Chapter Text
”Track him down.”
That was all Fury said as he slammed the file on Phil’s desk.
”Sir?”
”I don’t have time for this shit,” Fury muttered from between his teeth as he marched out the door.
Phil blinked and frowned after his boss, then took a look at the file on his desk. It was thick, papers spilling over the edges, and it had only one word scrawled across the cover: Hawkeye.
Slowly, Phil rested his hands flat on the table and let out a long breath.
Hawkeye had been a special project of Fury’s for a long, long time. He had guarded it almost obsessively for years, only letting one word slip here, another there, never telling anything concrete to anyone. As far as the brass was aware, Hawkeye could be anything from a summer cottage design project to kite building or roasting marshmallows.
But Phil had always known better.
Fury didn’t talk about Hawkeye, because he wanted to keep it close to heart. Phil didn’t know why, and even though he and Fury went a long way back, he didn’t ask. Some things were personal, and Hawkeye screamed personal so loud that Phil’s ears rang. However, something must’ve come up if Fury was willing to relinquish his hold on the thing.
Phil squared his shoulders, steeled himself, and opened the file.
At first, the contents made little sense. There were faded circus posters, grainy photographs from decades back, old newspaper clippings, and even a partially broken arrow shaft. It looked like an oddly uneven collection of knick-knacks, something very peculiar for the Director of SHIELD to have. Nevertheless, Phil didn’t let it throw his mood. His mind carefully blank, he started sorting out the info, first by type, and then into chronological order, meticulously going through every piece with equal care.
And that’s when things started looking interesting.
Hawkeye wasn’t a set of cottage blueprints or a kite. He was a person.
Problem was, he seemed to be nowhere to be found.
Phil smiled thinly and set to work.
Phil soon found out that working as Fury’s stand-in in Hawkeye project gave him even more leeway than his regular job usually did. Of course, being high enough in the pecking order had given him a lot of independence and funds to begin with, but after taking charge of the project, his fund limit seemed to have disappeared.
It seemed like Fury really, really wanted to find Hawkeye.
After a couple of months, Phil had managed to map out several reasonably plausible sightings of the man, and was able to start working on his profile. Despite his carefully maintained bland everyman appearance, Phil had an exceptionally brilliant and open mind (something he had been both praised and chastised about), and while Fury was an outstanding tactician, he sometimes forgot how unreasonable human life could be. Phil had no such issues.
He also had no difficulties prying for information from sources his fellow Agents might have deemed unseemly or below them.
Thing was, Phil was a practical man. He had a job to do and he thought the most efficient way was to use all means accessible. He wouldn’t have risen so high in the SHIELD ranks if he’d shied away from unconventional sources. He was well versed enough in SHIELD rules and regulations to know exactly where to look for loopholes and what phrases to use to get what he wanted. As a result, he usually got what he wanted. Of course, being almost scarily competent didn’t hurt either.
At first, it seemed like Hawkeye was more like a title than an actual name, because the first faded posters were from almost hundred years back. Even if the person posing in those old posters was still alive, he would’ve been in no condition to perform such feats that had been recorded in Hawkeye’s name up until the present day. It would’ve simply been physically impossible for Hawkeye to be one single person.
On the other hand, a series of master marksmen also seemed unbelievable. Statistically speaking, it looked highly improbable for several Hawkeyes having mastered the art of archery to the insanely accurate level of the recorded hits. If having one genuine Hawkeye was sheer dumb luck combined with a freak-of-nature situation, having several was ludicrous.
However, as time went by and SHIELD discovered more and more bizarre and mind-bending things from agencies like AIM and Cybertek, the more plausible the theory about one single person became. The more Phil listened to confirmed testimonies about enhanced healing and prolonged life span, the more he started to believe he was hunting down one single individual — a legend instead of a legacy.
It seemed like his life had become quite interesting.
The more Phil learned about this mysterious Hawkeye figure, the more he wanted to know. He had looked like a reckless vigilante, but as time went by, he slowly started to reveal himself to be a man of high morals and a strict honor code. Despite his volatile nature, there seemed to be a pattern in his hits: even when his marks had a spotless public reputation, the arrows in their eye sockets spurred a more in-depth investigation, often revealing disturbing things.
As much as it grated some people in the business, Hawkeye’s fame started to turn from a criminal into a nuisance-slash-good guy.
And Phil couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.
After six months, Phil had finally managed to pinpoint Hawkeye into a certain area near Detroit. Quite early on, he and Fury had decided on Phil being the sole person when trying to confront Hawkeye — if not for other reason than the fact that a bigger team might be just as well confused with an execution team, and Hawkeye had a notoriously short temper when dealing with people who tried to kill him. Phil figured that if he went in alone, Hawkeye might actually listen to him instead of just shooting him on sight.
So, he informed Fury, drew up delicate plans and contingency plans, and went off to meet the man.
He entered the abandoned building with care. He had his tac vest on and his personal gun with him, but it was holstered with the safety on. Phil didn’t want to raise any unneeded suspicions here, and he actually didn’t have a direct death wish, no matter what the younger agents had said when they had learned what his mission was about.
”Hawkeye?” He called calmly from the ground floor. ”I’m Agent Phil Coulson from The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Divisions. I’d like a word with you.”
Silence.
Phil wasn’t surprised. Hawkeye tended to watch from the shadows, assess the situation, and emerge only if necessary.
”I’m alone. I’m armed, but my sidearm is holstered with the safety on,” he continued as he walked forward. His hands hung loosely on his sides, palms open wide. He didn’t know how good Hawkeye’s sight really was, but he had no intention to slight the man by assuming he was a fraud.
”I can see that,” a somewhat amused voice called from above. ”A Smith & Wesson M&P Compact, well loved, and properly maintained. Where did you get that chip on the handle?”
Phil glanced sharply up. The building’s staircase spiraled upwards, and for a moment, he thought he saw a figure moving on the upper floor.
How the hell did the man see Phil’s sidearm well enough to ask about the scrapes and chips?
”Can I come up?” He asked, ignoring Hawkeye’s question.
Something rustled above. ”I guess I can’t exactly stop you, can I?”
Phil shrugged. ”You could shoot me.”
A soft chuckle drifted down. ”Not the most efficient recruitment speech.”
Despite himself, Phil let the side of his lip twitch. ”Is it working?”
He was met with silence. He waited for a moment longer, then took a step forward to get a better look up the staircase.
”My agency could use a man with your skill set,” he said amiably.
”And what’s in it for me?” The voice was a low purr, and it was a lot closer than before. Phil hadn’t heard anyone moving. The man was very, very good on his feet.
”If you’re after fame and fortune, we’re not what you’re looking for,” Phil said dryly. ”The salary is shitty, and we try to operate as covertly as possible to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. It helps when dealing with unstable governments, after all.”
Hawkeye let out a noncommittal humming sound.
Phil had the slightly unpleasant feeling of being like a bug under a microscope. He kept himself completely still and relaxed, even though his instincts screamed at him to fight or run.
”Could I work with you, Agent Phil Coulson from The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Divisions?”
Phil didn’t manage to stop himself from blinking slowly, because What?
”That’s a fucking long name, by the way,” Hawkeye snorted. ”Have you ever tried saying it drunk off your ass?”
”Does high on the good drugs count?” Phil deadpanned.
That startled a bark of throaty laughter from Hawkeye. ”I like you, Coulson. I think I’d like to see you again.”
”Again?” Phil asked, raising a brow.
He didn’t receive an answer, and the easing of the prickling on his neck told him that Hawkeye had left the building.
Phil let out a slow, deliberate breath and rubbed a hand over his mouth.
It could’ve gone worse.
Fury, however, wasn’t that amused. He gave Phil a glare that was known to make strong men wet themselves and told him in no unclear terms that Phil had a month to bring Hawkeye in.
Phil nodded, said, ”Yes, sir,” and went on making more plans.
Several times during the following weeks, Phil could swear he felt the hairs on his neck stand up under the stare of the marksman, but no matter how hard he tried to glare at the surrounding buildings, woods, and on one occasion, fellow swimmers at the swimming pool, he never saw anyone who matched Hawkeye’s profile. It was slightly frustrating (which meant that Phil got snappy and made several junior Agents cry), but nothing he couldn’t handle.
He was, after all, Agent Coulson.
It took another two months for him to get into the same space with Hawkeye again. This time, they met on a rooftop, and Phil got an actual glimpse of the man. He had somehow managed to sneak up on him, although Phil strongly suspected that Hawkeye had always known where he was and had simply stood his ground and waited.
A lesser man might have felt insulted. Phil, however, was intrigued.
The man nonchalantly leaning on the chimney cocked his head. He was too far for Phil to see his expression properly, but he could feel Hawkeye’s stare on his skin like a hot point of focus. It made Phil want to fidget a bit, and Phil never fidgeted.
”Good evening, Hawkeye,” Phil greeted.
Hawkeye raised his other hand to give him a small salute.
”Hello, Phil Coulson of Strategic Homeland blah blah blah,” Hawkeye drawled. ”You look good.”
Phil allowed himself one blink, just one, before answering with, ”Have you had time to consider our offer?”
Hawkeye shrugged, an exaggerated move, and pushed himself to stand on both feet.
”I don’t know,” he said. ”I don’t think I have enough intel.”
He sauntered slowly closer, his eyes boring on Phil despite the shades he was wearing, and Phil felt a lot like the proverbial ruminant mammal in the headlights.
”What else do you need?” He asked mildly, proud of how his voice was steady.
”Mmm…” Hawkeye hummed tilting his head. ”A… proof I guess. A show of a goodwill.”
Phil raised his brow. ”Oh?”
”Oh, yes,” Hawkeye said in a low purr, stalking even closer.
He stopped right in front of Phil, the shades obscuring his eyes. They were almost the same height, Hawkeye perhaps an inch taller, but significantly more muscular. He smelled strange, spicy and stormy, like air after a thunderstorm.
Phil wanted to smack himself in the head for thinking like a lovesick Harlequin book reader.
Hawkeye leaned closer, and for a moment, Phil honestly thought he was going to kiss him. Their lips hovered close to each other, their breaths mingling and ghosting warmly over each other’s lips. Phil was sure that if he licked his lips and poked his tongue forward, he could touch Hawkeye’s lips.
It was a tempting thought.
Hawkeye’s mouth drew into a slow smirk as if he knew exactly what Phil was thinking. Then he abruptly drew back and started walking backwards, giving Phil a cocky salute. He didn’t slow as he drew near the roof’s edge, and before Phil had a chance to react, he turned and jumped over the edge.
With a strangled cry, Phil scrambled to peek over the edge, but didn’t see anything down on the sidewalk. Apparently, Hawkeye hadn’t ended up splattered on the pavement. Good for him.
Phil on the other hand decided he needed to sit down for a bit and try to calm down his skyrocketing pulse.
Soon after their second meeting, Phil started having dreams.
They were always the same: there was a soft bed and a muscular, strong body straddling his. The room around them was obscured in shadows, and there was no other sound but their combined panting and soft groaning. He never got a good look at the other man’s face, but he remembered the kaleidoscope eyes and the feeling of the other sinking down his cock and clenching around him, and the feeling of his come splattered on his chest.
Every time, Phil woke up gasping as he climaxed, coming untouched.
He had always had a good imagination, but this was something else entirely. He didn’t remember having such vivid dreams before, and definitely not with such erotic detail.
In short, he had never had such a satisfying sex life.
Too bad it was with a literal dream partner.
When a year was up, Fury had lost what little was left of his patience.
”I’m done. I’m so fucking done that you’ve never seen me as done as this before,” he snarled.
Phil raised his brows and waited.
”If he’s not coming in, he’s not staying out either. I can’t deal with this shit. I want him gone!”
”Sir?”
Fury gave him a narrow glare for his one eye. ”Don’t you ’Sir?’ me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Unfortunately, he was right. With a slightly sinking feeling in his gut, Phil nodded.
”Good,” Fury spat. He stabbed violently his keyboard with his finger and then pointed at the screen. ”He’s there. Go get him.”
Phil took a team of consummate professionals, geared up with a grim frown, and spent the whole flight staring out of the quinjet window, wondering what the hell he was doing.
He didn’t want to terminate Hawkeye. He couldn’t explain it, other than it felt wrong. Perhaps it was the way he had started lusting after the man, or the way his respect had grown exponentially over the months Phil had been chasing after him.
Nevertheless, he was a professional, and he was a man on a mission — even though said mission sucked balls.
When they arrived to the coordinates Fury had given them, Phil nearly laughed out loud. The shabby warehouse was almost too cliche-y, with abandoned construction equipment, flapping tarps, and dark corners. With a resigned shake of his head, he reined himself in, went through the plan with his team yet once more, and sent them on their way. They were supposed to provide distraction while Phil snuck in and upon Hawkeye.
Of course it went south in about thirteen seconds.
Phil didn’t have a chance to do much more than listen to the muffled cries and yelps through the comm link. Soon, it was over, and all he could hear was his own controlled breathing echoing in his ears.
Then he felt a small prick on his neck, and thought, Oh, shit.
When he slowly swam back to consciousness, it took him some time to get his bearings.
He was sitting against a pillar, with his hands handcuffed behind his back. The concrete floor underneath him was cold but dry. His head was ringing as if he had hit it, but the overall feeling was more like a hangover than an injury. The usual aftereffects of a tranq drug.
Phil took a careful look around as he slowly moved his hands to test the cuffs. They clinked softly, and he cursed silently at the sound.
”Ah, you’re awake,” Hawkeye purred from somewhere to Phil’s right. ”Good.”
Phil leaned his head back against the pillar and narrowed his eyes at the direction of the voice. ”Hello, Hawkeye,” he said calmly. ”How are you?”
”Relatively good, even though your team trying to kill me really hurt my feelings,” the voice said, now from somewhere left behind Phil.
How the hell did he manage to move so quickly and silently? Phil thought.
”Why am I handcuffed?” He asked aloud.
”Mmm… not sure yet.”
There was a flash of something on the periphery of Phil’s sight and his head snapped up at the sudden move. Then Hawkeye was standing right in front of him.
He looked different this time. Phil realized it was because he didn’t have his shades on, and the full force of his stare bore straight into Phil’s eyes. It was disconcerting and uncomfortable in a way Phil had never felt before. Neither of their previous meetings had prepared him for this.
Hawkeye stepped closer, squatted down, and cocked his head.
”Why are you trying to kill me? What did I ever do to you?” He asked, genuinely confused. ”As far as I’m aware, I’ve never killed one of yours.”
Phil sighed and leaned his head back against the pillar. ”My boss wanted to take you in. After I failed, he got frustrated and decided that you’re not worth more effort. His exact words were ”I don’t have time for this shit.’”
Something in Hawkeye’s eyes flashed. ”But you think differently?”
Phil shrugged.
Hawkeye took a step closer, staying squatted. Phil had no idea how he could make the move graceful instead of awkward. He was quite sure that had it been him, he would’ve ended up on his face.
”Can’t you tell me who’s your boss, if you’re going to kill me in his name?”
”Ah… I don’t think I’m killing anyone at the moment, considering I’m handcuffed,” Phil said carefully.
Hawkeye nodded slowly. ”True. But humor me.”
What the hell, why not? Phil thought and said, ”The order came from Director Fury.”
Hawkeye narrowed his eyes and let out an annoyed hiss. ”Thought so,” he muttered.
Phil blinked. ”Pardon?”
Hawkeye straightened himself slowly and stretched his back like a cat. Phil traced the arch of his back hungrily before he got a grip of himself and dragged his eyes away. To his mortification, he was too slow to avoid seeing Hawkeye smirk.
”Tell me, Phil Coulson, what we should do now?” Hawkeye pouted and shook his head forlornly. ”I can’t exactly let you go, can I? But I really don't want to kill you either.”
He tapped his fingers against his lips as he watched Phil, eyes half mast.
The air around them seemed to thicken, and Phil felt a shiver run down his spine. He swallowed dryly.
”Perhaps… I could be persuaded to…” His voice trailed away.
He had no idea what he was actually suggesting here.
”Persuaded? Really?” Hawkeye asked, sounding amused. ”And how, may I ask?” He crept closer until his knees were touching Phil’s shoes. Phil had the ridiculous urge to spread his legs.
”Should I drug you again? Or should I beat you up? I mean, you’re handcuffed and completely helpless, so I could do anything I wanted, right?”
Hawkeye’s voice was low and silky, and to his ultimate horror, Phil started getting hard. It took the other man about two seconds to zero in on the bulge in Phil’s pants.
”Oh… That’s what you meant,” he purred and crawled to straddle Phil’s thighs. ”Well, I must say this is my most favorite persuasion method. Drugs and violence are so… old-fashioned and dull.” He grinned wolfishly. ”This is so much more fun.”
Phil was only able to stare at him, as he deftly opened Phil’s tac pants. At some part of his brain, his rational mind was trying to tell him that this was crazy, he didn’t want this, that he should protest. His lust-addled hindbrain scoffed and told his rational side to shut it, because not only had Phil had recurrent wet dreams about the man, but he had also jerked off thinking about Hawkeye more times he could count.
He was jerked (all puns intended) from the argument when Hawkeye freed his cock from its confinement and let out an appreciative sound.
”It’s even more pretty than I imagined,” he said.
Phil let out a choked sound of disbelief. ”You— you’ve thought about me?” He managed.
Hawkeye gave him a small, fond smile. ”Sure I have. Did you think I’d let you find me if I didn’t actually want to be found? The kill-order was a surprise, but I guess you don’t always get what you want.” He sounded almost wistful, which didn’t make any sense.
”At least I’ll get to have this,” he then said with a sigh and took a hold of Phil’s cock.
All rational thoughts vanished with the firm hold on his cock. Phil let out a small gasp and Hawkeye chuckled.
”I thought you’d like it,” he murmured and started moving his hand torturously slow.
The dry friction was just shy of painful, and Phil bucked helplessly against it. His hands strained against the handcuffs, but he already knew he wouldn’t get loose, not from these strange rigid bar cuffs he had never encountered before. He let his head loll back and decided to — to —
”Nnngghhh…” he groaned as Hawkeye made a wicked twist on the head of his cock.
He was so close to coming he could almost see it, and then Hawkeye let go. Phil gasped for breath like a drowning man, his hips moving in little jerks despite himself. He was so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t come, not yet, not without touch. He blinked blearily, trying to focus into something, but his eyes refused to work properly.
”Oh, fuck it,” Hawkeye muttered, his voice hoarse. ”I thought I was better than this, but who am I kidding? I’m so not better than this.”
Phil wanted to ask what the fuck he was talking about and, more importantly, why the hell had he stopped? Before he had the chance to do anything, Hawkeye moved in a blur. Phil heard something rip (Lube pouch, the last light of his rational mind provided), and then everything zeroed down on his cock that Hawkeye gripped (cool, slick), and then pressure that went on and on, swallowing him whole until he was turned inside out.
His jaw fell slack as he realized what was happening: Hawkeye had climbed on his lap and had slowly lowered himself on Phil’s cock. He had a frighteningly intense look in his eyes and a small frown between his brows.
Phil hadn’t been a monk or celibate, he had had a pleasantly active sex life, thank you, but nothing he had ever done had prepared him for this.
His whole body vibrated as he fought for breath. He wanted to crawl inside Hawkeye and run away, and it was too intense and still not enough. He thrashed in his cuffs, trying to get his hands free to pull the man on his lap even closer, but he couldn’t, and he finally let out a low whine of utter frustration.
”Shh…” Hawkeye cooed into his ear. ”It’s okay, I’ll take care of you.” His lips brushed Phil’s earlobe, his breath tickling along the side of Phil’s neck. ”Just relax and let go.”
Hawkeye started moving slowly, gyrating his hips in a move Phil was sure was illegal in several states.
”You know, I’d preferred this to happen in a bed instead of, well, this,” Hawkeye said.
”You wanted me in your bed?” Phil said in something akin to sob.
Hawkeye purred. ”From the moment I saw you.” Then he lifted his head from the crook of Phil’s neck and frowned. ”If you’re able to talk, I’m not doing this right.”
”Seems… right enough for…” Phil groaned, the end of his sentence in a barely comprehensible garble.
”Hmh.”
And then Hawkeye really started to move.
Phil had no idea how long it lasted or what actually happened. All he knew was that he had this living embodiment of pure lust writhing on his lap, driving him insane. Somehow, Hawkeye managed to delay his orgasm, and it didn’t take long until Phil was an insensate, shivering mess, begging to come. Hawkeye didn’t let him, however, not until he himself clenched almost painfully around Phil, and spilled all over Phil’s tac vest.
Phil came with a hoarse cry, convulsing in his restraints, his legs cramping against the cold concrete floor. Hawkeye milked him through it, murmuring beautiful nonsense in his ear. He continued until Phil was twitching and oversensitive and pleading brokenly, ”No more, please, no more.”
Hawkeye lifted himself off of Phil, who let out a whimper at the sensation, mourning the loss of the warm heat. The discomfort of cold didn’t last long, however, because Hawkeye bent over him and swallowed his spent cock down in one smooth move.
Phil let out a high whine and tried to buck, but his hips were held down with gentle yet immovable force, and he had no choice but to bear with the onslaught of sensation.
Hawkeye sucked Phil’s cock clean and gently kissed the tip before tucking him back in. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phil wondered at the oddly intimate gesture, but the haze of the bliss of a mind-blowing orgasm was taking over, making it hard to think.
He realized his hands were free and Hawkeye was rubbing them to help the circulation kick back in before gently placing them on his lap. As Phil turned his head, he saw his wrists were bloody and throbbed with the dull pain of being chafed against the restraints for a good amount of time.
To his side, Hawkeye drew in a shuddering, deep breath. ”I’m fucked. So, so fucked,” he muttered.
Phil didn’t understand what was going on, he only felt how his hands were lifted up, then Hawkeye kissed his wrists, lapping away the blood. Something tingled along the raw skin, and Phil tried to ask what it was, what was wrong with his hands, but it was increasingly harder to think, let alone form words.
”Goodbye, Agent Phil Coulson from The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Divisions,” Hawkeye said softly. ”Tell Nick to stop looking for me.”
His voice seemed to come from far, far away. Phil tried to reach out for him, to ask him to wait, to talk, but he only managed to slowly keel to his side.
The last thing he remembered was the realization that he had never told Hawkeye Fury’s first name.