#*kicks him* keep working bitch
The smell of delicious food met Phil as soon as he opened the front door to his apartment, and he couldn’t help the satisfied smile that broke over his face. It was Phil’s birthday, and he’d known that Clint would be planning something, but he had thought it would probably involve the other Avengers. That would have necessarily been a bad thing, but he was really looking forward to some good food and quality time with his husband.
He stopped in the hallway to put his briefcase in the closet and leave his shoes on the rack by the door, next to Clint’s beat up combat boots and a pair of running shoes. He could hear strains of Billy Joel wafting from the kitchen, accompanied by the smell of curry and an undercurrent of chocolate. He undid his tie and wound it up to shove in his pocket as he came around the corner to the kitchen doorway.
"Hi, I’m-" his greeting died in his throat, his mouth going dry as he took in the view before him. Clint was on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor wearing only a tight pair of black boxer briefs, cleaning something up off the tiles with a dish towel. His nicely displayed back muscles stretched and bunched as he moved the towel along the floor, and the curve of his spine combined with the boxer briefs did nothing to hide his perfectly round ass. Phil had the sudden overwhelming desire to bite it.
Clint looked up and over his shoulder at the sound of Phil’s voice, a smile stretching over his face. “Hey Baby!” he greeted. “Happy Birth-“
His well-wishes were interrupted by Phil stepping forward until he could get his foot under Clint’s stomach with enough leverage to flip him on his back. Clint went over easily, clearly not expecting it, just barely managing to keep his head from hitting the floor. Phil didn’t stop to make sure he was okay, because it was clear that he was, and stepped over him, settling down to sit on his pelvis.
"Hi," Clint greeted cheekily, his eyes glittering with amusement.
Phil responded by leaning down and capturing Clint’s lips, running his hands possessively over Clint’s chest and scraping his short nails over Clint’s abdomen. Clint let out a little moan, his own hands coming up to yank Phil’s shirt out of his pants so that he could press his hands to the skin and the small of Phil’s back.
"Damn," Clint said when Phil finally pulled back enough to let them both catch their breath. "Is it your birthday or mine?"
"I come home to you almost naked spread out on your hands and knees like a slut and you have to ask?" Phil responded. "It’s definitely mine." He kissed Clint again, his hands creeping down to start tugging at Clint’s underwear. Clint wriggled happily, and then they both froze as his phone started chiming on the counter top.
"I swear to god if that’s Nick or Steve…" Phil started, but Clint shook his head.
"No, it’s the timer for the food. Let me up so it doesn’t burn." Phil very reluctantly let Clint up off the floor, wincing at the the ache in his knees from the abuse he’d put them through. Clint was flipping off burners and piling food onto two plates as if he hadn’t just been about a minute away from a blow job, and Phil considered grabbing him by the back of those tight little boxer briefs and dragging him back to their bedroom.
"Don’t even think about it," Clint said without even looking at him. "I spent hours cooking today. You’re going to eat, and you’re going to like it."
"Why were you crawling around in your underwear if you weren’t going to let me fuck you?" Phil asked, putting up a token protest.
"I took off my clothes because I didn’t want to spill anything on them," Clint explained, like stripping down to his skivvies was a completely rational way to solve that particular problem. He picked up the plates and carried them out to the nicely set dining room table, setting them down before he cast a flirty smile over his shoulder.
"Besides, who said I wasn’t going to let you fuck me?"