Sumptuous (G)
Title: Sumptuous
Rating: G
Word Count: 615
Summary: It wasn't often Phil Coulson was given the opportunity to take his time getting dressed. (based off Clark Gregg's suit from The Avengers world premiere)
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist and tucking the edge in. He padded, barefoot, to the open closet door and stared at the suit hanging over the edge. It wasn’t often Phil Coulson looked forward to trading one suit for another; it usually meant the one he had been wearing was irreparably damaged, likely thanks to the Avengers Initiative. This time, however, would be something different, an evening out. Phil wasn’t exactly eager to face the flashbulbs of the paparazzi but he knew the press would be excited for the team to appear at the black-tie Stark charity gala.
Phil slid the undershirt on first and then the brighter white of the barrel cuff tuxedo shirt. He pressed the buttons through the vertical holes, fingers fumbling with the horizontal slit at the top of the placket for just a moment.
The tie came next, a slightly higher thread count than Phil was accustomed to and he mentally thanked Stark. It was a crisp pattern, tiny dark grey diamonds on a lighter background. He smoothed the spread collar of the shirt down and straightened the windsor knot in the mirror.
He unwound the towel from around his waist and dropped it in a heap on the carpet. He’d pick it up in a moment. Black boxer-briefs were first and then Phil reached up, taking down the hanger from over the edge of the door. He carefully removed the pants from where they draped over the metal dowel, keeping the ironed edge intact before stepping into the left leg, then the right.
They fit even better than his usual Dolce, Phil was surprised to note. He really needed to speak to JARVIS about who Tony’s tailor was for these functions, perhaps there was a discount available. Black socks and some exquisite Oxfords. He stood, tucking in the tail of his shirt and then the vest was next.
Phil left the fifth button undone as the fourth button strained to stay shut - perhaps he shouldn’t have so many donuts in the breakroom. The man tugged down the material that threatened to bunch up at his shoulders and lifted the final piece from where it lay. The jacket’s silk lining made a whispering noise over the high-count cotton of the dress shirt and Phil smiled to himself.
Three piece ensemble, oxfords with detailing over the toes and a silk tie. Phil Coulson was ready.
The agent turned around, bending over to pick the damp towel off the floor. A noise behind him had him straightening up quickly, fingers hovering over the dials of the watch. (They were actually small tranq darts and Phil had taken accuracy lessons from SHIELD’s best.)
“Wow,” Clint remarked softly. He didn’t step into the room like he usually did, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. Phil raised an eyebrow and buckled his watch.
“I mean, you wear suits all the time,” Clint explained. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, even indoors, but Phil could feel the intense gaze sweep over his body. “That suit though... you look really good, Phil.”
“You clean up rather nicely yourself,” Phil said quietly, sliding his Stark phone into his trouser pocket. The archer was in a black button-up, silver jacket draped over his arm to match the trousers. The material was shiny and Phil mentally winced at how the photos would turn out for tomorrow’s Page Six but it couldn’t be helped. At least the younger man wasn’t in a purple suit.
(He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling when he caught sight of Tony an hour later on the red carpet.)
Rating: G
Word Count: 615
Summary: It wasn't often Phil Coulson was given the opportunity to take his time getting dressed. (based off Clark Gregg's suit from The Avengers world premiere)
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, wrapping the towel around his waist and tucking the edge in. He padded, barefoot, to the open closet door and stared at the suit hanging over the edge. It wasn’t often Phil Coulson looked forward to trading one suit for another; it usually meant the one he had been wearing was irreparably damaged, likely thanks to the Avengers Initiative. This time, however, would be something different, an evening out. Phil wasn’t exactly eager to face the flashbulbs of the paparazzi but he knew the press would be excited for the team to appear at the black-tie Stark charity gala.
Phil slid the undershirt on first and then the brighter white of the barrel cuff tuxedo shirt. He pressed the buttons through the vertical holes, fingers fumbling with the horizontal slit at the top of the placket for just a moment.
The tie came next, a slightly higher thread count than Phil was accustomed to and he mentally thanked Stark. It was a crisp pattern, tiny dark grey diamonds on a lighter background. He smoothed the spread collar of the shirt down and straightened the windsor knot in the mirror.
He unwound the towel from around his waist and dropped it in a heap on the carpet. He’d pick it up in a moment. Black boxer-briefs were first and then Phil reached up, taking down the hanger from over the edge of the door. He carefully removed the pants from where they draped over the metal dowel, keeping the ironed edge intact before stepping into the left leg, then the right.
They fit even better than his usual Dolce, Phil was surprised to note. He really needed to speak to JARVIS about who Tony’s tailor was for these functions, perhaps there was a discount available. Black socks and some exquisite Oxfords. He stood, tucking in the tail of his shirt and then the vest was next.
Phil left the fifth button undone as the fourth button strained to stay shut - perhaps he shouldn’t have so many donuts in the breakroom. The man tugged down the material that threatened to bunch up at his shoulders and lifted the final piece from where it lay. The jacket’s silk lining made a whispering noise over the high-count cotton of the dress shirt and Phil smiled to himself.
Three piece ensemble, oxfords with detailing over the toes and a silk tie. Phil Coulson was ready.
The agent turned around, bending over to pick the damp towel off the floor. A noise behind him had him straightening up quickly, fingers hovering over the dials of the watch. (They were actually small tranq darts and Phil had taken accuracy lessons from SHIELD’s best.)
“Wow,” Clint remarked softly. He didn’t step into the room like he usually did, shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. Phil raised an eyebrow and buckled his watch.
“I mean, you wear suits all the time,” Clint explained. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, even indoors, but Phil could feel the intense gaze sweep over his body. “That suit though... you look really good, Phil.”
“You clean up rather nicely yourself,” Phil said quietly, sliding his Stark phone into his trouser pocket. The archer was in a black button-up, silver jacket draped over his arm to match the trousers. The material was shiny and Phil mentally winced at how the photos would turn out for tomorrow’s Page Six but it couldn’t be helped. At least the younger man wasn’t in a purple suit.
(He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling when he caught sight of Tony an hour later on the red carpet.)