dramapunk

 

 Summery: They think attacking Wesley is the best way to get under Fisk's skin, what they forget is there is a reason Wesley is Wilson's right hand. 
 

 

 

Phil gives lots of advice, damn good advice, and he is always preaching the benefits of sleep of a full 8 hours or as close to it as you can get, because there will be missions where sleep is not an option. The problem is Phil can never seem to take his own advice. The level of tired he is reaching is getting ridiculous and Clint hasn’t seen his fiancée in almost 24 hours. Which given their lives he is used to, but there is no mission, the world is blowing up, and doom isn’t trying to take over a country. So this is totally unacceptable.

 

Because Phil is so tired for once he doesn’t notice the pair of eyes watching him as he stands from his desk stretching his arms above his head and moving over to his in office coffee pot. But he does hear the great drop as he takes his first sip of his 20th cup of coffee, and the soft thud of someone smoothly dropping out of it.

 

“You could have used the door Barton.” He says not phased by it, well maybe a little, he’s normally got a sense for when Clint is sulking about above his office, but he doesn’t show it instead he takes another long sip from his Captain America coffee mug.

 

“Sorry sir, not an option, this is an extraction… did you just Barton me…” He asks moving across the room, and taking the cup from Phil and setting it aside.

 

“Yes we’re on the clock.” He says flatly looking rather offended Clint took his coffee.

 

“I am not on the clock, in fact I have two days R&R and so do you, why the hell are you here?” He asks sliding the coffee away as Phil makes a go for it, instead when he misses he just takes the pot and starts sipping from that

 

“We’ve got a batch of new recruits, I need to oversee.”

 

“At two in the morning?”

 

“I have…” The words die as he yawns. “I have to get everything ready for Sitwell to give them the range test tomorrow, and interrogation lecture.” He says moving back toward his desk. But he doesn’t make it, the pot is removed from his hand and he finds himself being removed from his office. “Clint... Another yawn. “I’m serious, I’ve got work to do.”

 

“Like I said sir I’ve been called in on an extraction, by a friend of ours, you’re coming home and going to bed with me.” He smirks a little as they get outside.

 

“Okay fine a few hours then I have to come back and get back to work, so the new crop of Junior agents don’t get themselves blown up on the next Op.” He says letting Clint load him up into the passenger seat of the blonds car.

 

Once there the man realizes how tired he was and that he was probably going to have to triple check some of the paper work he just did in the last 45 minutes. He slips into a light doze and Clint doesn’t even turn on the radio as he drives them back to the tower.

 

He’s partly dragged, he won't say or admit to carried up to their floor, Clint strips Phil of his suit, and that’s when Phil notices that Clint in fact ‘extracted’ him from the office in his purple sleep pants and black t-shirt, it makes him laugh a little, maybe a little more than he normally would.

 

Clint smiles a little and shakes his head, getting the man into his sleep cloths, “Bed, now, please ‘kay thanks.” He says grinning a little.

 

Phil shakes his head but crawls under the blankets and lets out a low grown and snuggles into the pillows and blankets already almost asleep, when he feels the warm weight of Clint joining him in the bed, the last thing he feels before fully passing out are lips pressing to his forehead and arms wrapping around him.