#rating:r

"If I can't call you Barton, then what makes you think you can call me sir!?" Clint flopped back down and glared at the ceiling. So much for afterglow. A minute later, Phil said bitingly, "Besides you weren't fucking me." Clint rolled his eyes but refrained from rolling over. "Oh really, Phil? I'm almost insulted." Phil cleared his throat and stated dryly, "You weren't fucking me. You were making love to me." Clint stilled. Damn it. Phil wasn't supposed to notice. It was just supposed to be an after-mission, adrenaline-fueled, get-it-out-of-our-system fuck. Stupid feelings. Phil continued, "Maybe I'm not as experienced as you, but between all the foreplay, the soft kisses, the half hour you spent opening me up and pulling me apart, and the sweet nothings you were whispering into my neck as you slowly thrust in and out and in and out over and over again until I fell apart, well, that doesn't seem like a fuck to me." Clint bit back a groan. Defensively, he tried to save some dignity. "They weren't sweet nothings." "Oh really, Clint?" said Phil, tone softer than his words. "I seem to remember quite a few 'you're perfects' and 'you feel so goods' and 'just like that' and darlings and sweethearts and babes. And I think I even remember a few 'I love yous.' Tell me that isn't love making." Clint squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, steeled himself, and bit the bullet. "Well, I'm sorry, Phil, but it's true. I love you." Much to Clint's surprise, Phil quickly rolled over until his upper body was draped across Clint's, his face a scant two inches from his own. "I love you too," Phil said, seriously and sincerely and earnestly. Clint blinked in surprise. Phil smiled softly. Clint kissed him. After several minutes of making up making out, Phil pulled back and said, "Here's the plan. We're going to sleep for a few hours since we did just get back from a forty hour mission, then were going to make love again, then were going to sneak out of here before morning shift starts and we scare people. Then back to my place, because I know mine is cleaner, and then we'll sleep some more, eat takeout, watch stupid TV, maybe get around to actually fucking, then come in on Monday -- scratch that, Tuesday; we deserve a day off." Clint smiled widely. "I love your plans. You're so hot when you get all in charge." "'When I get all in charge?' I'm always all in charge," Phil protested, rolling off Clint and arranging their bodies so Clint's arm was under Phil's neck and Phil was only partially laying on Clint's body. "Yes, sir," said Clint smartly, pulling Phil close. "Isn't that what started all this?" asked Phil. "No wait, that was when you said this was a bad idea." "I'm sorry, sir." Phil glared at Clint, at least until he noticed the playful smirk on Clint's face. "I'm very sorry, sir." Phil eyes darkened, but he laid back down. "Sleep first, Barton, then we can deal with your authority issues later." They rested in silence for a few minutes, before Clint said, "Phil?" Phil muttered something about not being surprised, but said clearly, "Yes, Clint?" "I love you." "I love you too."