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Clint pouts and twirls little points into his hair in the mirror. Phil spits out his toothpaste and nudges him in the ribs with an elbow. "It'll grow back."
"Have you ever seen me with no hair?" Clint shoots back, "I look gross."
Phil ignores what he could choose to read as a dig at the state of his own scalp and wipes off his mouth with a towel. "Impossible," he says, leaning close to press a minty kiss to Clint's cheek.
Clint's due to go undercover with a gang of skinheads; his mostly-temporary tattoos have already been diligently applied by SHIELD techs, but Clint's been procrastinating over this one last step of his transformation. Phil's actually a little surprised at how vain he's being over it - for someone who acts like he doesn't care about looking smart he's suddenly awfully attached to his hair.
Clint comes out of the bathroom and Phil hands him a cup of coffee that he drinks like it's the nectar of the gods, wrapping his hands around it and sighing like he does every morning, and just like every morning, Phil feels a sweet sense of accomplishment over making Clint make that sound. Clint insinuates himself into Phil's space and they kiss, long and deep and coffee flavoured, til Phil has to put his cup down cause Clint's clinging so much. "It's only a day long assignment," he says, hoping that that's the reason Clint's being so resistant about the hair thing. He's used to the Pre-Mission Cling but it's not so bad usually when it's not a long term thing where they won't see one another for a while. Phil's acting as the main point of contact, too, so they won't even be apart.
"You won't think I'm cute without hair," Clint says eventually, pouting and not meeting Phil's eye.
"That's what this is about? Clint."
"You always say how much you like it and it'll take forever to grow back," he leans back and looks so sad and sweet Phil can't do anything but kiss him again.
"No," he replies when they break apart. "I will always think you're cute-" Clint starts to protest and Phil shakes his head. "-whatever your hair is like. You know this."
Clint hums and pulls back to drink more of his coffee, but he still looks pretty miserable. "I guess," he says, sitting at the kitchen table to flip through the file again.
Phil purses his lips before joining him and saying as nonchalantly as he can, "We could make it a thing if you want."
Clint frowns in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Phil nods at the file. "I could shave your head. Indoctrinate you into my gang." It's just an idea, a way to make it about them rather than about Clint and these other people, and maybe it'll convince him that Phil really does like him sans-hair. Clint looks at the file. "Your gang, huh?”
Phil shrugs and smiles into his coffee cup as Clint snorts at the idea of Gang Leader Phil.
"You want to?" Phil asks, and Clint purses his lips and nods slowly.
"You want me to be your little bitch, huh?"
"Well, if you want."
"Like in prison?"
Phil shrugs again. "If you want?"
The case file gets forgotten as they figure out just what they want to do, til they're both a little scandalised with themselves and each other, working out their plan of just what’s going to happen...
--
Phil’s shaved Clint’s chest before, a few times when he’s had to wear a wire and any odd hairs might interfere with the tape or the mic itself. So that’s where he starts. The buzz of the electric trimmer cutting them short before he puts gel shaving cream on and works it into a white lather, going back over it with a safety razor. He wipes Clint’s chest clean with a washcloth before pulling Clint close to kiss him on the mouth and then glide his lips down to the newly smooth skin. Clint’s chest has never been very hairy, so it’s not all that different, but the soft kisses Phil peppers over the damp skin elicit shivers from Clint, threading his fingers into Phil’s hair and pulling him up for more.
It was supposed to be more brusque than this, but now he’s started, Phil’s not sure he’s able to fall into character and boss Clint around, not when he’s looking at him so adoringly, so full of trust. He tries, though, telling Clint to “Put your arms up” and is rewarded with a darkening of Clint’s eyes as he obeys. Phil trims those hairs and then lathers them up as he did Clint’s chest, shivering a little at the coldness and then holding still as Phil shaves off the hair, leaving him with bare armpits that Phil can’t help but lean in to kiss just to see how they feel.
And so it continues. The bathroom is quiet but for Phil’s soft demands, the occasional ‘yes, sir’ from Clint, and the muted rush of running water and the rhythmic tapping of the razor on the edge of the sink. Clint’s legs are done with Phil on his knees by Clint’s feet, and they feel smooth and delicate under his touch once they’re shorn. He works his way up from ankle to knee, knee to thigh and finally, once everything but Clint’s head and crotch are shorn of hair, he noses at the hair peeking out of the top of Clint’s underwear. “Do you still want me to?” he asks, and Clint’s cock answers for him, twitching against Phil’s chin.
Clint nods and then shakes his head, then smiles in embarrassment at how much it’s all affecting him. “Yeah. Yes, please. Sir.”
Phil slowly pulls down Clint’s underwear, letting it slide down his now-smooth legs and then trailing his fingers back up. Clint’s dick is half hard, fat and warm under Phil’s lips as he kisses it twice before sitting back on his heels and fiddling with the trimmer. He notices Clint’s toes curl at the sound, so kisses him once more before getting to work. He’s careful, obviously, taking what he can of Clint’s pubic hair with the trimmer before all that’s left is long stubble, rough under Phil’s fingers.
Next is the gel again, and soon Clint’s crotch is just a snowdrift of white foam, confused cock occasionally jumping and continuing to fill out like it always does when Phil’s mouth is anywhere near it. Phil looks up to offer a comforting smile to Clint, who looks like he’s barely holding on, and it worries Phil enough to ask, “Are you alright? Do you need to sit down?”
“N-no, I’m fine. I, uh, this is affecting me more than I thought it would. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Phil soothes, hands running up and down the smooth skin on Clint’s legs. “Do you need a break?”
Clint shakes his head after a long breath. “No, please keep going?”
Phil nods and gets to work, very carefully shaving through the foam leaving bare skin in the razor’s wake. He rinses off the razor every few strokes, leaning over to run it under the bath tap. He has to lift Clint’s balls and then has Clint hold everything out of the way so he can properly get at every hair he can. He can feel Clint’s pulse beneath his shorn skin, and every now and again he brushes his cheek against Clint’s thigh or presses a kiss somewhere that’s not too soapy.
“Turn around,” Phil says quietly, tapping the razor on the sink’s edge as he stands up. Clint does as he’s told, and then bends over the bathroom counter when Phil manouvers him that way, spreading his legs and keeping still but for the occasional sway of his cock when it jerks of it’s own volition every now and again.
Phil lathers up Clint’s ass and shaves him clean, carefully running a wet washcloth over the skin and then his fingers, running up and down, over Clint’s smooth asshole and thinking about how slick it would be covered in lube or his own cum. He’s sure Clint would let him, too, but that’s not what they discussed, and the very thing they’re here for - the hair on Clint’s head - is still very much in place.
Phil turns Clint around again and drinks in the fevered kissing Clint lavishes on his mouth. “Pull my hair?” Clint says, barely a whisper as though he’s worried about asking. Phil does it, tugging softly and then harder, running his fingers through it over and over again.
When Phil presses at Clint’s shoulder, for him to kneel down so he can shave Clint’s head, Clint shudders and goes down immediately, like his strings have been cut, and then he’s rubbing his face against the bulge in Phil’s pants. It’s supposed to be ‘payment’: Phil cuts all of Clint’s hair off and in recompense, he pays for it by blowing Phil, but Clint’s rubbing against him like a cat, and if he could purr he’s sure he would.
Phil switches on the trimmers, noting the way Clint presses ever closer to him when he hears the sound of them.
His hair really isn’t all that long, so Phil’s able to just buzz right through it, til Clint’s hair’s an eighth of an inch long, a neat crop of velvet right across Clint’s head. The hair falls to the floor beside Clint, ignored in favour of nosing against Phil’s dick. Phil has to hold him still, worried about clipping Clint’s ears, though judging by the erection that’s catching odd flurries of hair beneath him, it doesn’t do much to dissuade Clint’s arousal.
For all the lead up, it takes all of five minutes to buzz away all of Clint’s hair, til Phil’s rubbing his hands over and over to make sure there’s no long bits and then just because it feels so nice. He pulls Clint towards him and keeps rubbing, and he’s shocked at just how tender this turned out to be when it was all brute force and gruffness when they’d figured it out.
“Please,” Clint says against the placket of Phil’s pants, breath hot through the fabric.
“Of course,” Phil says, all politeness suddenly, though even that doesn’t ruin this quietly charged moment. He’s barely let go of Clint before his fly is being yanked open and his cock is being swallowed by a mouth humming around it, Clint’s eyes closed and hand on his own dick. Phil thinks he’s jerking off at first, but then realises through vague glimpses down, that he’s just holding himself at the base of his dick, as though the very act of sucking Phil off could send him over the edge any second if he’s not careful.
Having Clint on his knees with Phils’ cock in his mouth is always going to do something to Phil, and now is no different, but there’s something more, something oddly desperate about it, with Clint so mindlessly sucking on it like a lifeline, the muscles in his neck and arm straining as he holds on to himself at the same time.
“I’ll fuck you later,” Phil says, hands back where they’d usually be running through Clint’s hair, but now they’re just running over soft fuzz. Clint presses himself forward and Phil unthinkingly holds him close as he does it, letting go when Clint makes a sound and then holding on tighter when Clint’s hand comes up to press it back.
“Later,” Phil promises, even as he’s kind of fucking Clint right now, cock easily accepted by Clint’s throat like it was made for it. “When you come home.” Why he’s trying to explain this right now he’s not sure, but it’s like he needs Clint to know all the possibilities he’s thinking up at the same moment other possibilities are playing themselves out so deliciously.
Clint presses close and swallows around Phil’s dick before pulling away to gasp for a single breath before going back and doing it again, and that’s what has Phil’s balls hitching up and a garbled, “I’m gonna -” before holding Clint still and coming down his throat in long pulses that are still coming even as he lets go and pushes Clint away. Clint doesn’t go anywhere, eyes half-lidded as he sucks the tip of Phil’s cock, cleaning up all of Phil’s cum and then continuing to suck as he moves his hand so fast it’s a blur. He lets go of Phil’s dick to grunt and press his forehead against Phil’s hip as he comes hard over the bathroom floor, white spattering across dirty blonde locks of hair.
Phil gives him a minute, though he’s about ready to drop himself, til Clint takes a deep breath and sits back on his haunches. “Wow.”
Phil’s planning on saying something, but all he does is nod and grin, and then chuckle weakly. He’s wrecked. “Shower?” he asks, though the thought of getting all the way over to the other side of the bathroom seems a gargantuan task. Clint shakes his head. “Bath.”