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If you have a prompt, please fill out the form: Document is here

In which I kind of do nanowrimo but not really, and just write without editing, so it probably reads like trash. 

Time travelling stripper!Phil Clint/Coulson fic awaits…!?

Honestly honey bear, this was so far back in my inbox that I don’t remember if it was supposed to be a prompt or we’d been exchanging headcanons? Yeah. But anyways, here’s Wonderwall.

Phil trudged through the apartment with an exhausted slump to his shoulders, peeling away the layers of Agent Coulson with a loose tie trailing from his neck, shoes abandoned in the entryway, his suit jacket thrown over the back of the couch. He leaned down briefly to kiss Clint’s temple on his way through the living room, ignoring the bowl of popcorn he raised in offering to slip into the bedroom and change first.

The gradual air of relaxation he was just starting to envelope himself in was abruptly shattered, though, when he shouldered the door open and caught sight of the mess on the bed. The sheets he’d tossed in the wash on his way into work that morning, with strict instructions for Clint to switch them over to the dryer and then make the bed back up, were lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the mattress. Mouth tugging down in an irritated frown, Phil stepped forward and reached for them, immediately finding a damp spot in the folds.

Normally, Phil didn’t let these kinds of things break the camel’s back as it were, but then again, the airtight control and calm facade were really more reserved for Agent Coulson and Official Business. Domestic tiffs with the boyfriend were firmly encroached in Phil Territory, and therefore open to debate.

Bunching the musty sheets in his fist, he marched back out to the living room and shoved the whole lump in Clint’s face. “You had one job, Clinton.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“No, you ate your weight in Bobbi’s biscuits and gravy, andnow you’re whining,” Phil corrects, and Clint groans.  He flops over on the couch, sprawling out,one leg slung over Phil’s lap.  Philshakes his head.  “I warned you.  May warned you.  Bobbi—”

“Warned me years ago, but I always forget.”  Clint rubs his stomach, and Phil shakes hishead.  “Really must be what pregnant peoplefeel like, though.  Like they can’t moveand have to be rolled around the room.”

“Please don’t say that anywhere near my female agents,” Philwarns as he opens up his tablet, and Clint grins.

They linger that way for a few minutes, comfortable (andfull) on the couch in Phil’s quarters, but finally, Clint sighs.  “You ever think about it?”

Phil opens a new requisition form.  “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“Kids.”  Phil’sfingers freeze halfway through an item number, but when he glances over atClint, the other man’s just staring at the ceiling.  “Your life’s slowed down since the whole ‘S.H.I.E.L.D.inception’ debacle got taken care of.  I’mofficially done Avenger-ing for a while. And with your team working like it does, you could settle down.”  His eyes flick to Phil.  “Have a kid.”

Phil rolls his lips together.  “And how would Laura feel about that?”

“I told her you’d thought about it before.  Besides, she liked all the baby stuff yousent Nate.”  Phil shakes his headslightly, but Clint prods him in the thigh. “Only works if we talk, boss. Not just about the shape of the V, butabout the branches that come off it.”

Phil gently traces his fingers over the top of Clint’sfoot.  “And if I’m not sure how I have ananswer to that question?”

Part one: http://boxstorm.tumblr.com/post/124029874124/there-was-going-to-be-more-to-this-but

 Part two: http://boxstorm.tumblr.com/post/126624762909/more-of-the-thing-that-there-was-going-to-be-more

Clint Barton, Phil finds out from Nick, is notorious throughout the entire Greek system for being both a great lay and an unrepentant flirt. He’s never slept with anyone more than once, but he’s slept with nearly everyone, it seems, from awkward guys like Phil to pinnacles of humanity like Natasha Romanov.

That should be the end of it, really. He’s had his shot at Clint and now Clint will move on to someone else.

Except Phil feels like he didn’t get his shot. All he remembers is flashes of the night before; hot tanned skin under his hands, an intoxicating musky scent, Clint’s face scrunched up in pleasure. These flashes hit him like a physical blow to the stomach and Phil finds he wants more.

So much more.

Which is how Phil finds himself at a second frat party two weeks after the first, despite his promise to never go to a frat party, and his second promise to never AGAIN go to a frat party.

Phil has situated himself snugly in a corner by what was originally a pingpong table, though Phil is certain no such game has ever been played on it.

Tony and Bucky are currently trying to outdo each other with more and more ridiculous trick shots.

They’ve gathered quite a crowd by the time Clint shows up, scoffing disdainfully as Tony misses a particularly difficult shot from halfway across the room.

“You think you can do better, Barton?” Tony asks, scowling as he makes his way back to the table.

“I know I can.” Clint laughs, “Where’s that mini trampoline you bought last year?”

Phil notes, a moment before it happens, that Clint is too tall, or the ceiling too low for whatever he has planned, and then Clint’s head is hitting the ceiling with a sickening crack that Phil can hear even over the music blaring in from the other room.

“Oh shit.” Tony says after a moment of pause which starts everyone talking and moving at once.

Steve and Thor pull Clint to his feet where he sways unsteadily for a moment before throwing both hands in the air victoriously.

The crowd of drunk men cheer and Clint staggers off, ending up slumped onto the couch right next to Phil.

“Hey what just happened?” Clint asks suddenly, leaning into Phil’s space.

“You slammed your head into the ceiling trying to do a flip on a mini trampoline.” Phil answers truthfully.

“Oh.” Clint says frowning, “Yeah that sounds right.”

Phil wouldn’t consider himself an expert by any stretch of the imagination but he vaguely recalls from his first aid class that if you can’t remember events leading up to a head injury it’s not a good sign.

“Maybe we should get you to bed.” Phil suggests.

“Only if you come with me.” Clint instantly replies, leaning against Phil’s shoulder to whisper it in his ear.

Phil debates internally for a moment while Clint buries his nose in Phil’s neck and rubs absently at Phil’s chest through the tight t-shirt he’d agonized over wearing several hours ago.

On the one hand, Clint is clearly both drunk and probably concussed, and Phil is neither of those things which means that sex is firmly off the table. On the other hand, Phil remembers from that same first aid class that he isn’t supposed to leave someone alone if they’re concussed. He can’t quite remember why, but that piece is very clear.

Ultimately that settles it for Phil and he nods in agreement, helping Clint stagger to his feet.

Phil ignores the wolf whistles that follow the two of them out of the room and stops to lean Clint against the wall in the hallway while he tries to remember what room Clint sleeps in.

“S'upstairs.” Clint slurs, with an awkward and exaggerated wink.

Phil does somehow manage to half-drag half-carry Clint to his room (second door on the left had been a bit more difficult to parse in Clint’s inebriated drawl). Phil dumps Clint unceremoniously on the bed and can already hear Clint snoring softly by the time he starts unlacing Clint’s boots.

Scrambling to his feet to follow the blond frat boy to his room is not Phil’s proudest moment, but he’s drunk and horny and he can forgive himself a few terrible decisions.

Nick is not quite so forgiving when they meet for coffee the next morning.

“You’re late.” Nick acuses as Phil slinks into the only decent coffee shop on campus, “and wearing last night’s clothes!” He notes with no small amount of surprise.

Phil just rolls his eyes and goes to order the most heavily caffeinated item on the menu in the hopes that it will halt the pounding in his head.

“So who was it?” Nick asks, taking a smug sip of his own drink as Phil eases into a seat at the table.

“I don’t really remember, actually.” Phil answers truthfully. 

The night before is something of a blur and thinking too hard about it is just making the pounding worse. He’d woken up next to a tanned, muscular blond, though, and says as much to Nick.

“Well that really narrows things down at a frat party.” Nick says sarcastically.

Phil is about to shrug and reply with somehing flippant when the man from this morning (and presumably the night before) swaggers in through the door and up to the counter.

“Shit.” Phil hisses, ducking down in his seat and trying in vain to hide behind his coffee cup. 

Nick’s head whips around, trying to find what Phil is looking at. He grins broadly as his eyes land on he man, now leaning obscenely against he counter, flexing his bicep unnecessarily against the countertop and throwing a flirty grin at the curvy brunette taking his order.

“Damn.” Nick says, low and slow as the guy turns and spots the two of them; Nick giving a small wave and Phil tying desperately to sink into the floor.

“Hey.” The guy says, sauntering over once he’s received his drink (something flavoured and spicy if the scent is anything to go by).

He fist bumps Nick in a way that speaks of familiarity before turning to Phil. 

“Hey man,” He says, moving to give Phil the same fist bump, “thanks for the save last night.”

Phil has time to awkwardly return the fist bump before he continues, “The blowjob wasn’t half bad either.”

The guy winks, bites his lip, tosses Nick a sloppy salute and strolls casually out of the coffee shop, all while Phil chokes on a sip of coffee.

“Shit, Phil.” Nick says with a laugh, slapping Phil on the back until he stops choking, “You did NOT fuck Clint Barton.”

He heads out of the study, pausing to tell Hunter that, “We’re not to be disturbed til dinner, understood?” The footman nods solemnly before heading off to let the rest of the staff know. After all, there are many important decisions for the estate that Coulson needs to work through with the aid of his most trusted steward.

Said steward is already waiting, lounging against the bannister like he hasn’t a care in the world. Coulson raises an eyebrow at him, and Barton grins as he stands up straight before bowing elaborately. By the time he’s done, Coulson is already halfway up the stairs. 

Angst (Post-Avengers)

“So, what? You figured you were legally dead already, might as well just keep it that way, get rid of those pesky divorce proceedings that were in limbo ‘cause your asshole husband was refusing to sign the papers?” Clint spat, his hands flexing at his sides in a familiar habit, one that Phil knew to mean Clint was barely restraining himself from wrapping them around Phil’s neck in a vice grip.

AU (Genderswap)

Clint lets the Jimmy Choo’s dangle from his fingers by the heel straps, keeping them firmly is his personal space bubble so that if Coulson wants them, she’ll have to step up to get them, and says, “Gotta admit, I didn’t get the best of looks at that new dress you bought when you went stress-shopping last week, but I’m pretty sure these’ll match.”

Crack (Sex Pollen)

“Oh, sure, ‘Nothing to worry about, Barton. There’s no such thing as sex pollen, Barton. It’s all mumbo-jumbo perpetuated by popular fiction, Barton.’ Well how do you explain our raging hard-ons, huh!?” Clint ranted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat across the room (more like cell, really) in a futile attempt to adjust himself without having to actually reach down and adjust himself with Coulson not three feet away.

Future fic (Kid Fic)

“I realize this is the worst possible timing for us as far as our relationship is concerned, it’s too much, too soon, too fast,” Phil started to explain, already straying from the carefully constructed speech he’d written to try and convince Clint to stay with him despite this sudden change, “But he’s my godson, and Richard’s brother and sister-in-law, they’re just not in a position to take him in right now, what with May’s recent health issues–”

First Time (Sex Pollen)

“In my defense, there are no known chemical combinations available on Earth that would constitute a reaction similar to that attributed to so-called sex-pollen,” Coulson drawled, standing and beginning to work his tie free, then removing his jacket and starting in on the buttons of his shirt, and–shit, he wasn’t doing what Clint thought he was doing, couldn’t be, no, this was not happening, he wasn’t going to finally get into Phil’s pants because of fucking sex pollen. “However, clearly another species within the universe has the available resources.”

Fluff (Kid Fic)

“Phil, just–stop,” Clint cut in, taking his time in turning away from the doorway to the guest room where Peter was sleeping fitfully to look back at Phil, his expression nothing but understanding even as Phil’s heart was about to beat out of his chest because he couldn’t tell if that look was a good thing or a bad thing. “Of course we’re taking him, we’ve just got to find a bigger place now, scrap what we’ve found so far and start looking at places based on school districts, at least three bedrooms, you think he’d like a dog?”

Humor

Clint turned his head just enough to glance at the two slugs buried into the concrete wall beside him before pulling his full focus back to the government agent staring him down from the other end of his Glock, and said musingly, “I’m sensing some anger issues here, possibly stemming from your inability to hit a stationary target.”

Hurt/Comfort (Post-Avengers)

“None of this is what you’re thinking it is, I swear,” Phil insisted, reaching out to pull Clint in by his wrists, lacing their fingers together and letting Clint squeeze them as tightly as he wanted, nevermind the sting of the open laceration on his palm from Clint’s knife-throwing opening gambit.

Smut (Sex Pollen)

Clint’s panic was abruptly replaced with decidedly dirtier thoughts when Coulson’s trousers dropped to the floor, his belt buckle hitting the tiles with a distinctive cling, and there was (Not So) Little Phil, on proud display with all the rest of Coulson in his naked glory.

UST (Unresolved Sexual Tension) (Genderswap)

Kidfic isn’t really my bag, so I hope you don’t mind that I substituted Lucky…

There was clatter a from behind him, and then thedistinctive sound of Lucky’s nails on the hardwood floor of Clint’s loft. Clintpushed himself up on his elbows and peered over the back of the sofa. Lucky waslying down now, his leash in his mouth, staring mournfully at the door.

“Lucky, we just went out, like two hours ago. You can’tneed to go again.”

Lucky paid no attention to him, and kept staring at thedoor.

“I know, boy, I’m bored too. But these cracked ribsaren’t gonna heal if I keep going up and down the stairs with you. Twice a dayfor the next week, that’s it. I promised the docs.” Clint sighed. “Moreimportantly, I promised Phil.

Lucky whined.

“The cure for the common cold? That’s worth millions to whoever gets the patent,” Phil reminded him. “Plus, I believe your exact words were ‘piece of cake’ when Maria brought up the schematics.” 

“Yeah, well, it is easy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bitch about it.” He shrugged off his quiver and hand it along with his bow to Phil. Next were his pistols and his utility belt then his combat boots. “Watch and learn, Coulson. Watch and learn.” 

Another spray and Clint stepped over one beam at ankle height before bending backwards into a handstand, carefully bringing his legs straight. Balancing on his hands, he turned sideways, dropped one leg down and then the other, standing upright. 

“The ones at chest height are the hardest,” Clint said, sliding down to his knees, ducking his head and inching past the next set. Flashing a grin at Phil, he stretched out on the marble and rolled past the next one. A bead of sweat ran down his neck; it had been a long time since he’d used only his arms to pull himself up. Thankfully, a breeze from the air conditioning cooled the bare skin on his biceps. 

“And for the grand finale …” He launched up into a forward handspring, tightening his core as he kept his legs perfectly straight, bouncing back off with his toes as he landed into a backflip that took him over the last set of lasers. “Thank you, thank you very much! I’ll be here all week.” He winked at Phil. “Now I believe Jasper owes me some money.”

“He should know better than to bet against you,” Phil agreed as he walked to the wall, opened a secret panel and flipped a switch. The lasers went dead and he strode down the hallway to the sound of Clint’s sputters. 

“Hey, what the fuck? You could have done that earlier!” He protested.

“The cure for the common cold? That’s worth millions to whoever gets the patent,” Phil reminded him. “Plus, I believe your exact words were ‘piece of cake’ when Maria brought up the schematics.” 

“Yeah, well, it is easy, but that doesn’t mean I can’t bitch about it.” He shrugged off his quiver and hand it along with his bow to Phil. Next were his pistols and his utility belt then his combat boots. “Watch and learn, Coulson. Watch and learn.” 

Another spray and Clint stepped over one beam at ankle height before bending backwards into a handstand, carefully bringing his legs straight. Balancing on his hands, he turned sideways, dropped one leg down and then the other, standing upright. 

“The ones at chest height are the hardest,” Clint said, sliding down to his knees, ducking his head and inching past the next set. Flashing a grin at Phil, he stretched out on the marble and rolled past the next one. A bead of sweat ran down his neck; it had been a long time since he’d used only his arms to pull himself up. Thankfully, a breeze from the air conditioning cooled the bare skin on his biceps. 

“And for the grand finale …” He launched up into a forward handspring, tightening his core as he kept his legs perfectly straight, bouncing back off with his toes as he landed into a backflip that took him over the last set of lasers. “Thank you, thank you very much! I’ll be here all week.” He winked at Phil. “Now I believe Jasper owes me some money.”

“He should know better than to bet against you,” Phil agreed as he walked to the wall, opened a secret panel and flipped a switch. The lasers went dead and he strode down the hallway to the sound of Clint’s sputters. 

“Hey, what the fuck? You could have done that earlier!” He protested.

sar-kaz-m, The good news! I’m planning on a sequel to the Pern Crossover! I have it about 1/3 of the way finished. I started it last summer and did not get that far, but I have reopened it and have been actually working on it.  The bad news is there’s nothing I particularly want to share from it yet.

So rather than come up with something completely new.  Here’s a scene that started as part of the sequel, but I decided I didn’t like it.

For everyone else: Doing an epic prompt fest. Rules are here

“Cl'ton,” Ph'lip moaned softly, trying to nudge his weyrmate awake. It was of no use though, his mate was fast asleep and wrapped tightly around him.  Ph'lip sighed and reached out to their dragons.  No, their beasts slumbered on, curled just as tightly together.  Ph'lip supposed that he couldn’t blame Cl'ton, not when they’d had their their spectacular mating flight. They’d spent the rest of the day in bed together.  Threadfall wasn’t due to fall for a few days and it looked like Hilith’s latest clutch would hatch any day now.  

Ph'lip sighed and stroked Cl'ton’s face.  The man had transformed since their first flight together.  Cl'ton smiled easier, and seemed genuinely happier.  Ph'lip liked to think that most of it was due to him, but he knew that it also came from Cl'ton’s friendship with A'tony and St'ven and Natasha’s never ending presence. It wasn’t due to Barney and Ph'lip was so very glad that he was there to help Cl'ton adjust to his brother’s presence and then readjust when Barney had decided Weyr life wasn’t for him.  He’d gone to Krosnaforda Hold and visited fairly often and judging by the reports Cl'ton gave him, Barney was happy at the Hold.

Ph'lip lifted his head at the subtle vibrations that seemed to suddenly fill the Weyr.  The eggs! Ph'lip could hear the dragons rousing to that and adding their voices.  It was time to get up.  "Cl'ton.“

“Just a few more,” Cl'ton groused.

Ph'lip would normally allow for Cl'ton to take a few more minutes, but he needed to dress and check on kitchen.   "The eggs are hatching and you promised to bring Barney.“

"Eggs?” Cl'ton repeated, peering at Ph'lip through slitted eyes.  "Shards!“   Cl'ton scrambled out of the bed and Ph'lip slipped out much easier.  They both moved throughout their weyr as they they quickly washed up and dressed.

By the time they were ready, their dragons were awake.

"No, you cannot eat. We have to get Barney and you know how those holders feel about dragons’ eating,” Cl'ton said outloud.

“You should have time to stop on your way back,” Ph'lip suggested.  "Grab Barney, B'nes said there were some wild wherries to the north.  Let Arroth sate her hunger and fly back.“

"Brilliant,” Cl'ton murmured, leaning in and kissing him soundly.  "You heard the man, Arroth, we need to get moving, if you want to have to time to eat.“  

You best not chat with him too long then, Arroth huffed loudly enough that Ph'lip actually heard her.  There were times when he caught her side of the conversations with the rider and she had no problems speaking to him, just as Lolath had no problems speaking to Cl'ton.  

Cl'ton flashed him a smile, before he vaulted onto his dragon.  

I would also not mind a meal, Lolath informed him after his mate had left their ledge.

Doing an epic prompt fest.  Rules are here

“Ugh,” Clint whined, letting his head land on the table.  “I’m turning them off. I swear that I’m turning them off.”

“And I set fi–re,” the woman sang, so horribly off-key that Natasha winced. She wasn’t too surprised when Clint reached up to take his hearing aids off and tuck them in his pocket, before smiling at her.  Natasha could’t help, but glare at him as the woman continued to sing off-key nor could she even bother to hold the notes.

‘Switch seats,’ Clint signed, eyebrow arched.

Natasha nodded, letting Clint take the corner now that his hearing aids were out. Now Clint could see the place and no one would sneak up on him, which he preferred.  He also knew that the acoustics were better if he let Natasha sit there and he sat across from her.

They continued their conversation, signing as they sipped their coffee.  It was their usual weekly meeting, which unfortunately fell upon their coffee shops monthly talent show.  It usually resulted in Clint’s hearing aids coming out.

‘Comedian good’ Clint signed at her, glancing past her to the stage.  She turned, forcing herself to pay attention, before looking back and shaking her head.

Natasha finished her drink and tapped on Clint’s arching an eyebrow.  Their own sign asking if they wanted a refill. Clint nodded, sliding his cup over.

She slipped out of her chair and made her way over to the counter.  “Melinda.”

“Natasha, usual?” Melinda asked.

“And Clint’s please.”

“You two hanging around for a while longer?” Melinda asked as she started working on the coffee.

“At least as long as it takes to drink this cup,” Natasha replied.

Melinda nodded. Natasha studied and she figured something was up.  Melinda never asked how long they were staying, but Melinda was hard to read. She took her coffee back to the table and went back to her conversation with Clint.  She was in the middle of telling him about her argument with her boss, when she realized that Clint wasn’t watching her hands and his eyes had returned to the stage.

She turned to see Phil on stage, singing. She just about choked on her sip of coffee when she realized that the song was about being in love with a guy that is supposed to be the singer’s friend.  She glanced back at Clint to find that he was staring and no, he hadn’t put his hearing aids, which meant that he wasn’t hearing a word of Phil’s profession of love. Phil finished his song, blushing, as he moved quickly off the stage.

It didn’t take Phil very long, before he walked over to them.

“Hey,” Clint greeted, smiling at him.  “You looked great up there.”

“Thanks,” Phil said, smiling shyly at him.  “What’d you think of the song?”

Clint’s eyes darted to Natasha and she translated the question.

“It was good,” Clint said, before she could tell him what the song was.

“Good?” Phil repeated.

“Yeah,” Clint nodded.

Natasha wanted to bang her head on the table.  “I thought it was interesting song choice.  What made you choose that one?”

Phil hesitated, before shrugging.  “Spoke to me, I guess.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed as he looked between them.

Natasha sighed.  “Why don’t put your hearing aids back in, so you can talk to Phil easier?”

Clint blushed, before reaching into his pocket to fill them out.  Phil’s eyes widened as he watched.

“Were you able to hear anything?” Phil asked when they were in.

“Uh… couldn’t really make out the words.”

Phil turned, his shoulders dropping.  “So I did all that and….”

Clint looked surprised and he glanced at Natasha who signed as fast as she could. ‘Ask. Phil. Out.’

Clint swallowed, before reaching out to grab Phil.  “Why don’t we go someplace quieter, where we can talk, huh?”

Phil glanced at Natasha. She nodded at him.

“Sure,” Phil said.

Natasha waited for them to leave, before getting up and heading over to Melinda.

“They’re going to talk, if they don’t talk about their mutual pining. Then I suggest we combine forces, so I can make sure Clint’s hearing aids are in when Phil sings to him.”

Melinda paused.  “He took his hearing aids out?”

“He hates listening to off-key Adele,” Natasha replied.

Thanks! 

Doing an epic prompt fest. Rules are here

Phil hadn’t wanted to go to a club. However, Melinda and Skye both wanted to go dancing.  As did the others and they had successfully ganged up on him.  He’d gone to club, figuring that he’d have a few drinks and leave.  The first part had happened, he’d had the few drinks, but he’d been distracted by a guy in a purple sleeveless shirt.  His arms were amazing, so Phil had gotten a little distracted from slipping out while the others were distracted.

The guy had been dancing with a slender redhead for most of the evening, but she’d moved onto to another good looking man with only one arm. The guy that Phil had been interested had moved on, not sticking with one partner. 

Phil had lost track of him when Melinda had dragged Phil onto the dance floor. He’d then had to a turn with the majority of his co-workers, not that he minded dancing with Trip or Mac, but there he’d wanted to scope out the eye candy some more.  He’d been slipping off the floor when a warm hand had wrapped around his wrist and Phil found him face to face with his eye candy.

“Clark, man, there you are,” eye candy said, smiling at him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Phil blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry, I…”

The hottie cut him off with a kiss. His tongue slid into Phil’s mouth, causing Phil to moan.  Eye candy pulled Phil against his body… Damn, the other man was firm.  Phil whimpered.

“Let’s dance,” the other man murmured.

Phil nodded and let himself be pulled back into the dance.  Eye candy seemed quite happy to guide Phil until Phil was a bit more confident, before starting to grind against him.

Dancing turned into making out in a booth, which turned into eye candy pulling back and asking if Phil wanted to go back to his place. Phil agreeing turned into getting a cab and the tension mounting as they headed back to other man’s place.

Phil knew he should tell him that he wasn’t Clark, but the man was gorgeous and he didn’t seem drunk.  Phil could taste some alcohol, but it wasn’t overpowering.  Plus the other man was whispering all kinds of dirty things in Phil’s ear: he wanted Phil bend him over and fuck him, that he wanted to suck Phil’s cock (while tracing the outline of it on Phil’s pants!). He could be Clark for a night, couldn’t he?

“I’m not Clark!” Phil said, wincing.

The guy pulled back, looking at him, and blinking. “Huh?”

“You called me Clark earlier. I’m not…” Phil started, before shaking his head.  “As much I would like to be Clark..” Phil let his eyes roam over his companion’s attractive physique.  “I’m not Clark.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured…” the guy said slowly.

“What?!” Phil asked.

The guy scratched at the back of his neck, blushing slightly. “It’s, uh, it’s…”  Whatever the other man said was lost in a mumble.

Phil stared at him.

“You’d be amazed at how well mistaken identity works as pick up line?” The man tried again.

“You kissed me within in two seconds of saying that to me!”

“You kissed me back!”

“Well, you’re…” Phil gestured at him. “And I’m not.”

“Not hot?”

Phil nodded.

“Oh hell, no,” the man moved in, licking at Phil’s jawline.  “You’re all kinds of hot.”

Phil shuddered, feeling himself harden again. “So one night stand?”

“If you want.”

“I’d like your name.”

“Clint.”

“Mine’s Phil.”

“Alright then, Phil, the name was unimportant earlier, but I really would like you to do all those things to me.  What do you say?”