Archive of Our Own

He looks perfect, Phil thinks, his entire mind and body thrumming with barely suppressed arousal. Sitting on the couch in front of him, legs splayed slightly apart, is Clint Barton, already down to his underwear and a t-shirt, his smell enough to drive Phil insane despite the hormone patch on his forearm.

He coughs, to get Clint's attention, and Clint lifts his head to look at him.

“Sir,” he greets and forces a faint smile. “What are you doing here?” There is no surprise on his face, or in his voice. Heat or no heat, he's been trained better than that. Besides, he should know that Phil was coming and why he is here.

“You, apparently,” Phil replies and holds up the folded sheet of paper. “Omega Partnering Service contacted me and asked me to come over to your place. You requested an Alpha to assist with your...situation.”

“Oh,” Clint says, as if he forgot, and tilts his head to the side. “In that case, sir, get comfortable, because this is going to be a while.”

Phil's eyebrows rise at that, but he follows Clint's advice, takes off his shoes, his tie and his suit jacket. The shoes get lined up next to Clint's combat boots by the door, his jacket gets hung over the back of one of the two chairs at the small table, and the tie he rolls up and places in his briefcase.

“You came here straight from work, didn't you?” Clint asks, amused. His eyes are bright with fever, he is flushed, and Phil knows that he's been running a low grade fever since before he left for his last mission. He's read the reports, he knows that the heat didn't mess too much with his aim.

“You know I did,” he confirms calmly. “Someone has to deal with all of the paperwork you didn't hand in.”

Clint chuckles and rolls to his feet. “I finished mine,” he says. “You want it now, or later?” He grimaces. “I better give it to you now, in case I end up breaking your nose later, sir.”

Phil has read the file OPS has sent him, the one that tells him Clint never spent more than one heat with the same partner, that he likes to be in control for as long as his heat lets him, and that pinning him down is not a good idea. His last partner tried, and Clint had, in fact, broken his nose for it.

“You're not going to break anything, Clint,” he says. “But maybe we can start with you telling me why exactly you thought breaking the last guy's nose was such a great idea?”

Clint's file is full of notes about how he usually requests an Alpha only when he's already in the middle of his heat, about how he has little regard for his personal well-being in that area. Phil makes a mental note to talk to him about it, later, when the worst is over. Calling in a heat so late can lead to complications, it makes the whole ordeal even harder on an Omega's body than it already is.

“I told him to wait. He didn't,” Clint says. He's shifting from one foot to the other, his body twitching and thrumming with barely contained energy. It would be so sweet to get him to all fours now and rub against his slick ass until he begs to be taken, but there is a defensive hint to Clint's stance that tells Phil to be careful, to be patient.

For a moment, he wonders if the memory of Loki has anything to do with Clint's twitchiness, but before he can ask, Clint absent-mindedly reaches up and rubs his thumb across his own chest.

Phil's thoughts derail and his eyes follow the moving digit as if he's hypnotized.

“Do you want me to wait, too?” he asks quietly.

Clint stiffens slightly. “Yes,” he says. “I'm not ready for that yet. Sir. And I have rules I need to go over with you, if you want to do this.”

In Phil's opinion, Clint is more than ready. His smell is like a siren's song, and Phil wouldn't be surprised to find his ass slick and ready. By all means, Clint should be asking Phil to knot him by now, not talk about rules. It's remarkable, the self-control he is showing, and also a little maddening.

However, Phil is a very careful and very patient Alpha. It's no surprise he gets some of the more complicated cases from the OPS. He's good with skittish, inexperienced Omegas, and he's good with Omegas who are deemed a little dangerous and out of control.

“Let's talk about rules, then,” he says and sits down. “What kind of conditions do you have?”

Clint looks for a moment as if he suspects a trap, but then he follows Phil's example and sits down. “Don't try to pin me down. I mean, not around the wrists,” he says. Phil's eyes go to the faint scars, leftovers from getting caught by the wrong guys, and he nods.

“No blindfolds,” Clint continues, and Phil nods again. “I don't care what your medical file says, you wear a condom. And...” he hesitates and bites his lip nervously. “Please don't hate me in the morning. Or after. Sir.”

Phil thinks for a split second. He brought condoms, and lube, just to be on the safe side, and he's sure he won't hate Clint after their encounter. They both know what they are here for, after all.

“That sounds good,” he says. “Anything else?”

Clint bites his lip. “I don’t do long-term with Alphas,” he says, his voice caught somewhere between reluctant and stubborn. “This is a one-time deal.”

Phil nods. If his close encounter with Loki’s scepter has taught him anything, it’s this – there’s no guarantees in life, it can end anytime, and promising anyone more than a one-time deal is dangerous and unfair to a partner.

A one-time deal with an Omega he can do.

“How about you don't call me sir while we're doing this? I do have a name,” he says instead.

Clint nods before twitching again. “What,” he weakly jokes, clearly attempting to change the topic and distract Phil. “You're not into power games?”

“Clint,” Phil replies without missing a beat. “This is not about what I'm into. This is about getting you through your heat, preferably without any broken bones and without any negative repercussions, okay? I'm only here to do what you need me to do.”

Clint is frowning now. Sweat has started to form along his hairline. Not much longer, and the fever will spike and turn into something that can be really dangerous, and if they aren't doing anything about the heat then, there is a big risk that Clint won't survive it in the first place, and even if he does, there’s nothing romantic about brain damage due to heat and fever.

“What's in it for you, then?” he asks, suspiciously. His voice has gotten deeper, raspier.

“I get to enjoy your company,” Phil answers. “I like helping Omegas.” He shrugs. It isn't even a lie, and as soon as he saw that the Omega he was requested for is Clint Barton, he's said yes without hesitating. He prefers not to think about his motivation for his unexpectedly rash action too closely.

Clint doesn't look convinced, and Phil leans forward, puts his elbows on his knees, and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Clint's frown deepens. “Why?” he asks suspicously.

“Because kissing and sex go together like pancakes and syrup,” Phil explains and shifts closer to Clint, until he is wrapped in his scent like a thick blanket. “Why have one if you can have both?” He smiles. “Having said that, it was only a question, Clint. You can say no if you're uncomfortable with the idea.”

“Nobody else ever asked me about kissing,” Clint admits. “No Alpha. Not like this.”

Phil is close enough to touch him. “Do you want to?” he asks. His hand comes up and rests against Clint's shoulder, his thumb against his collar bone. The touch is light, easy to escape from even for an Omega who doesn't have Clint's training.

He can feel Clint swallow, can feel that his t-shirt is soaked in sweat and clings to every muscular line of his body.

“Okay, then,” Clint says and tilts his head to the side, and Phil gives him another smile and gently brushes their lips together. It's gentle, careful, but it's still enough to set off sparks deep in Phil's stomach.

Clint makes a small sound at the back of his throat before he parts his lips and carefully touches the tip of his tongue to the seam of Phil's lips. Phil hums encouragingly and lets his free hand come to rest against Clint's hip, and when Clint doesn't protest, he pushes the fabric of his shirt up with his thumb and touches warm skin.

His eyes close, but Phil's other senses go into overdrive.

Clint groans quietly and moves closer to him. Their knees knock together, and Clint's hand clutches at Phil's shirt like a lifeline. Phil breaks the kiss, slides his hand from Clint's shoulder to the back of his neck and murmurs, “Shh, I got you.”

“Yeah,” Clint croaks. “Maybe we can...you know, slowly.” He bites his lip and looks at Phil through his lashes, his pupils blown wide and his breathing uneven.

Under normal circumstances, Phil thinks while unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off, at this point he wants to be almost done already. He doesn't like it when Omegas in his care deteriorate too much, prefers to catch them a lot earlier.

But it's still Clint's show, he reminds himself as he holds out his arm, and if Clint says to wait, it's what they are going to do, for as long as they need unless Phil gets the impression that Clint is risking his own life with his behavior.

He still needs to be careful. From the moment he saw the address, a safehouse from SHIELD rather than the personal apartment he's sure Clint has somewhere, it has been obvious that he needs to tread carefully here if he doesn't want to end up with a broken nose as well.

Clint snorts at the sight of the hormone patch, but he reaches out and digs his short nails under its edges, peeling it off and dropping it to the ground.

Phil takes it as consent to continue with this and leans in for another kiss. Now that the hormonal brakes are off he can feel the effect of Clint's smell almost immediately, stronger and almost overwhelming him, but he manages to keep it gentle. Clint already looks as if he expects him to attack immediately, his muscles taut and tense.

Phil doesn't attack him. He gently pulls him close, both hands above the waist, and kisses a path along the edge of his jaw to his ear.

The way Clint reacts immediately tells him that he's desperate for it, his body open and waiting to be filled, but Phil still doesn't try to rip off Clint's clothes or force him down onto the mattress of the bed in the next room.

“When you're ready,” he says and kisses the other side of Clint's face. “Only then.”

His own voice grows deeper, scratchier, at the words, and instead of replying, Clint stands, grabs his hand and pulls him to the bedroom. He lets go of Phil's hand only to strip off his shirt and his soaked shorts, turns around and crawls onto the bed, his spine arched enticingly and his legs apart.

The sight makes Phil's mouth go dry, and his dick starts getting really hard now, pushing against the front of his pants.

Hastily he collects his supplies from his briefcase and settles on his knees behind Clint, who is trembling slightly. Phil doesn't know if it's fear, apprehension about an unknown Alpha, or the heat itself that is the cause for that shiver. He hopes it is the third and suspects it's a mixture of all three.

He gently rests a hand on the small of Clint's back and leans down for a small kiss to the same area.

“Dammit, Phil,” Clint groans, his voice muffled by his own forearm. “I'm ready. Can't you see how damn wet I am already?”

“Yeah, I see it,” Phil agrees hoarsely. He can't just see it, he can smell it to, and he kisses Clint's back again. “You look good.”

He slides one finger over Clint's opening and in, a shallow thrust that is not enough to satisfy the burning need in Clint. It's far more likely that the brief touch is just frustrating him at this point, but Phil doesn't feel like hurrying up. He rubs the pads of his fingers over skin slick with sweat and natural lubricant. It's enough to almost drive him crazy with lust, the want a palpable, almost physical force that is pushing him on and Phil presses his free hand against the front of his pants to keep himself under control. He can already feel himself get thicker there, his knot starting to form despite the fact that he isn't anywhere near getting into Clint's ass yet.

Clint shifts, the muscles in his back twitching and staying slightly tense, and Phil can see it, but he can't stop himself from sliding his finger back into him, deeper this time, just to feel Clint's body flutter and clench around it.

“Goddamn it, Phil,” Clint groans out, frustrated, and fists a hand into his own hair. “Will you please just get this over with?”

Phil barely hears him over the pulsing rush of blood in his ears, his focus on Clint's ass and the way his finger slides right in. Clint shifts again, and Phil takes the chance and pushes in a second finger along with the first, scissoring them apart almost immediately.

Clint is rocking back into the intrusion now, and Phil takes it as encouragement and adds a third finger. Clint is tight, but he's a grown man, an experienced Omega, he should be able to handle this or tell Phil to stop. Even more, he should want this right now, the heat taking more control over his body and making this feel good instead of too much.

Clint honest to God whimpers, and Phil leans over his back and brushes a kiss against his spine.

“Relax, you can trust me,” he says. “I'm not going to leave you like this.” He barely recognizes his own voice, and he just can't make himself think about that now. Three fingers in, and Clint reacts beautifully, his body opening right up for Phil. Phil can taste Clint's sweat and his pheromones on his lips, and the blood pulses through his body and almost takes his breath away.

He wants Clint, wants him even more than the pheromones and the heat can account for, more than respect and a good work relationship can. He is interested in him, has been for a while now, and his arousal goes up another notch.

He leans over Clint and kisses the back of his neck, to distract him while struggling out of his pants one-handed and while ripping open the foil package of a condom.

“Ready?” he asks, breathless and turned on, his hand rolling the condom down this length, over the thick bulge of his growing knot which he squeezes roughly. His own touch is just the pale imitation of an Omega's body, but it's exciting and enough to make him groan, his cock twitching in his hand.

“Do it,” Clint pants and arches his spine wantonly, his hands clenched tight into the sheets. “Just do it already.”

His ass clenches around Phil's fingers, fluttering and tightening for a moment. Phil has never felt an experienced Omega do anything like that, and it feels like a lot of desperation to him.

He doesn't like it when his Omegas are so far gone that it borders on pain, when every single nerve ending is on overload and even the simplest touch can cause an almost violent reaction, so he hurries up and slides his fingers free.

“I've got you,” he promises, his voice rough and wrecked. Arousal burns hot in him and the velvety tight grip of Clint's hole around the tip of his cock is almost enough to make him lose control of himself. He has to bite the inside of his cheek and force himself to go slow, and even as the taste of blood fills his mouth, he is already pulling out and thrusting back in, more and more of his dick pressing into Clint with every push of his hips.

Clint is unexpectedly quiet under him, his entire body vibrating and shivering, and when Phil's half-formed knot presses up against his hole, he jerks, the move first pulling him away from Phil before he forces himself back, taking Phil's knot and freezing.

He is tight and hot and wet around Phil, his spine has moved into a perfect arch, and Phil clings to his hips with both hands and tries not to black out from all the sensations his body is registering right now.

He knows Clint is feeling it even more intensively, and this moment is crucial. Phil has to make Clint's body accept the intrusion and make sure the good feelings get to overwhelm the discomfort and the feeling of being stretched too far open, to accommodate Phil's knot.

He hums and kisses Clint's spine while one hand sneaks around the sharp cut of a hip and closes around Clint's cock.

He sets an easy light rhythm, stroking from base to tip and paying attention to the way Clint reacts when he changes the speed or pressure of his grip.

Clint's orgasm will trigger his, so that is what Phil focuses on, his hand keeping up touching Clint and his tongue, teeth and lips tracing patterns across Clint's broad shoulders.

“I got you,” he murmurs against the back of Clint's neck, “just relax, let go, come on, you want to, don't you?” He twists his wrist, focuses on the soft tip of Clint's dick before stroking all the way to the base again.

Since he can remember being interested in sex, Phil has been fascinated by this, the smooth length of an Omega's, or a Beta's, cock, no sign of a knot. It's strange and exciting, to be allowed to touch, to feel the strength of the underlying tissue and the smooth softness of the skin stretched taut by his fist. He likes this, his hand gliding easily down Clint's length and back up, rubbing pre-come into the skin and running his fingertips across the tip. He's patient, capable of keeping up the rhythm for as long as he needs to, and for an Omega caught in heat, it never takes too long before they let go and come.

Clint is no exception to that rule. His body is already on the edge, Phil's knot filling him and his hand adding relentlessly to the pleasure, and he comes with a quiet grunt, his body tightening around Phil's length as orgasm shudders through him.

It's exquisite. It's torture, and perfect, and Phil can feel his eyes roll back in his head when his knot gets massaged like this and he starts coming.

He keeps touching Clint until he whimpers and tries to pull away, and then he wraps both arms around him and maneuvers both of them onto their sides, his legs tangled with Clint's. His arm is caught under Clint's chest, and he tugs it free and folds it under his own head as a makeshift pillow.

Orgasm for an Alpha is like a blissful walk on the beach, wave after wave crashing through him and leaving him exhausted and extremely satisfied. Phil's usually last somewhere between twenty minutes and half an hour, and he needs at least a nap between rounds. He's not the youngest anymore, after all.

Clint grunts and moves until his entire upper body is curled away from Phil. Phil settles his free hand on his hip and lets his thumb brush soothingly against the soft skin he finds there.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs. “Any pain I need to know about?”

For a long moment, Clint doesn't answer, but then there is a gruff “No.” Phil waits patiently, and finally, Clint shifts again and elaborates. “I'm okay.”

He sounds better already, Phil decides, and the smell of him is still intense, but he notices how it's already changing back to what he is used to.

He's not disappointed, he tells himself as he strokes his open palm over Clint's hip carefully, almost tentatively. Why would he be disappointed? This is just a job for the OPS like every other one. It makes no difference to him whether this is Clint Barton or someone else, except that is a lie and he knows it.

He's quietly carried a torch for Clint almost since the moment they met for the first time, but he's been doing it secretly, certain that Clint would never see him like that. And now, they're in bed together.

Clint shifts in his arms, and Phil curls closer, presses his lips to his shoulder and asks, “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, and when Phil reaches around and takes his half-hard dick into his hand, touching him with long, slow strokes and coaxing him into full hardness and a second orgasm, he bites his lips and keeps the sounds that escape him quiet and muffled.

Phil doesn’t mind. They have all night, and he plans on making it a good one for Clint, and enjoy it himself as much as he can.

~~

“Pepper. What can I do for you?” Phil rises automatically from his chair when he spots her reddish hair by the door of his office and invites her in.

His entire body still feels loose and worn out, and the only reason he’s been on time and in his office this morning is because Clint insisted that he was fine and that he didn’t need another round.

“I wanted to make Tony do this, but knowing him, he would forget all about it or wait until it’s too late,” Pepper says by way of greeting as she steps into his office and closes the door behind herself.

Phil’s eyebrows raise at that.

“Sounds ominous,” he says, “But true. Tony tends to ignore things in the hope they go away.”

“Well, he can’t ignore this away,” Pepper replies with a twitch of her lips and leans closer to brush a kiss against Phil’s cheek. “It’s…biology.”

She sits down in one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk, her back ramrod straight, and fixes him with an assessing stare. “You’re registered as an Alpha with the OPS.”

And with that, Phil knows what her unexpected visit is about, which part of biology Tony can’t escape from.

It should be in his file, Phil thinks absent-mindedly, that he’s an Omega and not a Beta, but there are still enough prejudices about Omegas, especially in leading positions, that it makes sense that Stark Industries doesn’t want Tony’s biology to be widely spread knowledge. And as shallow as Tony Stark himself sometimes appears, unable to keep any secrets, he is capable of keeping some things very close to his vest.

“I am,” he agrees and folds his hands on top of the file he’s been working on. “Have been for almost twenty years now.”

Not all Alphas are accepted into the service of the OPS, and even less stay as long as Phil has. Sooner or later, most of them find an Omega they want to spend the rest of their lives with, or a Beta, and de-register. Phil has always been proud of his many years of experience, and his ability to do this for so long.

“As an Omega, Mr. Stark can either request the OPS to find him a suitable, eligible Alpha for the duration of his heat, or he can make arrangements and file them with the office,” Pepper says.

Phil tilts his head to the side and gives her an amused smile. “How often have you done this in the past?” he wants to know.

Pepper frowns. “More often than I care to remember,” she admits. “What gave it away?”

“You called him Mr. Stark,” Phil points out. “I know it’s a thing between the two of you, but around here, he’s usually Tony. Or Tin Man. When talking to me, you usually call him Tony.”

Pepper laughs. “You can count yourself lucky I stopped myself from making you sign a non-disclosure agreement before I started with my spiel,” she tells him. “And who came up with Tin Man? Barton?”

“Steve, I think,” Phil says.

Pepper smiles quietly before growing serious again. “I can’t do anything for Tony,” she says. “He needs an Alpha, you know how it is. And he needs one we both trust. As you probably can imagine, the list of suitable people is very short.”

Phil can imagine. He’s worked with Tony for long enough to be able to imagine the kind of conversation Tony had with Pepper about this.

“Let me guess, the list consists solely of Colonel Rhodes?” he wants to know.

Pepper presses her lips together briefly. “Pretty much,” she agrees. “And you, if you agree.”

A part of Phil is very honored that they hold him in such high regard- trusting an Alpha as much as it is necessary to approach them is not something that’s easy for Tony, he knows, and even if Pepper is the one talking to him right now, on behalf of Tony, it’s still a really big sign of trust. Heat for an Omega usually means to just give in and let go, trusting the Alpha to take care of everything, including the sex. If the Omega isn’t relaxed, is too stressed and not really into it, for whatever given reason, the sex can be very painful and even cause grave injuries. And for a Beta who is partnered with an Omega, it’s even harder to step back and trust an Alpha, usually a virtual stranger, to take care of their partner.

“When is he due for it?” he asks instead of voicing any of those thoughts to Pepper.

She exhales sharply. “Next week, if he sticks to his schedule,” she says. “He’s not been that regular since Afghanistan and, you know.” She lifts her hand and taps it against her own chest, indicating the arc reactor. “And unfortunately, Rhodey is not available.”

Phil nods.

“One more thing, before you make a decision.” Pepper swallows before squaring her shoulders and looking Phil in the eye. “I wouldn’t…we have an agreement, Tony and I. Any Alpha who takes him wouldn’t be alone with him.”

It’s not an uncommon practice among Omegas and Betas in a committed relationship – this way, there are no secrets between them, the Omega has someone they know and trust close by, and the risk of an Alpha taking liberties is reduced as well, and the Beta doesn’t feel excluded, which helps keeping stress out of a relationship.

Generally, Phil is in favor of everything that makes an Omega feel as safe as possible during and after heat, but he’s had a few negative experiences with the concept in the past, Betas that freaked out about his Alpha anatomy, the size of his knot, or about the helplessness of an Omega who has given in to the needs of his body.

He once was attacked by a panicking Beta who broke a lamp over Phil’s head and then panicked even more at the sight of all the blood. When Phil regained consciousness, the Beta had half convinced herself that Phil was dead and she had already found a large, antique tapestry to wrap him up in, to dispose of, all the while Phil was still knotted with the poor Beta’s Omega.

It had been a very unpleasant situation, from beginning to end, and Phil still has the scars from that blasted lamp.

Ever since then, he usually stays away from Omega-Beta pairings if he can, and if he ends up with one anyways, he makes sure to stay calm and explain every single step he takes beforehand.

Still, he guesses he can make an exception to his rule for Tony and Pepper. They’re not strangers, after all, they know him and know he wouldn’t deliberately injure Tony.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells her seriously. “And even if I can’t do it, I’ll help you find someone who’s suitable.”

Pepper nods. “That’s…that would be great, thank you, Phil.” She smiles and stands. “Hey, have you had lunch yet? I could use the company. My treat, of course.” Her smile turns into a grin. “Consider it my attempt to convince you to take on Tony.”

Phil laughs at that and accepts, and twenty minutes later, they find themselves at a small restaurant, sharing a basket of breadsticks.

“Tony is not that bad,” Phil assures her, continuing their earlier conversation. “Actually, he’s capable of being a likable person, if he wants to.” He remembers evenings at the tower when Tony is patiently teaching Steve the finer details of life in the twenty-first century, the teasing toned down to a bare minimum, or when he hangs out with Bruce, fiercely defending him and making it more than clear that he sees Bruce as a person, not as a time bomb that could unleash the Hulk any moment.

“I keep telling that to people, but they generally don’t believe me,” Pepper grins. “Plus, he’s a really tame guy when in heat. One Alpha once described him as surprisingly sweet and docile.” She grimaces slightly. “But that was before he and I started to date. Before Afghanistan.”

“What does Colonel Rhodes say about him?” Phil asks curiously between sips of water.

Pepper curls a strand of hair around her finger. “Rhodey…he likes to gripe about Tony, loudly and quite often, but he’s like a Mama Bear the next moment.”

Phil nods slowly.

“He says Tony acts like a brat when in heat. I guess he can be very sweet when he gets what he wants. He’s just…he’s still Tony. Him doing his best usually means he shoots way past his goal. It’s ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be surprised if he tries to buy you something outrageously expensive if you say yes to our proposal and it works out well. He once bought an island for an Alpha.”

That doesn’t surprise Phil. He’s seen Tony go overboard before, and he can see it every single time he goes to the Tower and sees how the Avengers who live there are treated. He can see it every time he takes a peek at Clint’s – Barton’s – quiver.

“I’ll think about the proposal,” he promises, and then, their food arrives and their conversation turns toward other things.

~~

Later that day, Phil finds himself seated at the long table in the Tower, piles of paperwork spread out all around him. Bruce and Clint are busy preparing dinner, Natasha is sitting at the counter and chopping vegetables.

Part of him wants to wander over to Clint and ask him how he is feeling, but he smells normal, moves normal, and didn’t make a single attempt to acknowledge Phil’s presence beyond a brief nod and a polite “Sir,” and Phil promised that their encounter would stay a one-time deal, and he doesn’t want to pull any attention to what they’ve done.

Tony is at the bar, staring thoughtfully into a glass with amber liquid, and when he focuses on him, Phil can tell he’s getting closer to his heat. It’s subtle, but now that he knows what he’s looking for, Phil notices it.

He’s not the only one.

Steve is sitting next to Tony, pencil in his hand and sketchpad in front of him, and his head keeps turning toward Tony, scenting the air.

He doesn’t do it on purpose, doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and Phil suddenly has an idea that is so much better than trying to take care of Tony himself.

He has no doubt he could handle him, could handle Pepper too, but this idea he has is genius, and all he has to do is double-check a few facts and talk to Pepper about it.

He smiles softly and closes his file to reach for the next one, and when he looks up the next time, Tony and Steve’s shoulders are brushing together and Tony is stealing Steve’s pencil to scribble something down on the corner of Steve’s sketchpad.

~~

“I have a solution for you,” Phil says. “Or at least, a suggestion.” He slides a carefully labeled folder over Pepper’s pristine desk before sitting down and smoothing the creases out of his suit jacket.

Pepper frowns as she takes the folder and opens it.

“How’s that possible?” she asks, her eyes flickering over the information in front of her. “I checked the OPS database.”

“Alphas who joined the Army were automatically registered for the OPS, up to 1947,” Phil says. “Their files haven’t been up to date – we fixed that. Since he’s officially not dead anymore, he can be reactivated, unless he himself protests against it and asks to be removed from the database.”

Pepper leafs through the folder for a moment before closing it and smiling at Phil.

“That is even more perfect than anything I thought of,” she admits. “Thank you, Phil.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he assures her. “This way, I don’t risk Tony and…any other potential Omegas to compare notes over an open comm line or something.” He almost slipped up there, something that usually doesn’t happen to him, and he bites the tip of his tongue and fights the urge to bury his face in his hands and groan.

Pepper gives him an indulgent look that tells him she sees right through him, but that’s okay, and he accepts the hug from her.

“If there’s any trouble, you know where to find me,” he says before he leaves, and he manages to keep his good mood about a job well done for most of the day.

~~

The next morning, he comes to the office early, puts his cup of coffee on his desk and starts his day by browsing through his email. The OPS sent him the preliminary information for three more Omegas; he gets details once he agrees on taking them on and if the Omega in question agrees as well. They also sent a reminder to write a report on his meeting with Clint, which is common practice. He makes a mental note to do that later, after his actual work is done, and takes a fortifying sip of coffee before he turns his attention back where it is needed: the paperwork generated by the Avengers.

It’s a quiet week, which he is grateful for, and he doesn’t have anything pressing to stop his thoughts from wandering back to Clint and the arch of his spine. It’s not professional, he chides himself, neither in his function as Alpha nor as handler. He needs to get a grip, after all, Clint made it abundantly clear that there won’t be a repeat performance.

Theirs was a one-time thing, and Phil is fine with that.

He really is.

He’s a free Alpha, and Clint is a free Omega – free to choose his sexual partners and his heat partners, and Phil would be the first in line to punch any Alpha who would want to take that fundamental right of choice away from an Omega.

He sighs and pretty much resigns himself to the fact that he should find a way to punch himself in the face.

~~

It’s three more days before he sees Pepper again, and when she drops into his office and says, “Lunch, now, please don’t let me hanging,” she looks harried and tired under her carefully applied makeup.

Phil pulls up his schedule, rearranges a meeting, and wordlessly gets to his feet. “Do I want to know?” he asks.

Pepper grimaces, but she takes his arm when he offers it, and lets him guide her out of his office, out of the building, and into the waiting car. Happy gives him a court nod, which he returns before focusing on Pepper, who is leaning her forehead against the cool glass in an unexpected show of exhaustion.

“It’s Tony. And Steve,” she says.

Phil feels his eyebrows rising. “What about them?” he asks when Pepper doesn’t go on.

“He said no.”

That, Phil thinks, explains the exhaustion. Pepper most likely has been busy with balancing Stark Industries and Tony Stark’s emotional well-being; being rejected by Steve is a harsh blow to Tony’s ego, that is, unless he’s unaware.

“What did Tony say?” he asks, cautiously, and Pepper gives him a look that has brought weaker men to their knees.

Of course she knows what he’s thinking. She’s smart like that, or his thoughts have been projected on his face again. He’s been doing that lately, more often than he’s comfortable with, even with Natasha assuring him that one really has to know him to realize he is doing it.

“He’s not happy, if you are wondering about that,” she tells him before sighing. “Steve said it wasn’t because of Tony, and I’m inclined to believe him.” Tony probably isn’t, Phil thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “Could you talk to him? Alpha to Alpha? I don’t know, maybe he’ll tell you at least why he said no.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, and he likes her, he really does, and so he finds himself agreeing to talk to Steve.

At least, he gets a great lunch out of this.

~~

When he returns to his office, Bruce is leaning against the desk occupied by Darcy. Phil has no idea when exactly he inherited Darcy from Jane Foster, but there is no doubt that she’s good at filing and doesn’t mind when he rants at her about one detail or another. He thinks that spending time with Jane and Dr. Selvig has trained her just to nod and make agreeing noises every now and then, even if she has no clue whatsoever what her conversational partner is talking about. The two of them are talking quietly, or at least Bruce is, hands sweeping through the air while Darcy looks at him, smiling slightly and humming every now and then, as if she is of the same opinion.

Squeezing by them, Phil catches words like “exposure to radiation” and “sudden and unexplainable increase of mass” and decides that his theory about his assistant holds true. He gives her a raised eyebrow and a bland smile, and in return, she hands him a thick pile of files without turning her gaze away from Bruce.

Suddenly, Phil is very happy that they are both Betas – if he’s not mistaken, there are some sparks flying between these two, written in the tilt of Bruce’s head and the interested lean of her body, angled toward the scientist.

They would make a cute pair, he thinks as he drops the pile on his desk and himself in his chair; Darcy’s light-heartedness and Bruce’s gravitas are perfect to balance each other out.

In front of the open door of his office, Bruce chuckles warmly at something Darcy said before knocking on the doorjamb and sticking his head in. “Agent Coulson,” he says, voice deceptively mild, “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?”

Phil nods and waves him in.

Bruce usually keeps his distance from him. Phil doesn’t know if it’s because he’s an Alpha, if it’s because the two of them are barely acquainted, if it’s because of Phil’s past in the military of which all the Avengers are aware - Tony and Nick made sure of that - or because Bruce just wants to be left alone and unperturbed, but as far as he knows, Bruce likes to stay away from him. He hands in his reports on time, usually by slipping them into Natasha’s or Tony’s, but he rarely seeks Phil out in his office.

Not that Phil can blame him.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Banner?” he asks lightly and offers him a chair and a cup of coffee, both of which Bruce declines. He shifts nervously from one foot to the other, his hands curled together in front of his stomach and his breath carefully even.

“I was wondering if it’s possible – if it’s feasible - to contact Betty Ross,” Bruce ventures.

“It’s possible, sure,” Phil tells him and leans back in his chair, to look Bruce in the eye. “May I ask why we should contact her?” He knows Betty is Bruce’s ex-girlfriend, that he still loves her, and that she’s currently in a relationship with another man. Even if Bruce comes knocking on her door now, there will be no guarantee that she takes him back. “And do you really think it’s a good idea?” Phil continues, his gaze and tone softening. Despite their limited contact, he likes Bruce, and he doesn’t want to see him hurt. Not just because a hurt Bruce Banner means an angry Bruce Banner, but also because he likes the man when he’s not green and giant.

Bruce favors him with a bland smile that could just as well be a cardboard cut-out. “Just…nothing,” he says, brushing Phil’s words off like a wet and uncomfortable drop of water down one’s neck on a rainy winter day. “It’s not important. I’m sure Tony will figure it out himself.”

Bruce misses Betty, that much is obvious, Phil thinks as he leans back in his chair. He misses her, despite all the years that have gone by since they were in a relationship, and he keenly feels the loss of her, despite the fact that it was him who had sent her away, who had ran and barely stopped for long enough to catch his breath.

“Is there any particular reason why you want to see her now?” he interrupts Bruce’s attempt to stumble through an argument, and Bruce sighs, his shoulders slumping as every ounce of fight and hope in him dissipates like water down a drain.

“No,” Bruce mumbles. “I just…I miss her, you know? I figured now, with SHIELD covering my ass, there would be a chance to see her.”

Phil’s thoughts race. “You are aware that Dr. Ross is…” he stops and frowns. “…in a relationship?” he finally says.

Bruce’s shoulders slump slightly. “Yeah, yeah I do,” he replies quietly before taking a slow breath and holding it for a long moment. “Forget I said anything.”

Phil manages a small smile. He hopes it’s encouraging, but he has no way of being certain. What he can do is tell Bruce, “I’ll see what I can do,” and look him in the eyes while doing it, willing the scientist to believe him, to trust him.

He doesn’t know how successful he is with that, either.

~~

Fury keeps him busy for the rest of the day, and he almost forgets his promise to Pepper until he arrives at the Tower just in time to find the Avengers sitting at the table and finishing their dinner.

Phil doesn’t plan on staying. This is his last stop for the day before he gets to go home, to his own apartment, where he can sprawl out over his own couch and just try to forget about files and superheroes and just be Phil for a while.

All he needs are some specs from Tony, who, he notices when he walks in, has shifted his chair as far away from Steve’s as possible without ending up completely in Clint’s lap. There’s a tablet on the table between them, a good sign that Steve gave up on his No Electronics At The Dinner Table rule, and when he walks by, Phil catches a quick glimpse of what looks like an arrowhead.

“Sonic arrows,” Clint explains without Phil having to ask. “What do you think, sir?”

“Could be helpful,” Phil admits before tapping the back of Tony’s chair. “But not why I’m here.”

Unbidden, his voice drops slightly into the more commanding tones of an Alpha, and when he breathes in, he can almost taste Omega in the air. It’s subtle, and it’s probably only happening because Clint and Tony are plastered so close together and both are close to their heat – Clint coming out of it, Tony going into it – and because Phil is expecting it.

Tony’s spine curves instinctively before he catches himself and straightens. It’s remarkable, the mental strength this man must possess, Phil marvels, but it’s also a giant pain in his ass because getting Stark to do something he doesn’t want to is almost impossible.

“JARVIS, email Agent Coulson the specs we were talking about earlier,” Tony says and taps his tablet, saving the changes he made.

“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS’ voice answers, and Phil breathes a sigh of relief. He can go home now and finally take off his tie and jacket, slip on something comfortable and maybe even have a beer. He’s done for the day.

Of course that’s when he remembers that he promised Pepper to talk to Steve.

Resigning himself to wait until the meal is over, he settles on the couch and pulls out his phone, to make sure Tony’s specs are complete and that there aren’t any other urgent messages. He sends a quick negative reply to the OPS about a request taking place the next week. As long as he doesn’t know if Steve will come around, he considers himself on standby for Tony, which means he can’t and won’t take any other assignments.

By the time he’s sorted through his emails, Natasha and Bruce are busy cleaning up the table, Clint is doing dishes and Tony has fled the scene. Steve is busy wrapping up left-overs, and Phil decides to take his chances now.

“Steve, a word?” he calls out and watches in amusement as Clint’s entire body snaps to attention before he nudges Steve toward Phil.

He needs to talk to Clint, too, he thinks, reviewing the events of his heat and evaluating them, making sure there are no repercussions to their work relationship. That, however, can wait.

“Is this about the Avengers?” Steve asks, standing at attention in front of where Phil is sitting, his hands pressed flat against the outside of his thighs and his spine straight and stiff while his jaw looks as if he’s clenching his teeth. He’s looking at a point far above Phil’s head.

“No, it’s not,” Phil says as mildly as he can. “This is about the somewhat…delicate matter of Miss Potts approaching you about assisting an Omega through their heat.”

Steve frowns, his gaze finally settling on Phil, and Phil takes the opportunity to invite him to sit with a wave of his hand.

“If it’s such a delicate matter,” Steve says, his voice pitched low and his ears starting to turn pink, “how is it that everybody knows about it?”

Phil’s eyebrows rise. “Everybody?” he repeats. “As far as I’m concerned, Miss Potts, Mister Stark, you and me are the only ones involved in this, and the only ones aware of the situation.”

It does nothing to placate Steve. He remains as stiff and tense as a board, his hands tightly clasped together in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. Again, it hits Phil how young Captain America really is – if Steve had been born seventy years later, he would probably be in college, going to parties and enjoying his youth instead of being the leader of the Avengers, the survivor of a world war, an alien invasion and countless other hardships.

“Steve,” he says, his voice getting softer, gentler. “What about this situation upsets you so much?”

Steve shudders, a ripple that goes down the broad line of his back. “I can’t do it,” he simply says. “I can’t, Phil.”

Phil’s mind flashes with different thoughts, ideas, options as to why exactly Steve can’t do it, but he’s missing too much information to come to an informed decision.

“Why not?” he asks, letting his shoulders slump slightly and tilting his head up. It’s the posture of an Alpha who means no harm, who has no claims on another one’s territory. Phil is adopting the pose on purpose, wanting to put Steve at ease to get to the bottom of this, and Steve gives him a quick, amused glance. He knows what Phil is doing and he knows better than underestimating him – Phil is a strong Alpha in his own right. He might not look like Captain America, but he knows what he’s doing when dealing with this kind of issue, even if it’s mostly Omegas he deals with.

“I gave someone a promise,” Steve says before sighing. “I promised Bucky. No other Omegas.” He grimaces, as if he just gave away a big secret, and in a way, he has. Nobody, as far as Phil knows, is aware of the fact that Sergeant James Barnes was Omega. Barnes must’ve hidden his gender carefully, a practice still not uncommon in certain areas of the world.

“Bucky…was your claimed Omega?” he asks, carefully.

“God, no.” Steve shakes his head. “Before the serum, I was…too sick to be of any use for him. And after…he was irregular. Something about what Dr. Zola did to him, I think. He didn’t always come to me.”

Phil nods, not surprised. “Were you planning on claiming him after the war?” he asks.

Steve sighs. “Yeah, maybe. If he’d let me.” He shakes his head. “He probably wouldn’t have. He hated how Omegas were treated, as if they were less worth than anybody else. When the first ones were allowed to enlist openly…” he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Doesn’t change the fact that I gave him a promise.”

“Steve…” Phil’s thoughts race, quicker and quicker, and he’s unable to even take a guess as to what consequences his next question would be. “What would Bucky want you to do? What would he do, in your place?” he finally asks. His mouth goes dry. If he miscalculated, if he’s still missing some key facts, this line of question could mean that Steve thinks Phil is doubting his honor, his trustworthiness, and that’s the last thing Phil wants to do.

Steve shrugs as he thinks. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding, for a moment, utterly helpless and alone, not like the strong man Phil knows him to be.

“Would he want you to hold on so tightly to a promise you gave to a man who is now long dead?” he asks, still trying to keep his voice gentle and non-threatening. “Or would he want you to help out a teammate?” He waits for a heartbeat before adding, “I’ve seen you with Sta…with Tony. You like him, don’t you? He grew on you.”

“Like fungus on bread,” Steve agrees, a wry twist to his lips.

“Tony trusts you,” Phil continues. “You know how skittish Omegas can get, don’t you? I assume you’ve seen it before.”

Steve nods slowly.

“How many Alphas do you think he’ll ask, now that you’ve said no?” Phil’s eyebrows rise again, and he has to fight the triumphant smile that threatens to break across his face at Steve’s wide-eyed expression.

“You know him,” he repeats. “What do you think he’ll do now?”

Steve glances down. “That’s blackmailing,” he says, his voice thick. “You’re blackmailing me because you know I feel responsible. Because he’s a teammate. A friend, even.”

“Is it working?” Phil wants to know. He had expected Steve to see right through his gambit, but that wasn’t the point. He knows Steve is a great strategist. The history books are full of it, and Phil has had the privilege of observing Steve in action himself.

But it’s okay. Phil isn’t too shabby himself in this particular area, and all he needs to do is reminding Steve that Tony is his friend, and that he will need Steve in a few days. The rest, he’s sure, Steve’s sense of obligation and chivalry will take care of.

Steve sighs heavily. “I’ll think about it,” he says gruffly, and Phil gives him a nod.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I appreciate it. And I know Tony and Pepper do, too.”

~~

Life goes on at SHIELD. To Phil’s great relief, Steve and Tony manage to get through heat just fine, and as a result, they are closer than ever. They bicker like an old married couple during official briefings and meetings, but they are both consummate professionals, and when the Avengers are called out to deal with a new threat, they usually manage to keep to a certain level of comm discipline.

Phil finds an old, rare piece of Captain America memorabilia on his desk a few days after Steve and Tony re-emerge from Tony’s bedroom. He’s sure he’s seen this particular piece lying around Tony’s workshop in Malibu before, and he takes it as the thank you it certainly was intended.

~~

Nick and Phil and a pile of files meet up one day, find an unused office where they are sure to remain undiscovered, and sit down to talk about new recruits for the Avengers initiative. They keep the door half-open, put their feet up on the desk, share a pot of the strongest coffee they can hustle up, and go through the files together.

“I like Spiderman for this,” Nick is saying, tossing a file to land in Phil’s lap and barely missing his donut.

“He’s a bit too young for this line of work,” Phil replies around a mouthful of donut and wipes powdered sugar off the file. “Shouldn’t we let him finish high school first?”

“He’s already in this line of work,” Fury points out. “And he will stay in it, no matter what we do. If we include him, we have at least the chance to keep him under control and from going sideways.”

Phil munches his food as he thinks about it, his eyes tracing along the words in front of him. The office falls quiet, Nick giving him time and space to process everything. For a long moment, they are both focusing on the files in front of them, when the sound of voices in the hallway outside their office bursts their little bubble of concentration.

“Did you ask him?” Natasha asks, sounding exasperated and amused.

“No,” Clint snaps back. “I didn’t. I’m not going to.”

Phil abruptly raises his head, but he keeps his mouth shut. On the other side of the desk, Nick rises his eyebrows and looks at Phil with a questioning tilt to his head. Phil lifts a shoulder in reply – he doesn’t know either what Barton and Romanoff are up to, and what they are talking about, here in the most abandoned wing of SHIELD’s temporary headquarters.

“Come on.” That was Natasha’s voice again, surprisingly gentle. “Let’s talk to Medical, get you off duty, and then find Coulson and talk to him.”

“I told him it’s a one-time deal,” Clint confesses in a low voice. “He agreed that it’s for the best.”

Natasha snorts. “Nobody takes an Omega in heat seriously,” she tells him. “Not even Coulson. He would’ve agreed with everything as long as you insisted on it. It’s what a good Alpha does.”

“What if he says no? It’s not like anyone would blame him for that.”

In the office, Nick’s lips twist slightly. Phil has known him for long enough to read his face like a book when it’s like this, and he grimaces in return. The conversation they are overhearing is obviously private, and knowing Clint Barton as well as he does, Phil is certain that it took Natasha a long time to get to a point where he would be willing to confess to his feelings of uncertainty and insecurity so openly.

“He’s not going to say no, Clint,” Natasha points out, her voice sharper now. “Unless you want him to, and then you better let me know right now this second so we can figure out something else. There must be an Alpha in the tri-state area you haven’t punched in the face yet.”

“Yeah, Coulson.” Clint snorts dismissively. “I hate this. Can’t you…”

“No.” There’s no room for argument in her voice and her sharp dismissal. “You know I can’t, Clint,” she adds after a moment, her voice softer. “Not without Nick. You need an Alpha, not a Beta. And you’re really not in a situation where you would appreciate the kind of relationship we have. You need someone who is careful with you.” It’s Phil’s turn to give Nick a questioning look at that. He didn’t know he and Natasha had a thing going on.

“Jeez, Tasha, I’m not fragile. I can handle…” Clint protests, but he’s interrupted by her almost immediately.

“No, you can’t. Especially not in heat. You need someone different. Ask Coulson.”

Their steps move away from the door, and after a long moment, Phil exhales sharply.

“That was…enlightening,” he mutters.

“It was,” Nick agrees calmly before taking his boots off of the desk and straightening. “I didn’t take you as the kind of Alpha who scares Omegas to the point where they don’t even dare to approach you.”

“Haha,” Phil mutters, and Nick grins at him wide enough to show all of his teeth.

“Are you going to say no to Barton?” he asks.

Phil shakes his head. He is very certain that even if he wanted to say no, there’s something in him that will stop him. He just can’t say no to Clint. He likes him too much.

He loves him too much, to be more precise. The thought of any other Alpha taking Clint is enough to make his stomach cramp with displeasure.

“Of course not,” he says.

~~

“Are you sitting down?”

Phil frowns at the unusual greeting. “Yes, Natasha, I am,” he says patiently, even if he’s standing in front of his own desk right now. He makes a concession and leans his hip against the edge, to have at least something to keep him upright if Natasha’s unusual conversation starter is an indicator of why she called him.

“Bruce has disappeared,” she tells him, “JARVIS says he left sometime between four and five in the morning after spending a significant amount of time in his lab. He appeared agitated and hasn’t been back since. Tony and Clint went after him.”

Phil bites the tip of his tongue to stop himself from cursing.

As handler for the Avengers initiative, all six of them are somewhat his responsibility, or at least it feels like that. It doesn’t mean that Phil can prevent any of them from being stupid – Pepper early on assured him that nobody would expect him to keep Tony Stark on the straight and narrow – but he still feels responsible for them.

Briefly, he wonders if Bruce left voluntarily or if someone – or something – made him do it. Maybe General Ross is behind his disappearance…and then Phil suddenly remembers his last conversation with the scientist, and he wants to slap his own forehead.

“Check Dr. Betty Ross’ place of residence,” he tells her. “Something tells me that’s where Dr. Banner went.”

“Understood.” Natasha’s voice is quiet and even, with no sign that she’s bothered about Bruce’s leaving. Only the fact that she called him on his personal cell instead of dialing the number of his office, when she knew exactly that he would be there, indicates that she is worried about her teammate.

She hangs up, and Phil doesn’t hesitate before dialing Clint’s number. It takes only three rings before he answers, and when he does, it’s with a quiet, “Tony and I are handling this, Coulson. You don’t need to get involved.”

“Too late, I’m already involved,” Phil says, his voice carefully bland. “Did you find Banner?”

“We found Bruce, all right,” Clint replies. “Tony’s talking to him and Dr. Ross right now.” He chuckles. “Something about…” his voice is muffled for a moment while he probably cups his hand across the phone, “What was that, Tony?”

“Hulk stretchy pants!” Tony’s voice calls out somewhere in the background. “Betty’s gonna take my job offer and work with us on something!”

“He offered her a job?” Phil asks.

“He sure did,” Clint agrees cheerfully. “And I think she said yes. Something about keeping an eye on Bruce, I think.”

Phil shakes his head and moves around his desk to sit down in front of his computer. “All right,” he concedes. “You keep an eye on the situation, make sure everyone stays safe, understood, Agent Barton?”

“Yes, sir,” Clint replies. “Would that be all?”

“Yes,” Phil says. This time it’s him who hangs up, and for a split second, he considers dropping his phone into the bottom drawer of his desk and not getting it back out until he’s ready to go home in the evening.

He doesn’t. Instead he slips it back into his pocket and tries to focus on the new recruits for the Avengers. He and Fury made a first selection, now it’s up to the original six to approve the new candidates.

It’s a good mix, he thinks, both of skills and personalities, and he is sure he knows how Steve will stand on the new recruits. Steve thinks like an Alpha, it should be easy to nudge him subtly where Phil wants him. Tony and Clint will most likely find a few good arguments to prevent too many Alphas on the team, and Phil is pretty sure he knows which of the candidates the two of them will vote against.

He has no idea what Natasha or Bruce will say. He doesn’t always understand how Betas think, what to use to motivate them, to make them vote in his favor, to bring in the people he thinks would be a great fit for the Initiative. He often finds himself thinking about what motivates a Beta, since it’s definitely not biological imperatives like heat. Is love alone, without any support from biology, enough to base a long, stable relationship on? Phil knows Betas who swear it’s possible, including Reed Richards, and the man should know, being a Beta in a loving relationship as well as a world famous scientist and a superhero.

Thor is an even bigger mystery. Apparently, Asgardians only have two genders – male and female. It took Thor at least as long to understand the Midgardian Alpha-Beta-Omega categories as it took Phil to understand that on Asgard, there’s just male and female, no heat and no Alphas and Omegas. It still is weird, to think about the fact that, while Thor is built like an Alpha and has the manners and behavior of an Alpha, he doesn’t have the anatomy to back it up. It’s also interesting, a small part of his brain points out every time he thinks about it, that Asgard’s population stayed stabile despite the fact that they have only one child-bearing gender, not four.

Phil isn’t a sociologist, but he knows strategy, and as far as strategies of survival are concerned, having only one child-bearing gender seems risky to him.

The fact remains, he has no idea as to how Thor would choose, and which ones of the new candidates will and won’t make the cut. The part of him that isn’t worried about the Initiative is thrilled about the suspense like a child on Christmas morning, and he needs all of the control he has to stop himself from grinning like a crazy madman.

~~

“I take it you brought Bruce and Dr. Ross back with you,” Phil says by way of greeting when Tony flops down into the chair in front of his desk.

It’s a rare thing, to see Tony Stark in SHIELD’s headquarters, but here he is, a bruise blooming on his forehead, his suit, in contrast, impeccable and fitting him like a glove.

“We did,” Tony agrees before frowning carefully. “He said he talked to you about bringing her in.”

Phil raises both eyebrows. “He did?” he says. “He asked if it was possible to contact her, but he didn’t give any reason for that…” Bruce had only said that he missed her. Phil sighs and fights the urge to rub the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “I don’t understand Betas.”

Tony snorts. “It’s not that complicated, actually,” he says absent-mindedly. “They want the same things Alphas or Omegas want – someone they can trust not to sell them out to the military they can spend the rest of their lives with. Love. Security.”

Phil wonders if Tony himself wants those things, as well, and if Pepper and Steve can give them to him. He wants to ask, but it’s not his business what another Alpha does in an Omega’s bedroom, at least as long as the Omega is fine with it.

It reminds him that he needs to track down Clint and have a serious conversation with him about the things he’s overheard. Tony Stark is not the only one with an irregular cycle, and Phil really doesn’t want Clint to go and look for someone else.

Clint is his, his treacherous Alpha mind whispers at him, and he has to stop and take a deep breath to shake off the sudden possessive urge.

Omega or not, Clint would snap his neck if he ever figured out any of these thoughts, and he’s well within his rights to do so. Alphas don’t own Omegas, and it’s completely Clint’s decision if he wants Phil again.

“Do you think he will be okay?” he asks Tony, who is looking at him with a curious expression on his face, as if he knows exactly where Phil’s thoughts have wandered.

Before the Battle of New York and the Avengers, Tony Stark would be the last person Phil would even consider asking about another human being’s well-being. But Tony is surprisingly perceptive when he wants to be, and he honestly cares about his fellow Avengers and has proven it a dozen times since the battle. Tony doesn’t care if they’re Alpha, Beta, Omega, or giant green rage monsters. He invited all of them into his Tower, gave them a place to live and a purpose when he gently took control of the Avengers and steered them into the direction they are going now. As much as Steve is the leader of the Avengers, the Alpha, Tony is the heart, the Omega, and as long as they work together, the Avengers will be fine, Phil knows. The Avengers need Tony Stark just as much as he, apparently, needs the Avengers. It’s a perfect fit.

“He’s tough,” Tony says before shrugging. “He’ll be fine.” He doesn’t wait to see if Phil wants to talk about anything else before rolling to his feet. “Hey, Agent, what’s up with Barton? He almost ran like a bat straight from hell when Natasha told him to come talk to you.”

Phil tries to hide his wince, but, again, Tony is really perceptive if he wants to be, and there is no way he missed that.

“It’s…” Phil licks his lips briefly. “It’s heat-related,” he finally admits. “And it’s between Barton and me, Stark, so don’t even think about getting involved.”

Tony pouts. “I brought Betty with us, making sure Bruce won’t run again,” he points out, but the set of his shoulders tells Phil he won’t push. It’s not exactly submissive – Tony doesn’t do submissive, just like Clint doesn’t – but it’s getting close to it, a soft and relaxed tilt to his spine that promises not to get involved.

“Speaking of heat,” Phil starts, almost casually, “I was wondering, how did it go?”

“Went well,” Tony simply says before straightening, a razor sharp smile forming on his lips. His eyes are distant, his entire body screams distance. “Pepper tells me she asked you first, maybe you should’ve said yes, I mean, how often in life do you get the chance at this?” He sweeps his hand in a gesture indicating himself.

Phil smiles. “I think I made the exact right decision,” he points out mildly. “Steve and Pepper together have a chance of keeping you on your toes, Tony.”

Tony’s grin changes into something a little more real. “Your loss,” he says before sweeping out.

It’s not until he’s gone when Phil discovers the bug under the edge of his desk and the small flash drive on top of it, containing specs for a new quinjet design.

He doesn’t think Tony left either on purpose, but for Tony’s sake, he pretends the bug was just that: an oversight. And stepping on it, well, that’s just an unfortunate accident.

~~

Phil is up to his elbows in paperwork both for the OPS and SHIELD when Natasha steps into his office on silent feet and closes the door firmly behind herself.

“We need to talk,” she tells him before stopping herself and taking a slow, carefully measured breath. “I need your help.”

He nods and puts down his pen. Being the Avengers’ handler means a lot of paperwork, and considering he’s, technically, still recuperating from the stab wound to his back and shouldn’t be in the field, he gets stuck with most of it. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his two Beta-assistants to file all of the paperwork correctly, but he is an Alpha, he likes being in control.

“What kind of help?” he asks. “And why me, not Nick?”

She sits down on the couch in the corner of his office. “I wanted to talk to you first,” she says, her eyes glued to him. “This is…important to me.”

Natasha is the perfect con-woman, Phil knows that. He can’t tell if she’s just playing him right now, her wide-eyed look trying to influence the protective Alpha-side of him, the way she arranged her legs and arms and the tilt of her head all thought-out and deliberate.

Knowing her, it probably is. Natasha doesn’t like to gamble, she likes to go into a situation knowing what her exits, her options are. She’s the epitome of a Beta spy: unreadable and calculating, her body perfectly under control of a mind that’s unperturbed by pheromones and mating instincts.

And yet.

There is something to her, a vulnerable look in her eyes that Phil doesn’t think is fake. He’s known her for a long time, and he trusts her with his life. Natasha may be a perfect spy, but in the long years since they started working together, they have gotten closer and have become almost friends.

Phil nods as a sign that he understands and settles in to listen.

“I have been contacted by an anonymous source in Russia,” she tells him slowly, “who claims they can make contact to the Winter Soldier.”

She patiently gives him a moment to stare wordlessly at her, disbelief and ridicule battling in his mind until he blinks them both away.

“The Winter Soldier?” he repeats, as blandly as he can, and Natasha nods firmly.

The Winter Soldier is a Cold War myth, as far as Phil is concerned, a fairy tale to keep the Americans on their toes. Nobody ever saw him and lived to tell the tale, and even if there ever was a real man behind the myth of the famous Soviet assassin, he is probably older than Nick Fury by now and retired to a little dacha somewhere in Russia.

“He exists,” Natasha simply says, her voice carefully even. “I worked with him in the past.”

This is the first Phil hears about that, and he keeps his mouth shut and his breathing regular as he works through the implications of Natasha keeping this kind of information to herself.

“Does Nick know?” he finally asks.

Natasha nods slightly and exhales softly. “Yes,” she says. “He does.”

This, Phil thinks, is not a great idea, but he’s curious now, willing to hear her out and maybe even help if she manages to convince him. And if he’s honest, there’s a high probability of her being able to do that – that’s why she lowered her head just so, her red hair brushed aside to show just the hint of her neck, and he would take every bet that there are some pheromones mixed in with her perfume.

She doesn’t smell like any other Alpha, and that, Phil knows, is deliberate as well. If she did smell like Nick Fury, he would be able to keep a clear head because Nick is his boss and anyone Nick considers his is off limits for Phil.

If Nick finds out what she’s doing, he probably won’t be happy, but again, that’s Betas, as far as Phil knows: They are capable of putting emotions and personal bonds aside if it serves a purpose.

Wrong, his mind whispers, that’s not a typical Beta-trait: He himself is able to do that, Nick is, and Clint and Tony, the two Omegas he has the closest work relationship with, are more than capable of distancing themselves from personal bonds and emotions if it means they’re getting the job done. It’s just that Natasha is particularly ruthless about it, and she’s as effective as any other Beta is.

“Why do you need my help?” he asks calmly, and Natasha straightens slightly, her shoulders put back and her chin lifted.

“If it was just me, he could think I have an ulterior motive,” she says before hesitating again. “It’s not common knowledge – I don’t think more than just a small group of people ever knew that the Winter Soldier is an Omega. He was on strong circle suppressants every time we met.” Her shoulders shift slightly. “I only found out by accident.”

She doesn’t add anything else, her lips pressed tightly together, but Phil can guess, and he understands why she’s hesitant about approaching Nick on her own: if she’s fallen for an enemy Omega, he has no choice but to eliminate the carefully drawn line between his well-guarded private life and work.

“I can bring the Winter Soldier in,” Natasha says, her eyes flashing with stubbornness. “I can bring him in, and he can be brought around and deprogrammed. It worked for me, and I know it will work for him, too.”

Phil believes her. He isn’t so sure about the Winter Soldier yet, but he believes Natasha, believes that she believes.

“What’s our window of opportunity?” he asks, plans already forming in his mind and spinning around.

“Tomorrow,” Natasha immediately replies. She has a strategy already, carefully put in place, and Phil realizes with a sudden start that she is probably willing to go after the Winter Soldier by herself, without back-up and without any regards for her standing orders. If he tells her to stand down now, she can be gone by the time he turns around.

And yet, here she is, telling him exactly what she knows and what she’s planning on doing.

She trusts him, a part of his mind gleefully informs him. She trusts him with the knowledge of what she wants to do, and she gives him the opportunity to satisfy his Alpha-instincts by providing a way to protect her.

Maybe, he tells himself sternly, it’s just convenient for her, and she masterfully played him, the way only Black Widow can, but he’s willing to trust her in return, trust that she will follow his orders even if she doesn’t like them.

“Take Rogers,” he tells her, coming to a snap decision. If she’s right, if the Winter Soldier is still out there, and if it’s Phil’s orders that make sure he’s being brought in by SHIELD…well, Phil would be lying if he said it wouldn’t be a shiny feather in his cap. On the other hand, the Winter Soldier knows things, things that can’t fall into the wrong hands. Bringing him is only logical. “Take Rogers, I’ll inform Sitwell, he’ll be your handler for this mission.”

“You’ll talk to Fury?” she asks, her voice and her eyes growing a little softer for a split second.

Phil nods. “I will,” he promises. “Be careful.”

She stands, as graceful as a panther, and gives him a small smile. “Always, Phil.”

Phil expects her to leave then, a dramatic exit worthy of her reputation, but instead, she takes a few steps closer to his desk.

“Being Loki’s thrall and under the power of the Tesseract,” she says, her voice pitched lower, “really did a number on Erik Selvig.”

Phil raises his eyebrows. He’s been doing that a lot lately, but it’s the only way he can convey surprise and disbelieving impatience when it comes to his Avengers.

“You know he is an Alpha.” Phil nods, and Natasha continues. “Since he’s been with Loki, he has been trouble. His medical file indicates an inability to knot.”

Phil wants to ask why she tells him that, what it has to do with him, when he catches her eyes flittering up to the ceiling for a subtle split second, and he wants to slap himself for being so obtuse. Of course Selvig wasn’t the only one in Loki’s thrall.

“You think Barton has…similar problems?” he asks as carefully as he can.

“His heat is coming irregular, and Medical wants him to stay off of suppressants so he has a chance to level out,” Natasha says. “I suggest you talk to him.”

And with that, she really leaves.

Phil sighs. He really needs to track down Barton and sit him down for a talk.

~~

He is resigned to the fact that he needs to track Barton down, and with that in mind, he makes his way over to the Tower after work. It’s not as if there’s much going on in his own apartment, he thinks as he waits for the elevator, and just watching TV is boring anyway. JARVIS greets him respectfully while Phil wonders whether his potted plants are still alive and when he had a home-cooked meal the last time.

Tony grins widely when he sees Phil and waves an inviting hand at the pizza boxes on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry, it’s Steve’s turn to cook and since he’s not here, we ordered in,” he says, and Phil can’t help but chuckle. They are, all of them, his Avengers, after all, and they all grew on him, some of them slower than others, like Tony, but Tony is like a particularly resistant fungus, and he managed to get his roots deep under Phil’s protective shields and it’s impossible to get him out.

“Thanks,” he says. “I was looking for Agent Barton.”

“Uh-oh.” Tony frowns slightly. “Whatever you think he did, it wasn’t him, because I have it on good authority that he was in the Tower all day long.”

“Good authority?” Phil asks, amused despite himself. It’s good to see that the team is growing closer together, that Tony, of all people, is taking measures to protect Clint even if he doesn’t know why Phil needs to talk to him.

It’s a very good sign, indeed.

“Agent Barton and Mr. Stark have been in the workshop and developing different kinds of arrowheads since ten o’clock this morning,” JARVIS informs him helpfully, and Phil allows himself a small smile.

“Relax, Tony,” he says. “He’s not in trouble. I just need to talk to him.” He grimaces. “In private.”

Tony shrugs, as if he wants to say he tried and everything beyond this point is not his fault, and wanders over to the couch. He kicks gently at Bruce’s ankle when he has to take a big step to get past his stretched-out legs, and Bruce answers with an indulging smile.

“You owe me dinner, sir,” Clint says with a sigh as he abandons his plate and stands from his own spot, wedged between Thor and Bruce.

He leads Phil into his own room, and Phil takes a second to curiously look around. There isn’t much to see besides the furniture he knows Tony took care of. The bed is made, there is a book on the bedside-table, a sleek laptop sits on the desk in the corner. A quiver filled with arrows hangs off the back of the chair, and Phil spots at least three different bows, leaning against the wall and shoved half under the bed and folded up in a case on a low dresser.

“Sir?” Clint asks, his hands folded together at the small of his back, his feet slightly apart. He’s ready to go where Phil needs him to go, when Phil needs him to go, and Phil ducks his head slightly.

“I couldn’t help but overhear a private conversation between you and Natasha the other day,” he says, and before his eyes, Clint’s muscles tense as if he wants to bolt and only the force of his willpower makes him stay put.

“It was an accident, I didn’t mean to,” he adds, feeling like an idiot or like a teenager with his first crush. “It just…happened.”

Clint growls slightly. “Bullshit, sir,” he says. “Natasha probably organized it; she’s been on my case for a while now.” He exhales sharply. “Since you’ve…overheard our conversation, you probably know what is going on.”

Phil shrugs. “I only know you need an Alpha, someone you trust,” he says, his voice as even as he can make it. “And I’m here to let you know I’m available for you, always.”

Clint stares at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he nods, once, sharply.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

~~

He thinks he made a mistake, approaching Clint like this. He thinks it all the way while Happy drives him home, he thinks it while he changes into comfortable clothes, and he thinks it while he curls up on the couch and waits for his brain to slow down again.

He fucked it up. There is no other reason for Clint to react so hesitantly, so distant. Phil knows Clint’s body intimately, he knows how to touch him to make him come, how every single inch of his skin feels. And yet, Clint made sure to keep his distance, to keep himself out of reach from Phil.

He must’ve misunderstood, misconstrued something in the snatched-up conversation between Natasha and Clint. All the reactions he has wrung out of Clint, was it just the heat, nothing more? He’s probably lucky that Clint likes him – liked him! – or a sexual harassment suit will be landing on his desk the next morning.

Vaguely, he is aware that he is freaking out, that he needs to get a grip on himself, but there is no reason to, not here in his own apartment when there’s nobody else to watch him, to judge him, and Phil pulls the throw blanket over his face and groans.

He has no idea how to fix this, how to make things between himself and Clint normal again, or if Clint is even willing to go back to that.

He just doesn’t know.

Whoever said that being an Alpha automatically means knowing all the answers, deserves to be smashed by the Hulk.

~~

Steve and Natasha are gone almost four weeks. During that time, Phil catches up with his paperwork, and Tony barely comes out of his workshop. Darcy asks Phil once whether he’s worried about Tony, but Bruce and Pepper aren’t, and they are so much closer to Tony than Phil is and he believes them when they say Tony is okay, just busy.

When they come back, they are dragging in an unconscious body – they brought back the Winter Soldier.

Phil manages to snatch a quick glance at shaggy, longish brown hair, pale, almost translucent skin and the silver gleam of metal before the Winter Soldier is put in isolation for medical attention and deprogramming. However, he sees the careful way both Steve and Natasha use to handle the world-famous assassin, as if he’s precious and vulnerable and not one of the most wanted men on the planet. He sees the stiff way Natasha keeps her shoulders squared and the hollow-eyed look on Steve’s face as they settle in the chairs in front of his desk for debriefing.

Whatever happened in Russia, it got to both of them, to the Black Widow and to Captain America.

Phil needs to know what exactly managed to do that.

About two hours later, he knows everything they do – and he feels as exhausted as they look.

“And you’re really sure it’s Barnes?” he asks, for what feels like the tenth time. “How did he survive for so long?”

“It is Bucky,” Steve says, adamant. There is no hint of doubt in him, his eyes slightly narrowed, and if Phil wasn’t a damn secure Alpha, he would cower in front of that expression on Steve’s face.

This is the face of an Alpha protecting his bonded Omega, his mate, the most precious and important person in his life.

“Cyrogenics,” Natasha replies at almost the same moment, and the expression on her face is similar to Steve’s. “They froze him between missions, wiped his mind. He doesn’t even remember who he was before he was Winter Soldier.” Her throat moves as she swallows. “Sometimes, when they woke him for longer, he started to remember. Never much. They made sure of it.”

Phil makes a small note at the edge of his file to keep an eye on her, to talk to Nick about her. This is something that’s personal for Natasha, and as much as she tries to convince everybody around her that emotions like love are for children, she’s not immune against them.

“But if he started to remember in the past, he might start again. Sir.” Steve has set his jaw, his hands are balled into tight fists. “We can’t give up on him!”

“Nobody is giving up on him,” Phil interrupts as calmly as he can. “I can promise you that. If there is still something of Sergeant Barnes in the Winter Soldier, we will do everything we can to find it.”

It’s enough to mollify Steve, and Natasha lowers her head and stares at her knees without saying another word.

“I won’t let anything happen to him again,” Steve finally says, anger and protectiveness and worry making his voice tremble. “I won’t.”

Natasha simply nods, and Phil realizes that these two will fight tooth and nail for Barnes. On one hand, it makes him happy to see the two of them work so well together, but on the other hand, it makes his stomach churn with anxiety.

He wonders what Tony will say when he finds out that Barnes is back.

That Steve is planning on keeping the promise he gave to Bucky more than seventy years ago.

Under different circumstances, he thinks when Natasha and Steve leave his office, he would call Clint now, ask him to keep an eye on Tony. But he still has no clue if Clint would want to do even as much as talk to him, and even less whether he would do Phil this favor.

He probably needs to go over to the Tower again himself, sit Clint down, apologize for his behavior. And when he’s already at it, he can see how Tony is feeling, if he needs something to distract him. Phil has a file full of illegal weapon traders in the Middle East he could let Tony discover, if that’s what it takes to make sure Iron Man stays on an even keel.

He sighs and focuses his attention back on the open file in front of him. Before he lets Tony Stark loose on weapon traders, he needs to finish the report on the Winter Soldier, talk to Nick Fury, and make sure Steve and Natasha are okay.

Sometimes, he really wishes he’d followed the wishes of his Beta mother and had become an accountant instead of joining the Army.

~~

Nick Fury is sitting on the couch in the corner of Phil’s office when Phil comes back from a much-needed coffee run. He quietly waits until Phil closes the door behind him and takes the first sip of his cup before he speaks.

“So you managed to catch the Winter Soldier.”

Phil can’t read Fury’s mood from the words.

“Actually,” he says carefully, “Steve and Natasha did.”

“With your express permission.”

Phil frowns slightly. “Yes,” he admits slowly. “I gave them the order to bring in the Winter Soldier, if possible.” There is no way he won’t admit that it was his orders – he’s not in the habit of letting his people hang just so he can walk free. Quite to the opposite, he stands up for his assets and protects them where he can.

“Did you know the identity of the Winter Soldier before you gave the order?” Fury asks.

Phil exhales quietly. “No,” he admits. “Neither did I know he’s Omega, Boss.”

Fury exhales sharply. “Dammit, Phil,” he says, and then, nothing. Phil waits patiently, but all Fury does is shake his head and rub a fingertip across the scars around his eye.

“How’s Natasha?” Phil finally asks, and Fury snorts.

“You know her,” he says with a shake of his head and the hint of a smile around his lips. “She’s tough. Bringing back her old partner didn’t faze her too much. And if it did, she didn’t show too much of it.”

~~

Phil doesn’t share Nick’s optimism. Not at all. Over the next few weeks, he sees rifts appear between the Avengers. He sees Natasha and Steve spend all of their free time in SHIELD facilities, hopeful for good news about Bucky. There aren’t any, and their body language turns more and more hostile and moody. Stark hides out in his workshop and everything he says to his teammates or Phil stings and hurts. Bruce hulks out in Tony’s living room once, smashes a glass table and sulks in the bathroom for hours before he calms down enough to turn back to Bruce, only to attempt to run away almost immediately. Clint and Betty bring him back two days later, exhausted and angry; not a good mixture where the good doctor is concerned.

Clint doesn’t talk to Phil. He goes out of his way to evade him, and Phil gets tired of this elaborate cat-and-mouse game, but he doesn’t know what to do to bring it to a good end.

It’s his fault Barton’s not talking to him anymore. He has managed to convince himself that everything he would do now would only make the situation worse, and as a result, he doesn’t do anything and feels miserable about it.

And then, one day, Phil looks up from his requisition form just in time to see Clint walk into the office and throw himself into the chair in front of Phil’s desk, his arms crossed defensively over his chest.

Phil saves his form and raises both eyebrows. Clint is the last person he expected to come here, but a second, closer look reveals the fine sheen of sweat along his hairline, the twitch in his fingers he can’t quite hide, and the sweet smell of an Omega in heat.

“Heat?” Phil asks nonetheless, just to make sure they’re on the same page.

“Hmm,” Clint replies and reaches for a pen, fiddling with it for a long moment before dropping it. “You said…” He stops himself, hunches his shoulders slightly. “You said I can ask you. You offered,” he says.

“How long?” Phil asks, already busy with mentally shifting and clearing his schedule.

“Too long,” Clint grits out. “Please?”

“I’m coming,” Phil soothes. Judging from Clint’s behavior, he’s well into his heat already, slick and ready and desperate. “Give me five minutes, Clint, and we can go, okay?”

“Okay,” Clint says roughly and picks up the pen again. “Okay.”

Phil hurries and gets leave for both of them, and twenty minutes later, they leave the office. He drives them to his apartment this time, not sure whether Clint has found a hiding spot or if he wants to do this in the Tower but following a hunch. He cajoles Clint into his apartment, and then, Clint disappears into the bathroom and doesn’t come out for almost an hour.

Phil has a vague idea what he’s doing – the water is running, and he would bet his best piece of classic Captain America merchandise that Clint is taking a cold shower, trying to bring his body back under his control. It gives Phil the chance to change the sheets in the guest room, find bottled water, lube and condoms and set them out.

Phil is an experienced Alpha, and he has been active for the OPS since his thirtieth birthday. He looks unassuming and harmless, and he’s proud of the fact that he never made an Omega cry or refuse to go back to him if needed. He’s still in contact with some of his previous charges, as much as his job allows, and one of them even named his kid after Phil. He keeps the family photo – the proud parents with a tiny little pink bundle between them – on his desk in his living room.

It’s this experience that lets him know immediately that this isn’t going to be an easy heat. There’s a current of restlessness in Clint, a harsh edge to his movements when he finally opens the bathroom door and finds Phil by smell alone. He’s naked, with one of Phil’s towels slung low around his hips, and he looks like a wreck, his eyes fever bright, his muscles twitching , and he’s so clearly miserable that Phil’s heart aches in sympathy.

There is no way he will ever let anybody else take care of Clint when he’s like this, he decides in this moment, no matter how much Clint is going to fight him on this decision. Clint is special, he deserves a permanent Alpha who gets to know him, who helps him exactly how he needs it.

“Let’s get this done,” Clint says. His voice sounds hoarse, and he doesn’t bother with any kind of foreplay, just drops down onto the mattress on his hands and knees, his head hanging low.

Phil doesn’t want to just get this done. He wants to do it right, for one thing, wants Clint to enjoy his heat knowing that he can trust Phil to catch him, to keep him safe and sane.

It doesn’t look as if that’s what Clint wants, and Phil hesitates for a long moment before he kneels down next to him and runs his palm over Clint’s back.

“Slow and easy,” he murmurs, and then he bends down and kisses Clint’s shoulder blade.

Clint flinches as if Phil had just hit him, and that’s the moment where Phil should stop, should sit back and call someone from SHIELD’s emergency medical services, to give Clint an injection that eases the symptoms of his heat, at least as long as it takes them to sort this out, find out where their common ground is and where to go from there.

But Clint whimpers, a sound that goes straight to the lust center of Phil’s brain, and arches his spine enticingly, and Phil breathes shallowly through his nose and tells himself that he’s experienced enough to deal with a bad heat without medical’s help.

~~

If Phil could, he would ask Tony Stark to build him a damn time machine so he could travel back and do serious harm to the Alpha who traumatized a young Clint Barton so much he apparently never willingly went through a heat until…well, never.

Even now, shivering with need and with his ass slick and most likely aching, he looks at Phil with wild, wide eyes. He tries to hide it by pressing his face into the pillows, but Phil knows him, he knows Omegas, and he won’t knot when Clint squirms under him and begs him not to, even when he knows he needs to in order to end the heat.

Clint trusts him, or he wouldn’t have come to him. Phil’s not going to ruin that and risk Clint disappearing completely from his life just because every instinct he has wants to let go and do it, tie them together before Clint is ready for it.

Phil is a good Alpha. He wants his Omegas to want him, even if it’s just in the frenzy of heat, and Clint in particular, and so he ignores the painful tightness of his balls and pulls away when Clint yelps, the sound not quite muffled by the pillow.

“This doesn’t really work for you, does it?” he asks, his voice rough. He’s exhausted, he’s worried, and he’s horny, and it’s that combination that lets him reach out and trace Clint’s shoulder blade with his fingertips, forgoing his usual carefulness and distance.

Clint hisses. “Sorry,” he says while at the same time trying to press closer to Phil and pulling away, “’S not your fault I’m fucked up and there’s no such thing as reliable long-term suppression…”

“It’s not your fault,” he says and smoothes his palm down Clint’s sweat-slicked back. “Stop saying that. You’re not fucked up.” He flops down on his back and reaches for the water bottle on the nightstand. “Drink some water.”

Clint rolls himself into a kneeling position and takes the bottle with shaking hands. Phil watches him drink and lets his heart rate slow down again before he shifts to his side.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice as gentle as he can make it. “Do you want to try again, or do you feel like you could take a nap first?”

“I don’t want to try again,” Clint mutters, more honest than Phil ever expected him to get. It’s a clear sign of how close to the end of his rope Clint is getting. A few more hours, Phil knows, and the fever will spike, and he doesn’t ever want to go there again. He did that once, and that was more than enough for him.

“I know you don’t,” he says and reaches out, pulling Clint close to himself and pressing his nose in Clint’s hair, inhaling the smell before he kisses the spot behind Clint’s ear he discovered the last time they did this. “I know it’s hard.”

His fingers start to wander along the lines of Clint’s body, but they stay above the waist for now.

“Bad joke,” Clint protests weakly, but he pushes himself into the touch with almost desperate need, his face buried into the crook of Phil’s neck.

“I know. Sorry.” Phil kisses his temple in apology and rubs the pad of his thumb across the nearest nipple.

“I want to let you,” Clint presses out between clenched teeth. “I really want to let you.”

“I know,” Phil soothes, even if he didn’t until now. “It’s okay, Clint. It’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe, and nothing you don’t really want is going to happen, I promise.” He smoothes his hand down Clint’s arm, tangles their fingers together and squeezes gently.

Clint whimpers and drops back to hands and knees, his spine arched almost painfully. He doesn’t let go of Phil’s hand, and Phil’s mouth goes dry at the sight of Clint presenting like this.

He scrambles back to his own knees and lines up. The position is a little awkward, with his fingers caught by Clint’s, but Clint is so wet and perfect and open, and Phil could weep.

If Clint makes him stop again…well, he probably will, he thinks while pressing a kiss to Clint’s shoulder and slipping right in, but he might really cry.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he moves in Clint, feels his inner walls flutter around him and squeeze where his knot is rapidly forming. “And perfect, and I’m so proud you let me do this, let me see you like this.” He mouths his way across Clint’s shoulder blade, careful not to press his teeth against the back of Clint’s neck. Some Omegas love it, but Clint made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t, and Phil doesn’t even try.

He’s dangerously close to the edge already, thanks to the many times he came so close but didn’t finish. His toes curl and his fingertips tingle with arousal, and his entire body is desperate to get deeper into Clint, to knot them together. He can almost taste it.

“Clint,” he grunts. “Please, yes or no?”

No matter what, this is Clint’s decision. If Clint wants him to pull out again, Phil will.

“Yeah, do it,” Clint manages to say. “Just do it, get it over with, Phil. Phil.”

Phil wants to ask again if he’s sure, but his body takes over and he slams in hard, his free hand pressing low against Clint’s stomach to keep him in place while his other hand closes around Clint’s erection, wet at the tip and hot to the touch.

He strokes Clint with almost ruthless precision, touching the spots he knows send sparks throughout Clint’s poor, overstimulated and abused body, adding more pressure, more friction, more stimulation, until Clint’s body can’t take it anymore and he comes, his entire body shuddering and growing almost painfully tight around Phil’s fully-formed knot.

“I love you,” he blurts out, just as his own orgasm starts, triggered by Clint’s. His mouth is pressed against Clint’s shoulder again, his words are slurred and muffled, but there’s no way he can stop them now. “Look at you, so perfect and wonderful and perfect, just relax, Clint, I’ve got you.”

Clint doesn’t reply, but he looks very unrelaxed, so Phil places more kisses against his skin and carefully eases them onto their sides, expertly sliding a pillow under Clint’s head before curling close.

An Alpha’s orgasm takes time, and the waves crash through him and take everything but intense sensation with them.

And then, Clint huffs a breath. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he murmurs.

“You don’t,” Phil replies, still in a daze. “You just feel like it. Give it a moment.”

“How much of a moment?” Clint squirms slightly, as if he wants to test whether the knot really ties them together or if he can escape.

As a result, Phil holds him tighter and kisses his shoulder again. There isn’t much to be done now except to wait. For Phil, it’s a relief, to be allowed to come, to hold Clint so close and breathe in his scent, even if Clint squirms and refuses to settle down.

The fog of heat has apparently lifted very quickly, Phil notes drowsily, for Clint to turn from clingy desperate Omega back to consummate professional assassin. It’s not completely over, it never is after just one round, but there’s breathing room of several hours now – time most Omegas take for a nap and a bite to eat before the next wave of heat crashes through them again.

“I want this to be good for you,” he whispers. “I want you to feel comfortable. Can you think of a way we can figure this out?”

“Yeah,” Clint sighs and shifts again, making both himself and Phil wince in discomfort.

“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” Clint grumbles. “How long has it been?”

“Five minutes,” Phil murmurs. “Settle down.”

“I can’t,” Clint hisses. There’s suddenly a sharp, hurtful edge to his voice that stings like venom. “There is this giant thing in me.”

Phil sighs. His hand reaches down and rubs Clint’s stomach soothingly, trying to make him calm down. “Believe me,” he says, and his voice gains an unpleasantly sharp edge as well, despite his best efforts to hold it back. “By now, I’ve realized how miserable you are with me.”

He feels disappointed, achingly empty and exhausted, and frustrated, and it makes enjoying sex almost impossible. The message, he thinks numbly, has arrived – Clint doesn’t want him, it’s just the heat that made him so eager. Phil can stop hoping and pretending now that his little crush will ever be returned.

It’s just the pheromones that brought Clint to his bed, and now that his head is clear again, he apparently can’t wait to leave as quickly as possible.

Clint freezes. “I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up,” he snaps, and the last bit of enjoyment dissipates into thin air. If he could, Phil would get up now and leave, but they are tied together for at least ten more minutes.

“You’re not a fuck-up,” he says again and wraps his arm tightly around Clint. He wouldn’t put it past the younger man to try and yank away, and Phil doesn’t want to risk the injuries to either his own dick or Clint’s body.

He doesn’t want to be the one to hurt Clint like that.

“Yeah? What are you calling this then?” Clint sounds brittle, and Phil gets really close to call Stark and ask for that time machine, now. He either needs to beat up an Alpha or Loki, or both.

“Tell me something,” he murmurs, struggling to keep his voice as bland and free of judgment and anger as he can. “What do you hate so much about this, about trusting me here? You do it out in the field, where your life is on the line constantly.”

“It’s different,” Clint insists sharply. “I have some control out there.”

“So it’s not physical discomfort,” Phil murmurs thoughtfully. He really needs to misappropriate some SHIELD resources to find out what happened in Clint’s past, to make him this twitchy.

“That, too,” Clint replies. “You try getting fucked by that thing, see how you like it.” He’s getting agitated again.

“Actually,” Phil says, his voice growing colder as he gets angry himself, “I have, and unlike other people I could name, I really enjoyed it.”

Clint stills.

“You,” he says disbelievingly. “Getting fucked.”

“Loved it, actually,” Phil snaps. “Wouldn’t complain if we traded places. Trust me, Barton, if it worked, I’d gladly let you fuck me through the entire weekend.”

Clint falls silent and mulls Phil’s words over. Minutes tick by, and the anger drains out of Phil as his orgasm, unenjoyable as it was, slowly comes to an end and leaves him feeling nothing but exhaustion and emptiness.

“How’d you deal with the damn pain?” Clint finally asks hesitantly.

Phil sighs and rubs his nose against the shell of Clint’s ear. As furious as the younger man sometimes makes him, Phil still loves him, and his heart aches at the question and the bewildered tone to Clint’s voice.

“No pain,” he says. “Some discomfort and some serious time with prep, but no real pain. Sex isn’t supposed to be painful, they teach you that in school.”

“Wouldn’t know about that,” Clint mutters and shifts again.

“Clint,” Phil says and brushes his nose against the back of Clint’s neck. “How badly am I hurting you right now? When we do this? Be honest.”

He doesn’t want to hear the answer, but he has to, he knows.

“Not that bad, really,” Clint hastily assures him. “You know how heat works.”

Phil isn’t sure Clint is telling him the truth, but he has no clue how to ask for that. “I thought I did,” he says instead, “and then I met you. You’re the first one to make me stop seven times before getting to this point, and you’re the first one to pick a fight instead of taking a damn nap.”

Clint winces visibly. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Phil doesn’t answer.

He’s confused, insecure and disappointed. This, he thinks while he slips free of Clint’s body, wasn’t supposed to go like it just went. It was supposed to be a positive experience, leaving him with a better knowledge of Clint and what he likes, and it was supposed to show Clint that he can rely on Phil, that Phil can make it good for him.

That Phil, despite the thick scar on his chest and the receding hairline, can make Clint feel good.

Well, he thinks darkly as his softening dick slips out of Clint and Clint leaves the bed immediately, he failed with that.

He failed miserably.

Clint will never feel the same as Phil does, not if every action Phil took so far made him hurt in some way. Not when Clint hates sex with an Alpha as much as it seems to be.

Phil has a lot of regrets. He just adds this one to the pile.

He takes care of the condom and shrugs into underwear and a t-shirt. He forgot his place and forgot the most important rule, he thinks as he pads into the kitchen to start some coffee. Someone like Clint can have his pick of all the Alphas in the world. There is no reason he would settle for someone like Phil, especially if Phil doesn’t treat him like the precious, important human being he is.

He should’ve stopped. He should never have pushed Clint to come back to him after the first time. He should’ve opened his eyes and should’ve seen what was exactly in front of his face. No Omega ever said get this over with if he enjoyed sex. The signs were all there, and Phil had willfully closed his eyes, had let his belief that he knows Clint better than anyone else misguide him, and he has hurt Clint with his behavior.

He feels very old suddenly.

~~

There’s a knock on Phil’s door, sharp and demanding, and when he looks up from his tablet computer, Tony Stark is lounging against the doorjamb. He’s wearing a suit that costs more than Phil’s entire wardrobe put together, his hair is slicked back, and despite all that, he looks tired and gaunt.

“Mr. Stark,” Phil says and straightens.

“Agent,” Tony replies before frowning. “Ah…do you have a moment?”

Tony never comes to his office, Phil thinks as he waves the other man in and watches as he kicks the door shut, places his own tablet on Phil’s desk, and sinks into one of the chairs in front of Phil’s desk.

“What can I do for you?” Phil asks, his voice subconsciously dropping into a soothing register he often uses with Omegas.

With Clint, a treacherous little part of his brain reminds him, but he manages to shush it before his heart clenches too much.

It doesn’t matter that Clint hasn’t shown up in his office since that one time when his heat had already started. It doesn’t matter that he himself keeps his distance from Clint when he visits the Tower.

He still loves Clint, and it’s a hard fact to grapple with. Love, that’s not something he has a lot of experience with. He knows that Alphas are expected to care for their loved ones, that they are protective, but he never felt anything but the deepest trust that Clint can look out for himself, and he knows Clint would kick his teeth in if Phil ever even did as much as hinted at the idea that he can’t do everything an Alpha can. He is protective of Clint, but he’s also protective of all the other Avengers, starting with Steve Rogers and ending with Tony Stark, who is fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt right now and who came to Phil’s tiny office because he wanted to talk.

“This is…somewhat personal,” Tony admits. “So, I would appreciate if this doesn’t end up on youtube or something.”

Phil nods and waits.

“I just have one question,” Tony says and looks up. His eyes are bloodshot and framed by long, dark lashes. “You’re an Alpha. You know what an Alpha wants in a good Omega, right?”

Phil needs a long moment to parse the question.

“A good Omega?” he repeats after a long moment of silence. “Why do you need to know that?”

Tony flinches slightly, but he doesn’t look away. Instead, he stubbornly lifts his head a tiny little fraction higher.

“Tony,” Phil says after a long moment of staring. “A good Omega…that’s not an easy question.”

Tony doesn’t move, and Phil places both hands on the surface of the desk and says, gently, “Steve respects you a great deal, Tony, and he feels very deeply for you. He doesn’t need you to cook him dinner or clean for him or raise his kids, or buy him expensive things, for that. He likes you the way you are – the way you can be, when you’re not out to try and prove something.”

Tony narrows his eyes slightly. “This isn’t about Steve,” he protests, but Phil knows the truth. Tony is kind of obvious once Phil got to know him better and managed to burrow under the hard and almost uncrackable shell of the irresponsible playboy persona Tony wraps around himself like his armor.

“He cares a lot about Bucky, and he feels that Bucky needs him more right now, but seriously, Tony, you don’t honestly believe that Steve will leave you hanging?” Phil thinks for a moment. “You should ask Steve this question, ask him what he wants in an Omega. I’m sure you’d be surprised by his answer.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so,” Tony says and climbs to his feet again. “Anyway, thanks for your unhelpful help.”

Phil smiles. “Talk to Steve,” he repeats as he stands himself and waits for Tony to leave his office before he sweeps for bugs.

He likes Tony and trusts him with his life, but he also knows him, and it never hurt to be safe.

~~

“You look worried.” Nick sinks down into Phil’s couch and carefully takes a sip of his hot coffee. “You have this line on your forehead, the one right here, that tells me your heart is not where it needs to be.”

“I don’t,” Phil automatically protests and frowns. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

“What is it? And please don’t tell me it’s the ratio of Alphas to Betas to Omegas in the new Avenger-recruits,” Nick says. “Because I know for a fact that you think Omegas are just as capable as Alphas when it comes to saving the world.”

“Of course they are,” Phil points out. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Spit it out, Cheese,” Nick orders him gently. “What has you so worried?”

“Doctor Hank Pym,” Phil says before sighing and allowing his shoulders to slump. It’s Sunday afternoon, and here he is, poring over files with Nick Fury, and even if they left SHIELD for the privacy of Phil’s apartment, it’s still work.

“You don’t want to tell me,” Nick states and tilts his head back against the couch. “It’s personal. We’ve known each other for a long time, Phil, and there isn’t much you try to keep to yourself when you’re with me. So you’re trying to protect somebody else. The only people you had personal contact with during the last two months were your sister, who is fine and happy in Portland even if she misses you, and the services you offered up to the OPS, and there was only one Omega you’ve been with in that time. Barton.”

“You’re right,” Phil says, his tone clipped. “I don’t want to tell you.”

“Did you two have a lovers’ spat?” Nick asks with a mocking, disbelieving tone to his voice, and of course he knows what happened. Nick knows everything without revealing anything of his own. He’s the best spy Phil’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot of them in his time.

“He isn’t my lover,” he says tiredly. “Never was. Never wants to be.” And there it is, the problem he has, the thing he can’t stop thinking about. He could go ahead and lie to Fury, but Nick is right in one point – they’ve known each other for a long time, and Nick is here and willing to listen to Phil if he needs someone to talk to. He knows Barton almost as good as Phil does, and sometimes, a second pair of eyes is exactly the thing needed to crack a situation that doesn’t seem to have an easy solution.

And he’ll find out what happened anyway, and Phil can save himself a lot of trouble if he just gives in.

“He hates it. He hates every second of it. I can’t get him to relax.” He talks a bit more about the two heats they shared, about his own blindness toward Clint’s behavior, and Nick listens, hums every now and then, and is silent while Phil gets it all off of his chest.

“Barton doesn’t hate you, Cheese,” Nick finally says. “It’s not you he has a problem with.” He shrugs one shoulder and reaches for the pile of files on Phil’s coffee table. “His problem is that he doesn’t want you to see how messed up he is.”

“You sure about that?” Phil asks skeptically.

Nick grins widely. “Natasha is,” he admits. “She thinks you’re good for Barton, and I happen to agree with her assessment. You’re good for Barton, and Barton is good for you. He keeps you honest.”

Phil’s lips twitch slightly. “I doubt that,” he says softly. “And that still doesn’t solve my problem. What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re being traditional,” Nick points out. “Have you tried a different position?”

A part of Phil’s brain balks at the thought of discussing this kind of topic with Nick, who is, after all, his boss. Phil is Alpha himself, he should be able to figure this out without help, but the truth is that he’s been trying to crack this particular problem for so long now he doesn’t even know anymore which way is up and which one is down.

“No,” he admits. “I…” He wanted it to be good for Clint, wanted him to relax into something familiar like a traditional position, but when he points that out to Nick, Nick only rolls his eye.

“You know Barton’s file better than anyone else,” he says. “You know he’s had some rough patches. How did you think he’d react, having an Alpha loom over him and pin him down?” He shakes his head as if he can’t believe how stupid Phil’s being. “This is Barton we’re talking about, Phil. I don’t think the guy has had a single cuddle heat in his entire life.”

~~

Phil thinks about it. He thinks about it almost constantly. He thinks about it during a meeting with Doctor Pym and his lovely wife, during an Avengers-mission, and all the way through the post-op.

It doesn’t really matter. The Avengers are still busy with their own problems, Tony barely speaking to Steve and Bruce barely speaking, period. Natasha and Clint both say very little, but for different reasons, and the whole meeting has a lot of similarity with an old piece of chewing gum stuck to the sole of a shoe.

Something needs to happen, Phil knows, and it’s his inner Alpha that finally decides to take charge, to do what evolution prepared him to do.

“Barton, a word, please,” he says, and Clint exchanges a quick glance with Natasha, barely noticeable but there nonetheless, and stays put when the others file out – Natasha and Steve back to Medical, Tony and Bruce to the Tower.

Maybe it’s a good thing that Thor returned to Asgard, although Phil admits that he’s curious about a two-gendered lifestyle and its repercussions on inter-personal relationships. He doubts he and Clint would have this kind of communication breakdown if there wasn’t anything like a heat involved.

“Clint…” Phil starts, but then he stops. I’m sorry doesn’t quite cut it here, and he is aware that he can’t offer Clint anything in the first place.

“Sir?” Clint asks back. A frown is starting to appear on his forehead, and Phil wants to reach out and touch his fingertips to it.

“Are you okay?” Phil finally asks, after a long moment of awkward silence. “I haven’t talked to you since…” He trails off and rubs his palm over his face. He is nervous, he can admit that much, even if it’s just in his own head.

“I’m fine, sir,” Clint says. “That all?”

“No.” Phil takes a deep breath, tries to remember what Nick told him, and blurts out, “I remember something about owing you dinner. I mean, if you’re willing to try. I want to try. Something different. With you. I mean.”

It’s so far removed from the smooth, unflappable mask he’s kept on for so long it became part of his face, and Phil is sure that his own thirteen-year-old self would slap a hand to his forehead and groan theatrically at the fumbling display of how not-smooth Alphas can be. There’s only one situation he can remember he’s been in the last twenty years that has been as embarrassing as this one, and that was when he met Captain America for the first time.

Clint looks at him doubtfully. “You want to grab dinner. As in, a date,” he asks disbelievingly. “You. That’s what’s got you so distracted for the past few weeks.”

Phil nods. “Yeah,” he admits and valiantly fights the need to close his eyes while his heart beats a harsh staccato against his ribs. He doesn’t want to see the rejection that he’s sure is coming.

“With me. Really?” Clint looks as if he expects Phil to laugh it off any moment now, and it only strengthens Phil’s resolve to fix this, to make this right as much as he can.

“Yes, Barton, with you, really. Clint.” His voice has grown sharper again, and Phil gentles it consciously. “I meant what I said. Everything.”

Clint rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Fine,” he says, his voice a rough growl. “Where are you taking me?”

Phil is so relieved he could jump up and dance, and it takes all of his professionalism to stop himself.

Maybe, he thinks giddily as his mind goes through possibilities at the speed of light, not all is lost, and there’s still hope.

Maybe.

~~

Steve and Bucky are in the middle of a conversation when Phil enters the observation room above Bucky’s single room and pulls a chair out. He’s pretty much off the Winter Soldier case and has been for several weeks now, since Nick Fury personally took charge of the operation, but he has his ways of being kept in the loop even without official channels.

“It was a stupid promise between two little boys back then,” Bucky is saying, his voice rough and gravelly, when Phil pulls out a chair and sinks down into it.

Steve doesn’t answer, and Bucky narrows his eyes. “Of course it wasn’t a stupid promise between kids for you, right, you idiot?” he asks, his tone so fond and full of adoration and exasperation that Phil’s heart jumps in his chest.

“It never was stupid for me, Bucky,” Steve manages to say, his voice quiet but firm. “You always were the most important person in my whole life. When you died…Bucky, I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did the right thing,” Bucky says and reaches out with his remaining hand, to place it on Steve’s forearm and squeeze slightly. “You went on with your life. What, you thought I wanted you to be miserable? I never did that, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve says, his voice thick with emotion. “God, Bucky, I missed you.”

Bucky grimaces. “I wish I could say the same, punk, but I don’t really remember much of the last seventy years,” he admits. “You’re a good kid, Steve, you’ve always been. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Phil realizes that this is a highly private moment between the two old friends, and he idly notices how Bucky acts more like an Alpha than Steve, who looks to his friend for guidance and absolution, it seems. And Bucky, on the other hand, is taking Steve’s cues wonderfully and shaping them into a way that hopefully gets back through Steve’s thick skull.

He wonders how things between them had been, before the serum, when Steve had been weak and sickly and Bucky, the Omega, had been the protector of his Alpha friend. He wonders how it shaped their relationship and Steve’s ability to trust Omegas to handle themselves in battle. After all, Bucky had protected him throughout his childhood, why wouldn’t he trust any other Omega to do the same? And if that was true, Tony Stark probably had to thank James Barnes more than either of them would realize for a very long time, because the Steve Rogers of today has been shaped by his experiences in the past, and the Steve Rogers that is a perfectly fitting Alpha to Tony Stark’s unconventional, loud and brash Omega had a good teacher of the things Omegas are capable of in Bucky Barnes.

“So, Stark’s kid,” Bucky says in the room under him and winks at Steve, who blushes a bright shade of red. “Is he anything like his old man?”

“He is better than Howard in a lot of areas,” Steve replies. His voice is quavering slightly. “And he’s worse in some other aspects. He doesn’t like to be compared to Howard.”

“Nobody ever did,” Bucky grunts. “Imagine being the man’s son, having all of that obsessive focus directed to you.” He faked a shudder. “No, I’m glad I’m not that kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” Steve points out, but he’s smiling faintly. “He’s the most unique human being I’ve ever seen.”

“So?” Bucky’s eyebrows rise challengingly. “About you and that most unique human being you’ve ever seen. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Steve says firmly. “I gave you a promise first, not Tony.”

Bucky sighs. “You don’t want to understand, do you?” he says. “You want to be stubborn.” He adds a few very colorful Russian curses, but Steve only stares at him unwaveringly, as if he is afraid Bucky will disappear as soon as Steve looks away.

“Okay. Okay, punk. Let me explain something to you,” Bucky says, places his hands palms-down on the table and squares his shoulders. “I’m sure you’re a great Alpha, Steve, but you’re not what I’m looking for right now.”

Steve’s shoulders stiffen, and for a split second, Phil really regrets listening in to this conversation. It’s a private talk between two old friends, and a painful one, on top of that.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Steve manages to say, and even from his point Phil can tell how much he’s struggling with the admission, the knowledge that he somehow failed his friend again.

“What I mean is,” Bucky says, his voice softening again, “that I know what kind of Alpha you are. I’ve watched you with Peggy, you know.”

“I never had anything with her!” Steve protests, but Bucky talks right over him.

“I don’t really remember much of the past few decades, but maybe that’s for the best, you know? I just know that I need something different than your cuddle-Alphaism. I need someone who can hold me down – and you’re not that kind of person, Steve. What I’m looking for right now, it’s not anything you can give me without hurting yourself. And you have Stark’s kid now.”

His voice sounds like that of any Alpha letting down an Omega Phil has ever heard, and again, he finds himself surprised about their roles and how much control Bucky has over Steve.

“I love you, man, like a brother,” Bucky says softly, almost too quietly to be picked up by the microphones. “I want you to be happy, you idiot. I wouldn’t make you happy.”

“You make me happy,” Steve protests. “I love you too.”

“And that’s why you need to let me go. Come on. Stark looks like the kind of Omega you can be happy with.” Bucky reaches out and curls his hand around Steve’s wrist. “Go home, Steve. Be with him.”

“What about you?” Steve sounds lost and not at all like Captain America, the country’s most valiant Alpha. This, Phil realizes, is Steve Rogers, the man behind the stereotype; the man who allows an Omega to take so much control.

His thoughts wander without his decision back to Clint. He doesn’t know if he can suppress his dominant instincts so much, to give Clint as much control as Steve apparently gave Bucky, but one thing is for sure.

He is more than willing to try.

“What about me? Hell, it’s a whole new world,” Bucky says with a short laugh. “I’ll find someone. Don’t I always?”

“Yeah.” Steve looks at him for a long moment. “If you don’t find anyone willing to do what you need them to do,” he says, and now his voice is getting firmer, more authoritative. “You come to me, you hear me? I will not leave you hanging. Not again.”

“What about Tony?”

“He’ll have to deal.” Steve sighs. “I really like the fella, you know, but you’re my best friend, Bucky, and if you need me, well, I hope Tony can understand that.”

“He’d be stupid to let you go over something like this,” Bucky agrees. “You’re a good man, Steve.”

“Thanks.” Steve tilts his head slightly to the side. “Promise you’ll come to me.”

Phil can’t see the eyeroll, but he likes to imagine that he can hear it in Bucky’s long-suffering reply of “yes, Steve, if I don’t find anyone else, I will come to you. Jesus, Rogers, this isn’t my first dance.”

There’s a sharp edge to his words that nudges at Phil’s brain, and a small smile starts forming on his lips.

He knows exactly what kind of Alpha Barnes needs – the kind that is strict and able to control him. Barnes doesn’t seem to be the kind of Omega who appreciates too much freedom when almost out of his mind with heat. He needs someone else to keep that control for him, and Phil knows the perfect person for the job.

Below him, Steve says his goodbyes to Bucky and steps out of the room just as Natasha slips in and takes his place, and Phil knows that she will support his plan.

The cameras tell him that Steve walks out of SHIELD headquarters, and then, JARVIS informs him that Captain Rogers arrived safe and sound at the Tower and is currently in the company of Mister Stark and Miss Potts, and Phil just hopes with all his damaged and broken heart that the three of them manage to talk through their issues like adults at least once.

~~

It takes ten dates until Phil and Clint end up at Phil’s place again, and even then, they’re careful with each other and awkward until Phil laughs, opens a bottle of wine and pours both of them a glass.

“Want to watch TV?” he asks as he hands Clint his glass, their fingers brushing.

“Yeah,” Clint says and shifts from one foot to the other before sitting down on the edge of the couch. “That’d be okay.”

Phil tosses him the remote and disappears into his bedroom, to take off his suit and put on more comfortable clothes.

They spend the evening in front of a pile of reality shows, and then Clint goes back to the Tower and Phil goes to his bed, alone but happy.

They settle in a tentative pattern, until one evening, Phil nudges Clint gently and asks, “Want to go to the bedroom with me?”

Clint stills “What do you want to do there?” he asks carefully.

Phil grins. He’s had a glass of wine with his dinner, and he feels happy and carefree for the moment. It’s the main reason why he finally dared to take this step, to move their relationship ahead if possible. “In an ideal world,” he says, “I’d like you to fuck me. But if you want something different, just to hang out, that’s good too. I’m up for a lot of things, you just should talk to me about them before attempting them.”

Clint swallows, licks his lips, and asks, “You’re serious?”

Phil’s grin widens. “Pretty much.”

Clint is still hesitant for a while and lets Phil take control of their making out and undressing him before returning the favor, his calloused fingertips tracing almost reverently over the thick, angry-looking scar on Phil’s chest. Phil holds still and follows Clint’s lead, letting Clint push him gently down onto the mattress and nudge him until he’s on his hands and knees.

Clint takes his time getting Phil ready, using a lot of lube and slowly and carefully stretching him, and Phil is pulled between enjoying the sensations of intense arousal running through him and hanging on, taking mental notes, to use on Clint the next time their roles are reversed again.

And then, Clint exhales loudly and slides into him, slow and sweet, and Phil doesn’t even think anymore. He’s too busy enjoying the stretch of his body, the pulsing arousal jumping from one nerve ending to the next. He squeezes a hand around his own dick, just to enjoy the sensation of tightness around his knot.

He won’t knot, won’t come when he’s not in someone, in Clint, and it takes a lot of the enjoyment out of sex, but the fact that it’s Clint who is running his broad hands all over Phil’s back and sides, moaning quietly while sliding out of him and pushing back in, his dick smooth and perfect, makes Phil pant and shiver and arch his spine, demanding more and more from Clint.

Clint’s control over himself is remarkable. He stays careful and moves slowly, even when Phil tilts his head to the side after a few moments and says, “You can go harder, I don’t mind. In fact, I would like it very much.”

Phil doesn’t repeat his words. This is Clint’s show, and if Clint wants to go slow, Phil will take it. It’s not as if it’s a chore. He feels cherished and loved and taken care of, Clint’s breath hot and moist against the back of his neck, and for a brief, fleeting second he wishes that he wasn’t born Alpha and that he could come from just this, the feeling of being filled by Clint’s smooth, knot-less dick.

When Clint finally picks up the tempo of his lovemaking, Phil goes pliant and buries his face in his pillow, and when Clint comes and collapses on Phil’s back, pinning him under heavy muscles and warm sweaty skin, it’s almost as good as being buried deep in a willing partner’s body and coming for hours.

“You okay?” he asks, the words slightly slurred. Belatedly, he realizes that he doesn’t know what he would do if Clint said no, but the question is out and there is no taking it back.

Clint grunts and quickly scrambles off of Phil, his dick sliding easily out. He collapses next to Phil, his muscles still trembling slightly, and Phil reaches out and pulls him close without a second thought. He rubs his nose against Clint’s shoulder and enjoys the warm glow coming from him.

“You’re staying tonight, right?” he asks when the minutes tick by and sleep is starting to pull at him.

Clint hesitates.

“You’re not going back to the Tower,” Phil decides when he doesn’t answer. “Grab some sweats, you know where they are.”

Clint grunts and gets up. Moments later, he returns with a wet washcloth and carefully cleans Phil up before coaxing him into his pajama pants and a clean t-shirt.

“I meant it,” Phil slurs. “I really love you.”

Clint only huffs a laugh and rolls him under the blankets before turning off the lights and curling against Phil’s back. “Go to sleep, Phil,” he murmurs. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

He doesn’t return the sentiment, not with words, but, Phil thinks, already half-asleep, not everybody is as pathetic as he is. And there is no doubt that his love, his devotion, has started to be pathetic. All he can think about is Clint, not just his body, but also his mind, his insights, his tactical expertise; and how much he wants Tony Stark to build him a time machine so that he can go into the past and beat up everybody who ever dared to lay a hand on Clint.

Pathetic, he decides, and creepy, and yet, he can’t stop the smile from taking up residence on his face.

Clint doesn’t return his sentiment in words, but he stays the night, and the next morning, he makes breakfast.

Phil thinks it’s impossible to be more in love than he currently is.

~~

“I have a better idea,” Phil says by way of greeting when he sweeps into his office, closes the door behind himself and dumps the entire pile of files Darcy just handed to him onto his desk.

Nick Fury raises both eyebrows. “You do?”

“I most definitely do.”

Nick’s lips twitch slightly. “You don’t even know what I want from you,” he points out, but Nick isn’t the only superspy in the room and Phil knows exactly why Nick is here.

“You need a reliable Alpha to guide Sergeant Barnes through his heat, someone who is strong enough not to get drawn under,” he says blandly. “And as usual, you try to foist the job on me.”

“A reliable Alpha registered with the OPS,” Nick says. He doesn’t try to deny any of Phil’s accusations – they both know Phil is right.

“And as I said, I have a much better idea,” Phil repeats and opens his briefcase. “An experienced Alpha, firm and in control, with the perfect understanding as to what Barnes went through.”

Nick frowns. “Who?” he asks, and Phil pulls the file he has prepared out of his briefcase and presents it to Nick with a little flourish.

The look Nick gives him in return speaks loudly, but Phil doesn’t waver, and finally, Nick takes the file and opens it, only to look at his own face.

“I am not registered with the OPS,” he points out and looks at Phil expectantly.

“Nick Fury isn’t, no,” Phil answers. “But Marcus Johnson is.”

“He’s inactive.”

“He has been, but he can be reactivated.” Phil tilts his head to the side. “Don’t tell me Natasha hasn’t asked you this.”

“Natasha?” Nick’s frown deepens. “You mean because she worked with the Winter Soldier in the past?”

Phil shakes his head. “More because she’s in love with him,” he points out. “She would love to get Barnes into your bed. And I think he wouldn’t be too averse to the idea, not with her there, as well.”

Nick stares at his own file. “You are telling me I’ve lost her already,” he says after a long moment.

“No,” Phil answers calmly. “I’m telling you that you can gain a whole lot by taking him on. It’s just heat. If it doesn’t work out, you can always go ahead and find someone else for him. Steve would volunteer, but if Steve took Bucky, it would cause a big rift in the Avengers and the whole project could fall apart.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nick gives him a piercing look. “I’ll think about it.”

Phil nods and does his best to keep his satisfied grin hidden. “Yes, Boss.”

~~

“The reliable Alpha I need,” Nick says almost randomly when Phil moves across the bridge of the Helicarrier, “I could use him tomorrow.”

From the corner of his eye, Phil sees Clint, who has been lounging casually against the conference table and waiting for Phil to finish his shift, tense and flinch for a split second before he has himself under control again.

“I found you one,” Phil points out, a hint of sharpness in his voice and his attention still on Clint, who pushes himself off the table and leaves the bridge without a word to anyone and with his shoulders hunched up defensively.

“Think about it,” he adds after a moment. He pitches his voice low and hunches his shoulders slightly – all tactics to make him look less like a rival and more like a friendly advisor. He’s sure Nick can see through all those tactics like a gaze veil, but it never hurts and he might just be successful with it. “Think about the two of them, Natasha and him. You’d do a favor for all three of you. Don’t you think Natasha will remember that the next time you need her to do something for you she doesn’t like?”

“She would do it no matter if she likes it or not,” Nick points out, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“She would not take it out on the junior agents,” Phil adds. “She’d be much happier about having Barnes in her bed. In your bed. And you can’t tell me that you don’t miss it.”

“I don’t miss it.”

“You’re the best guy for the job. Natasha trusts you – to a degree.” Phil tilts his head to the side. “You’d keep the Winter Soldier at bay and both Natasha and Captain Rogers would feel they owed you something.”

“Tell me one thing, Coulson,” Nick says, his voice just as quiet. “If Barton were out of the picture here, would you still argue for me to take him on?”

“Absolutely, sir,” Phil says without hesitation. “It’s for the best of the Avengers if Captain Rogers feels indebted to you, don’t you think?”

It’s a low blow, and they both know it. Nick bows his head slightly, admitting defeat on this point, and Phil bites the inside of his cheek to keep the smug grin from his face.

“Okay,” Nick says and grins, his eye glinting in the harsh lights of the bridge, “but you owe me one, as well. And I will come for that favor.”

“Yes, boss,” Phil says, because he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter. He has managed to talk Nick into taking Barnes into his bed for heat, and he’s sure that Barnes will stay there at least for a while and that it will be the best solution for everybody involved: Steve doesn’t have to worry about him, Tony and Pepper get to keep Steve, Natasha gets to keep Bucky where she wants him to have, Nick gets to keep everybody where he wants to have them, and Phil has Clint and is happy with that.

He owes Nick Fury more than his life, one little favor won’t tip the scales much, he thinks.

He hopes.

~~

“I would like to state for the record that I hate this,” Clint announces when Phil opens the door.

He’s wearing jeans, a hoodie, and a threadbare jacket, and he’s carrying a dufflebag slung over one shoulder. His eyes, hidden behind gleaming sunglasses, turn out to be bright and feverish, and when he takes off his boots, his jacket and his hoodie, Phil can smell the enticing pheromones of a fertile Omega on him. It’s still faint, but it’s unmistakably there.

“Again?” he asks softly, and Clint glares at him before letting his shoulders slump.

“Yeah.”

“Did you talk to Medical?” Phil closes the door and leans against it. “There’s nothing we can do to push it back, make sure your body had enough time to regenerate?”

“Nope,” Clint says and clutches the straps of his bag. “They say they can’t do anything without the risk of severe repercussions. It has to level off on its own.”

“Do they have any idea how long that will take?” Phil asks, and Clint shakes his head.

It doesn’t come as a surprise when Clint disappears in Phil’s bathroom, and Phil, again, takes the opportunity and sets out the things he will need.

He didn’t expect Clint’s heat to hit again so soon, but that doesn’t mean he’s not prepared. He’s made dozens of plans and back-up plans, and in the end, he devised an entire strategy only to toss it all out again and to start from the beginning.

He thinks he’s prepared now, and he thinks he’s found a way to make this heat better than the one before. He has a much better understanding of how Clint ticks, what helps him relax and what will send him in a tailspin.

All he needs now is a lot of self-control and a little patience.

And Clint.

When Clint comes to the bedroom, he is naked except for the towel slung low around his hips. His hair is wet and plastered to his skull, except for the strands that are sticking up wildly. He’s half-hard, and the nails on his right hand are bitten short.

“Come here,” Phil says fondly and pulls him into his arms, to press them together and to let the closeness of an Omega in the first phases of heat excite him.

Clint comes willingly enough, even goes so far that he wraps his own arms loosely around Phil’s middle.

“How are you feeling?” Phil asks him and rubs soothing circles into the warm skin of Clint’s back with both hands.

“Medical says it’s going to hit me harder and quicker this time, because the circle was so short,” Clint explains before grimacing.

“How are you feeling right now?” Phil wants to know, and Clint grimaces again.

“Like I’m gonna be tossed down on your bed and almost split in two in a few moments,” he admits.

Phil’s tongue swipes across his ear. “I’m not going to do that,” he promises. “I have two options for you here that I think will do the trick. The first is that you get to be completely in control of this. Of me. We do exactly what you want to do, okay?”

“Phil,” Clint whines. There is no other word for it. “If they’re right, I’ll be barely able to keep control of myself here, how do you expect me to control anyone else, especially you?”

Phil laughs, kisses him and only flinches a little when icy cold water drips off of Clint’s hair and onto his own skin. “Do you want to hear my second option?”

Clint nods, and Phil takes a deep breath. He’s thought about this one for a while, and he’s still not sure if it’s such a good idea.

“Cuddle heat,” he says. “You never had one of those, didn’t you?”

He strokes his fingertips down Clint’s spine when Clint doesn’t answer, soothing and gentle. This is the first cliff – he doesn’t want Clint to feel like he is somehow broken just because his curriculum is missing big chunks that are considered standard for normal people, like a decent formal education and the slow easing into Omega biology that is known as a cuddle heat. He doesn’t want to belittle Clint, make him feel stupid, or insecure.

“Not much cuddling in the circus,” Clint finally admits, his voice low and rough.

“That’s what I thought.” Phil nods and rubs his nose against Clint’s temple. “Consider this roleplaying. Undercover work.”

“Under cover, huh?” Clint snorts. “Bad pun.”

“Sorry.” Phil strokes his fingers further down Clint’s spine, until he reaches the small of his back. “I want to show you how it can be. If you let me.”

“What if…” Clint swallows audibly. “What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s anything like the last time?”

There it is, the strategic mind that Phil loves so much, plotting for all kinds of possibilities and scenarios, and he smiles and kisses Clint.

“If that happens, we’ll call a stop to things, and re-evaluate,” he promises.

Clint pulls back slightly and gives him a doubtful look. “This is still heat,” he points out. “How much time do we have to call a stop to things and re-evaluate?”

“Enough,” Phil says firmly. He doesn’t tell Clint that he went to Medical with Clint’s paperwork and got a single syringe filled with the medication that will ease a heat, because this is his back-up back-up plan, the one he can fall back on if everything else goes wrong. “Trust me.”

Clint thinks. His body, Phil notices, is instinctively seeking out Phil’s already – he’s pressing close and rubbing against him, and he does nothing to discourage Clint.

“Okay,” Clint finally decides. “That…okay.”

“Okay,” Phil murmurs. And just like that, they’re back on familiar ground.

Phil knows what to do during a cuddle heat. His body knows what to do, and his mind does, and it’s no problem for him to follow through with that.

“Let’s pretend this is your first heat,” he says. “is that okay for you?”

“I don’t know yet,” Clint admits, his mouth half open against Phil’s collar bone. “Can I let you know?”

“Sure.” Phil’s grip changes and gentles. “You say the word, we stop everything.” He chuckles. “If you suddenly feel the need to throw me down and just…take what you need, I won’t complain either, you know?”

Clint snorts, and Phil lets his left hand come to rest right above the towel, like he would with a young first-timer, when he doesn’t know yet how skittish they are.

“Everything is okay,” he murmurs, his voice quiet and soothing. “on a scale from one to ten, how much do you need me to touch you right now?”

Clint shifts, considers. “Six, maybe,” he says, his voice rough and hoarse. “Maybe a seven.”

Phil nods and keeps both hands on Clint – one low on his back, one at the back of his neck.

Omegas who go through their first heat are usually less broad in the shoulders than Clint is, less muscular and less deadly, but Phil tries to ignore all of that. He pulls Clint’s head back to his neck, lets him rub his cheek against his skin and inhale the Alpha-pheromones that will bring an end to the heat eventually.

“Phil,” Clint murmurs, his hands clenching into Phil’s t-shirt.

“What do you need me to do?” Phil asks immediately. “Let me take off my shirt, Clint.”

Clint makes a small sound of agreement, and together, they tug the shirt up and off, and Phil pulls Clint’s head immediately back to his shoulder.

The neck is one of the most delicate areas of the human body, and the one most Omegas go for instinctively.

“We’re going to take a few steps now, okay, Clint?” Phil murmurs. “Just a few steps. Just to the bed over there.”

Clint chuckles. “Yes, sir,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against Phil’s throat. He’s hot, his skin feeling like brittle, dry paper that has been sitting in an oven until it’s parched. The heat is coming on fast.

“I’m going to take off your towel first,” Phil says. “Nothing else, just take it off.”

“I know, Phil,” Clint says and reaches down himself, to push at the fabric until the knot loosens and it falls to the ground. “There, it’s gone.”

“That’s good. Can I look at you?” Phil waits until Clint gives him a confused look and a quick nod before he tumbles both of them onto the mattress and rolls them both onto their sides. He leans up on his elbow and just looks.

He knows Clint’s body by now, knows all the scars and the ticklish spots and where his skin is still soft and tender. He has Clint burned into his memories, the little twitch at the corner of his mouth when he’s amused and the soft twinkle in his eyes when he’s dealing with kids just as much as the harsh pants when he’s waking up from a nightmare and the strong line of his shoulders when he’s nocking an arrow and aiming, confident to the point of cockiness. And yet, he treats this like a first time, as if he’s never seen the flat plane of Clint’s stomach, the strong muscles in his arms, his legs, his shoulders, the dark-blonde curls around his dick, the flat nipples.

“What?” Clint finally snaps before glancing to the side. “I mean, what now, sir?”

“Depends on you,” Phil says, unfazed by the outburst. It’s nervous energy, he can tell – Clint, who usually is very capable of holding perfectly still for hours, is plucking at the weave of the sheets, his fingers looking for something to do.

Phil catches his wrist gently and sets it against his own chest. “Hey,” he says with a twist of his lips. “You can touch me too. Some Omegas say it helps them, you know.”

“Really, Phil?” Clint asks, his fingers skittering unevenly over Phil’s chest. “You say that to kids?”

“I say it to you right now,” Phil replies. “And if you want, I can show you the article where I read it.”

Clint grimaces. “No thanks,” he says and settles his hand on the curve of Phil’s hip. “I believe you.”

“I’m going to touch you now,” Phil replies. His hand closes on Clint’s upper thigh and slowly slides down, toward his knee. He pulls it forward, over his own hip, and runs his fingers up the backside of Clint’s leg. “That okay?”

“You know it is,” Clint murmurs. His fingers are twitching against Phil’s hip, and Phil hums and leans in, to kiss him softly. It’s nothing more than a brief, dry brush of his lips against Clint’s, then his cheek, his ear, but it works to distract Clint from the fact that Phil’s fingers are moving further up his leg until they reach the swell of his ass and come back slick and wet.

He lets his fingers rest there for a moment, just to see what Clint does, and to get him used to someone touching him there. Clint’s muscles twitch and tremble, but he doesn’t try to pull away.

“On a scale from one to ten, how much do you want me to take my hand away?” Phil asks, struggling to keep his voice as soothing and even as before. Clint’s shifting makes the pad of his finger rub against the slick opening, and he is getting a little affected by that.

Clint grunts. “Six,” he says. “Getting lower.”

“So, do you want me to take away my hand now?” Phil asks again, and Clint exhales sharply.

“Yes,” he admits hesitantly. “Please. If you don’t mind.”

Phil doesn’t mind. Not too much, at least. He sneaks his hand around Clint’s hip, brushes his damp fingers against the sharp edge of bone and the pronounced cut of muscle, and closes his hand slowly and carefully around the tip of his dick, now fully hard.

“That better?” he asks and twists his wrist expertly.

Clint makes a soft sound of arousal and a hint of protest, and Phil’s hand slides down his length and back up, to the tip.

“I want to see you come,” Phil admits. “I want to look into your face when you do. Can I?”

“I’m not that young anymore,” Clint points out with a breathless huff of laughter and drops his head down, until it comes to rest against Phil’s throat again. “If you do that, this will take a long time until it’s over.”

“I can adapt, if you prefer,” Phil points out. “If you think you can’t come twice.”

Clint hesitates. Phil can’t see his face, but he can feel his lashes against his skin, and it feels as if Clint closed his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry, sir, I don’t think I can,” he finally says, after long moments where only the sound of Phil’s hand on Clint’s dick fill the air between them.

“That’s okay,” Phil replies easily. “Do you think you can roll on your back for me?” He doesn’t stop the speed of his strokes, or the pressure of his fingers around Clint.

“Rather not, sir,” Clint admits roughly. “Too vulnerable position.”

“Hands and knees, then?” Phil is flexible. He can adjust his plans on the fly, and he’s good at that.

“Better, sir,” Clint says, and Phil pulls his hand away and watches as Clint scrambles clumsily to his knees and drops down to his elbows.

“It’s easiest for an Alpha, like this,” he says, almost conversationally, “because Omegas are fierce. Don’t let any Alpha tell you differently. Heat isn’t a walk in the park. They scratch and bite and hit you in the face when you don’t move fast enough.” He grins and runs his fingertips slowly down Clint’s spine. “Around the middle ages, Omegas often got chained down – the Omega in heat and need was one of the most popular schemes to kill a royal.”

Clint looks over his shoulder. “History lesson, really?” He is flushed, sweat is starting to collect at his temples.

“History lessons,” Phil agrees. “It’s all part and parcel of the whole deal. Don’t tell me you never wondered why hands and knees have gotten so popular.”

“Because this way, you can’t identify the face of your attacker,” Clint replies darkly, and Phil’s hand stills for a moment.

“Do you want me to stop? Call medical?” he asks, and Clint hastily shakes his head.

“I’m fine, really, Phil,” he says and kneels up, his upper body twisting around until he can kiss Phil, his lips cool and soft against Phil’s, and Phil pulls him close and breathes him in for a moment.

“I love you,” he murmurs and holds Clint tight. His hand wanders back to Clint’s ass, gentle touches until Clint whines around the tongue he has in Phil’s mouth, and Phil slides the first finger into him.

Clint is tight and hot and slick and perfect, and he makes the sweetest sounds when Phil’s knuckle push past the ring of muscles and further in. He doesn’t stop kissing Phil, his eyes half-closed, and Phil encourages him to rub against his hip, Clint’s dick hard and thick and painting wet lines against Phil’s skin.

“You feel great for me,” Phil promises, his voice catching when Clint’s body shudders against his. “I hope I can make this at least as good for you as you are already doing it for me, you know?”

He tugs his finger free and pushes it back in almost immediately, his eyes and ears focused on Clint, the hitch of his breathing and the play of his muscles under his skin. The slightest sign of discomfort, and he will slow down, pull back, try a different approach.

“How does this feel?” he asks and nudges the tip of a second finger against Clint’s opening. “Do you think you can take more?”

“You know it,” Clint mumbles into his neck. “You know I can.”

“Right now?” Phil asks and presses his two fingers against Clint’s opening with more intent.

Clint’s hips twitch, but away from the touch, and Phil stops immediately and reaches for the lube on the bedside table.

“Really?” Clint asks. Of course he is watching every single thing Phil does. It shouldn’t be a surprise, Phil thinks as he calmly uncaps the bottle and pours some of the liquid out on his fingers.

“Honestly, Phil, I can take it…” Clint trails off when Phil’s fingers return to his ass. A strangled groan escapes him when Phil pushes two of them in.

“I know you can take it,” Phil agrees quietly. He’s surprised about himself, actually. Clint is pressed tight against him, putting out all kinds of pheromones, he has his fingers in him, and yet, he is calm enough to talk without a visible hitch in his voice. “You’ve shown me that you can. But taking it is not necessarily the objective here.” He twists his fingers, pushes them deeper, and presses down on the sensitive bundle of nerves that makes Clint’s toes curl and his jaw go slack with sensation. “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Stop,” Clint pants, “stop, Phil, I can’t…”

Phil can see that it is getting too much, that Clint is getting close to losing control and coming, and Clint doesn’t look happy about it. In fact, he looks almost apprehensive, his short nails clenched tight in Phil’s forearm, his eyes open wide, his hair sticking up in several different directions.

“Shh,” he says and gentles his touch again. “Trust me. You know it’s me, Clint. I’ll keep watch. You can let me handle this.”

Clint swallows, still a smidge of doubt in him, and Phil shifts his fingers just the fraction of an inch.

“You know it’s me,” he continues, his voice low. “We’re in my apartment, and in all the years I’ve worked with Nick Fury, nobody ever managed to find this place and break in. And even if anyone did, there’s a gun in the drawer, and a sharp knife taped under the spring box, and the best marksman in the world is right here. All I want to do right now is to make sure your body is relaxed and you’re trusting me not to hurt you. And I’m not going to do anything else but what I’m doing right now until I’m sure you can take more, and you want more.”

He watches Clint swallow and take a deep, carefully measured breath before consciously relaxing. His head comes to rest against Phil’s shoulder again, his hands come up and start to rub against Phil’s nipples.

“Are you trying to hurry me along?” he can’t help but ask, amusement warming his voice. “Clint?”

“Maybe a little,” Clint admits. “Can I blame the heat for that?”

He sounds breathless, his body moving with the shift and twist of Phil’s fingers now, not against it, his skin glowing and his body accepting Phil’s fingers with a sudden ease that surprises people who have their first encounter with an Omega.

“How about we don’t blame anyone and you tell me what it is you want,” Phil suggests and reaches up himself. He has a free hand, and Clint’s chest is right there, plus, the slight pinch and the scratch of blunt nails across the sensitized skin distracts Clint and he doesn’t tense up when Phil adds another finger and stretches him gently. No matter how ready his body may seem, Phil needs to convince Clint’s mind to let go and to trust Phil, or the whole thing won’t end well. They had a taste of that the last heat, and Phil doesn’t want to repeat the experience.

Clint’s hands continue to move restlessly across Phil’s chest, his shoulders, and finally, they end up in his hair, holding his head still while Clint’s mouth catches his in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss.

“Now,” he pants, his lips brushing against Phil’s cheek. “Phil, please.”

It’s the heat, welling up and gaining momentum, and it’s almost enough to sweep Phil off of his feet, away from his senses, and into the bliss and oblivion of orgasm, but Phil manages to hold on for the time being, even with his own blood getting hotter and his dick pressing harshly against the zipper of his pants. He twists his fingers one last time, scissors them apart, and pulls them out of Clint and away, and Clint grunts and bites down, his sharp teeth catching against the thin skin across Phil’s collarbone while Phil reaches for his own pants, the only piece of clothing still between them.

Not having taken them off was the right decision, he thinks, because fumbling with the button and zip now gives him precious seconds to take a slow breath and figure out the next step.

However, in the end, it’s only pants, and he tosses them impatiently over the edge of the bed together with his underwear and turns back toward Clint, who’s looking at him while biting his lip.

“Go ahead, if you want to touch,” Phil invites while tugging off his socks and dropping them on top of his pants.

“Later, maybe,” Clint decides and shifts, until he is on his knees and ready to drop down onto his elbows. Phil catches him, his hands on Clint’s ribcage and his thumbs seeking and finding his nipples, rubbing and teasing just to watch Clint arch his spine and press into the contact.

Phil laughs and kisses him briefly before he turns them around so that he ends up on his back on the mattress and Clint is hovering half over him.

“Let’s switch this up a little,” he suggests. “You get to see my face, and I trust you not to gut me in the act.”

Clint looks a little doubtful and a lot turned on, but he doesn’t protest and crawls closer, finally swinging a leg over Phil’s hip and straddling him.

“I’ve never done heat like this,” he admits a little helplessly, and Phil grasps his hips and steadies him. “Nobody ever let me.”

“Then it’s about time,” Phil tells him and rubs circles into Clint’s hips with both thumbs. “Most Omegas prefer the traditional way, but there should always be the option to switch it up. If the past heats have taught us anything, it’s that the traditional way isn’t doing much for you. Trust me, Clint, you’re ruining my orgasm as well when you ask me every five minutes if I’m done yet. So this is not just for you, but for me too.”

Clint laughs. “Sorry, sir,” he says before leaning down to kiss him deeply. “So how is this supposed to work?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to ride,” Phil teases. “You have the control here. You take as much or as little as you need from me. One thing, though.” He glances down at his own dick, at the already visible bulge of his knot. “If you don’t want to get knotted just yet, I suggest you pull off before you come.”

Clint’s gaze follows Phil’s. “You know,” he says contemplatively, “I never really got a good look at one of those. Sir.”

Phil swallows and tilts his head back. “This is your opportunity, then,” he says. “Look at it. Touch it, if you want. Please don’t bend it, or bite it.”

“Anyone ever done that to you?” Clint asks, his fingers reaching down and brushing slowly, curiously along Phil’s erection.

“Yes,” Phil admits. “It was not a pleasant experience.”

“Can imagine that, sir,” Clint murmurs and rubs his fingertips across the little sensitive spot right under the tip.

Phil focuses on breathing deeply, even when he knows it’s of no use. Breathing deeply will bring only more of Clint’s tantalizing smell into his nose, which will make it a lot harder not to roll them around and fuck into Clint’s perfect tight ass.

Clint’s fingers are calloused and dry when they take hold of him, when they squeeze carefully around his knot, as if he wants to find out the circumference by touch alone, and Phil opens his eyes just in time to see Clint’s eyes flicker up to his face. He offers him a quick, reassuring smile, and Clint snorts and bends down to kiss him again.

“I can see how you get so popular with the little ones,” he murmurs dryly, and Phil’s hands move across his hips, to his ass.

Muscles flex when Clint pushes himself up again, his hands braced on Phil’s chest while he balances himself over the tip of Phil’s erection. Phil wraps one of his hands around himself, the other one stays on Clint’s ass, guiding him gently.

The first touch of Clint’s ass to Phil’s dick is sending electrical currents along all of Phil’s nerves. Slick and wet and hot, he has to hold on to his control with his fingernails to stop himself from seeking out more of it, and then Clint slowly lowers himself down on him, inch for inch, slowly and carefully, the muscles in his thighs and arms trembling, and Phil’s breath gets caught in his throat at the slow descent into tight heat.

It’s heaven. Clint’s body clings to his dick like wet silk, and he takes more and more of Phil into him. Phil grips his ass with both hands and just holds on, and when Clint stops without taking Phil’s knot, he loosens his grip with some difficulty and reaches up, to run his fingers through Clint’s hair.

“You’re doing great,” he promises, just because he needs to say something or break apart at the seams.

Clint snorts and shifts slightly, until he’s sitting up and balancing on his heels and hands to keep him where he is right now, Phil’s dick halfway in him. “You’re not angry if I stop here?”

Phil needs a moment to get enough air in his lungs, but when he does, he leans up on his elbows and reaches out to brush his fingertips over Clint’s left knee.

“I’m not angry,” he says. “Frustrated, maybe, but not angry. But I think you will be, in about ten minutes, when the next heatwave hits you.”

Clint grins, and Phil can’t help but smile back at him. Of course Clint knows what will happen if he stops here. He’s experienced enough, he knows what he needs and how he can get it with minimal problems.

“How about you fool around until that next wave?” Phil suggests. “Find out if there’s something up there that you really like. Or if you want to switch it up, try something different.”

“I have had sex before, you know,” Clint points out. “I’ve even had it with you.”

“I know,” Phil says and rubs his fingers across Clint’s shoulders and down his arms, until he reaches his hands and tangles them together. “But with all the sex we’ve had, you and me, I’ve never, not once, heard you say something like ‘hey Phil, let’s try this thing I’ve always been curious about, where you fold me in half over your kitchen counter and make me see stars’.”

Clint is smiling at that, and Phil returns it and squeezes his hands gently. “Try it,” he encourages. “If you don’t like it, we do something else. Sex is supposed to be fun, even in heat.” Maybe even especially in heat, he adds in thoughts when Clint hesitantly shifts his body, and then something like fond indulgence crosses Clint’s face, for just a split second, and Phil frowns up at him as another thought crosses his mind. “You do normally like sex, don’t you?”

Clint stills and tilts his head to the side. “Phil,” he asks after a brief moment, “seriously, now?”

Phil shrugs one shoulder. “Do you?” he asks, and Clint rolls his eyes and settles a little more firmly against the cradle of Phil’s hips, Phil’s knot pushing against him more insistently.

“Your sense of timing is a little off today,” Clint tells him. “Because, seriously, right now? One of the worst moments to try and talk about this. And no, I like it just fine.” He shifts again, a dull flush starting to appear on his face when Phil’s knot stretches him even more.

“You like sex with me fine when you’re the one doing the fucking?” Phil asks around the daze of arousal. He can feel his heartbeat, and he can feel Clint’s through their still joined hands.

“On a scale from one to ten,” he starts, but before he can finish, Clint grunts and starts to fuck himself on Phil in earnest, long slow strokes growing shorter and sharper, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his head thrown back.

Heat comes in waves, Phil knows, and they are going to be shorter and bigger and if he’s not careful, they might get dragged under by one. Clint’s eyes aren’t as fever bright as they have been in the past, and Phil doesn’t want to get to that point.

Not today.

Today, he drags both his own and Clint’s hand to Clint’s dick and wraps them both around Clint’s flesh while his other hand grips Clint’s thigh. His own feet dig into the mattress, giving him leverage and pushing him up, deeper into Clint, his knot catching slightly.

“Clint?” he asks, gasping, arousal making the blood rush in his ears and tightening all of his muscles in anticipation of Clint giving consent, of letting him come, and Clint’s hand on Clint’s dick is picking up speed and Phil slides his hand down Clint’s thigh, gets smacked by the almost furious speed of their combined hands on Clint’s flesh, and then, Phil brushes just the tips of his fingers against Clint’s balls and the skin behind them, and Clint comes apart above him, muscles clenching and face open and vulnerable, and with Phil’s knot deep in him, swollen to its final size and tying them together.

Phil trembles helplessly through the first few minutes of his orgasm. Clint is curled up on top of him, his breathing slowing down again, and he’s tight and perfect around Phil.

Nobody will ever take this Omega away from him, the small primal part of Phil’s Alpha brain that’s not busy rebooting points out, nobody, because Clint is his, and he will do whatever he can to make sure he will stay with Phil, safe and sound and his.

What comes out of his mouth is, “I love you.” He sounds dazed, almost drugged, out of control and not caring a single bit about it.

“You keep saying that,” Clint mumbles. He’s slumped above Phil, his face buried in his neck, but he’s pliant and relaxed and that alone does wonders for Phil’s enjoyment of sex. “And you’re still trying to rip me in half with that thing.”

And there it is, the squirming and shifting, but Phil only chuckles, kisses Clint’s ear and tightens his grip on him until he settles again, at least for a little.

It’s not perfect sex – there’s still too many hang-ups, too many things they need to talk about if they really want to try for a real relationship, but as far as Phil is concerned, it’s a damn fine start.

It takes a good half hour, maybe longer, for Phil’s knot to shrink down enough to let them change positions, and Phil’s mind switches from orgasm to taking care of his Omega so fast he’s left reeling. He wipes him down with a soft cloth, makes sure there are no cramping muscles in his legs, and wraps the sheets around Clint, who’s lethargic and wincing slightly with every move he takes.

“Was that worse than the last few times?” Phil asks while pouring a glass of water. He has straws, in case his Omega is too exhausted to sit up to drink, but Clint takes the glass and carefully and slowly maneuvers himself into an upright position, the sheets falling to his lap.

“No,” Clint says and gives him a small smile. “You can settle down now, Phil, I’m fine.” He pats the mattress next to him, and Phil crawls under the sheets and gets as close as he can get away with, which is almost on top of Clint.

Clint doesn’t complain, and when a sharp elbow lands in Phil’s ribs, about half an hour later, Phil graciously accepts the unspoken message and rolls away, giving him his space.

~~

“Do we need to talk about it?” Phil asks when he slides the full plate and the mug onto the table and goes back for his own.

He can cook a decent meal, his mother made sure of that, but there aren’t a lot of days when he makes the effort. He usually grabs something on his way to work, but right now, he has an Omega in his apartment, an Omega fresh off of heat, and even if drowsy is not the word he would use to describe Clint, there is no doubt about the fact that heat has taken its toll on his body.

“Talk about what?” Clint asks. He reaches for the coffee first, wraps both hands around the mug and breathes in with half-closed eyes.

Phil takes his own seat at the opposite side of the small table and tilts his head to the side. “Your reaction when Director Fury asked me to take on another Omega for the OPS.”

Clint’s shoulders stiffen. Phil can see the muscles shift under the threadbare material of the t-shirt Clint put on after his shower. It’s an old shirt, Phil’s brain points out, frayed along the seams, and how soon can he go and buy Clint a new one? He forces himself to focus on the problem at hand – just because Clint stayed the night doesn’t mean he will let Phil care for him properly, and even if he did, Phil probably wouldn’t have the time to do it all the time. It’s a good thing Clint is a modern, independent Omega who doesn’t need an Alpha to care for him around the clock.

“That,” Phil says and takes a careful sip of his coffee. He burns the tip of his tongue, but he barely notices.

Clint turns the mug between his hands. “It’s ridiculous,” he states. “I don’t really like the idea of you…you know.” He shrugs. “I’ll get over it. I understand why you’re doing it.”

“Do you, really?” Phil tilts his head to the side, his eyebrows twitching upwards. “Would you prefer if I stop? Retire from the OPS?”

“No, no. It’s okay.” Clint shifts gingerly in his chair. Phil knows why – he’s sore as well; after all, they knotted three or four times during the night, it’s no surprise Clint is feeling it today, even with the thick pillow Phil put on his chair. “I understand why you’re doing it.”

“I can stop.” Phil watches him before putting down his mug and adding, “Or cut back on how much I do for them. But it’s up to you.”

Clint looks as if he doesn’t quite trust Phil’s words, disbelief written across every single inch of his face, and Phil patiently waits for Clint to come to a decision. He’s sure he already knows what that decision is going to be, but he doesn’t rush Clint.

Instead, he pokes at his pancakes and his eggs and pretends there’s nothing strange about sitting here, with the Omega of his dreams, and waiting for Clint to decide if he wants to pursue a relationship with him – because only when he does, he has the right to tell Phil to stop taking jobs from the OPS.

It’s a decision that makes his heart race in his chest, and he can’t show any of that, not until Clint made that decision.

“Well,” Clint says roughly after a long moment of silence, and Phil struggles to swallow the bite of food in his mouth, even if it feels like a rock when it goes down his throat and tastes like ashes. “I mean, if you don’t mind.” He hesitates, swallows, licks his lips. “I mean. I would like that. If you don’t mind, I mean.” He blushes slightly. “Cutting back a little, I mean.”

He looks so worried and so awkward, Phil has to smile, and once that smile is out, it won’t stop, and he is the one sitting there grinning from ear to ear like an idiot.

“Cutting back. Okay,” he says, and Clint nods and ducks his head, his attention on his breakfast, and Phil feels giddiness fill him like little excited bubbles.

He loves being an Alpha, loves having an Omega in his arms and helping them through heat, and most of all, he loves Clint.

Clint Barton, with his impossible skill set and his defiant mind; with his shoulders and his hair sticking up and his refusal to do things the easy way. With his gut instinct and his good heart which he managed to keep despite all the things he’s been through.

Loki was wrong in so many things, but he was right in this: Clint has heart, and Phil wants that Tony Stark time machine now and go back, to stop every single person who tried to hurt that amazing heart in the past.

And being the Alpha for only one Omega, especially if it’s someone as special as Clint, isn’t that the ultimate goal in any Alpha’s life?

Phil thinks it is.

It’s perfect.

~end.