Fic: Head Like A Pneumatic Drill
Title: Head Like A Pneumatic Drill
Fandom: The Avengers
Characters/Pairings: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson.
Rating: G
Summary: Clint ends up inhaling some crazy chemicals in Bruce’s lab and feels like hell.
Disclaimer: All the characters you recognise belong to Marvel, I’m simply playing with them.
Notes: Written for 15genres1prompt. The genre was Comfort and my prompt is chemistry.
Date Written: 27.01.2012
~*~
Clint groaned as he struggled to get comfortable on the coach, no matter what he did every single part of him hurt. From his legs, to his fingers, he was pretty sure that his hair even hurt. It felt as if he had gone ten rounds with Natasha and Thor whilst having the worst flu in the world.
Clint started coughing as he tried to prop himself up on the cushions and reached for the TV remote.
“You know you’re supposed to be resting.”
Clint rolled his eyes (and even that hurt), “I am! I’m not in the shooting range am I?” Clint collapsed back on the sofa in a fit of sneezes. “I hate Bruce,” he moaned once he’d finally stopped coughing and spluttering.
“No you don’t,” Coulson said as he finally came into Clint’s line of sight and sat on the coffee table in front of him, “Besides, it was you who went playing around in his lab and spilt that formula all over yourself.” Coulson’s words might be harsh but Clint could see the barely there smile playing at his lips.
“Stupid chemical gas of doom, what was Bruce doing making something that could do this to a person anyway?!” Clint rubbed his forehead; a growing headache was just the icing of this pain-filled cake.
“That’s classified.”
Clint glared up at Coulson and the man actually had the balls to smirk at him. “You completely suck at being the super caring boyfriend that you’re supposed to be right now.”
Coulson blinked at him, suddenly seeming on edge. Clint slowly replayed what he said through his head. Oh! He’d said the “B” word, after they had been carefully avoiding naming whatever this thing was. Clint tipped his head back, wincing as he did so, so he could look Coulson in the eye.
“Phil, stop internally freaking out and get over here.” Coulson studied him for a moment longer before nodding and moving towards the coach. Clint shuffled out of the way so Coulson could sit down, as soon as he was next to him Clint curled into Coulson’s side, one arm wrapped around his waist and his head cushioned on Coulson’s chest. After Clint showed no signs of moving Coulson very slowly he put his arm around Clint’s shoulders.
Clint sighed and smiled to himself.
“You should try and sleep,” Coulson said softly, fingers starting to massage Clints scalp. "Dr. Banner said that sleeping would help your body push the drug out of your system, I missed the reason behind it."
Clint snorted a laugh, "You missed something? Can I have that in writing please?" He sighed and moved again until his head was in Coulson’s lap, one hand clutching at his shirt.
"I was a bit distracted by my best sniper writhing on the floor in pain."
"I knew you cared," Clint mumbled into Coulson's stomach; his eyes slowly falling closed and breath evening out. He felt better already.