walking briskly away.
It’s only once he’s gone that Clint realises his chest hurts from holding his breath.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Clint/Coulson
Rating: PG
Words: 496
Notes: For
comicdrabbles, prompt "sharp".“Agent Barton, this is a gun range.”
It’s kind of uncanny how Coulson always knows it’s him, even though his gaze is trained down the length of his Glock. Clint watches him discharge a round straight into the target’s forehead before lowering the weapon and looking Clint in the eye through the yellow-tinted safety-glasses.
“Yeah, well, I have my own style,” Clint smirks, raising his bow. He glances at the target, but his attention’s back on Coulson before the arrow’s even been released.
He doesn’t need to look to know the head will sail through Coulson’s bullet hole.
Coulson’s expression doesn’t change as he watches the arrow’s path, but there’s this spark in his eye, like he’s impressed.
Clint, damn, he lives for that. For those tiny little tics and tells that are so hard to get out of the man. For all the emotions hidden behind the placid smile and businesslike demeanour.
“So I see,” Coulson responds levelly, his attention back on Clint. “How’s that working out for you?”
Clint has to resist the urge to leer. The two of them, they’ve been doing this dance for a while, and Clint doesn’t want to screw it all up by moving too fast, too hard in the wrong direction.
But that doesn’t mean the pace isn’t killing him, doesn’t mean there isn’t a part of him that just wants his hands on Coulson already. Wants to see what it takes to make Coulson break face and get angry, get crazy, get hungry for everything Clint wants to give him.
“Never had any complaints,” he shrugs, and there’s humour in his voice but he knows his eyes are deadly serious.
“I can imagine,” Coulson says easily, and it drives Clint up the wall that even now, Coulson still won’t give him anything, not even a glimmer that this thinly-veiled flirting could be getting to him the same way it’s getting to Clint.
Clint’s stepping forward before he knows it and, oh, that’s not part of the game, not part of the rules, but apparently his body doesn’t care. Moving into Coulson’s personal space, not close enough to touch, but close enough that he imagines he can feel Coulson’s heat through their clothes.
“See, the thing about me,” Clint murmurs, pausing to wet his lips, and he wants to shiver or maybe groan when Coulson’s eyes follow the path of his tongue. “When I get a target in my sight, it doesn’t matter how far away that target is, doesn’t matter how hard I have to work to reach it. That target, it’s mine, and I stop at nothing to get it.”
Coulson eyes him for a long moment, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth that Clint wants to taste.
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Coulson replies, and then he’s turning, walking briskly away.
It’s only once he’s gone that Clint realises his chest hurts from holding his breath.
