Happy Hangover

By Maquis Leader


Rated: PG for language



Phil took a cautious sip from his coffee before setting it carefully back on the side table. It was black, strong, and bitter. Just what he needed to jump start his system. Closing his eyes, he waited for the coffee to seep down through the layers of alcohol soaking his brain.

It was quiet in the common area, bottles and empty glasses littering nearly every surface, but he was the only one there, the others having gone to their respective quarters at one point or another. Crawled, staggered – Phil rubbed his hands over his face – possibly carried? He had a blurred memory of patting Clint’s ass as they went to their quarters. Only… he couldn’t remember if he’d been upside down or it only felt like he was upside down.

This is why you don’t drink, Phil. His head was throbbing and he resisted the urge to sigh. He’d had to leave his warm and comfortable bed because Clint’s soft breathing, a sound he normally loved, was cutting through his brain like a chain saw. Silence was much better.

Phil’s senses were dulled by the bongo drums playing in his skull and he didn’t hear the near silent movement until it was too late. His eyes flew open just in time to see Clint hop up and fling himself onto the couch next to him.

The couch creaked ominously under the impact, and the contact of jeans against the fine Spanish leather made a cracking slap that was probably heard blocks away. It was followed by Clint’s loud greeting. “Good morning, baby!” Right in Phil’s ear.

“Oh, god, please – ” He shrank away. Of course there wasn’t any way he’d managed to sneak out without waking Clint up.

“I love you!” Clint wrapped his arms around the other man’s shoulders and pressed his lips to Phil’s ear. He gave him a loud, smacking kiss. “I just love you so much!”

“Please – please stop – ” Raising his hands, he tried to push Clint away. It was like trying to move a wall. He leaned as far away as possible, forgetting until the room started to tilt, that moving was a bad idea. “Please, Clint – ”

“But I love you!” Clint followed him and continued putting loud smacking kisses all over the side of his face. “Give me some kisses – you know you want to!”

“If I kiss you, will you go away?”

“No.” He shook his head, spraying droplets from his still damp hair all over Phil’s face.

Phil looked up into the beautiful mosaic colored eyes and resisted the urge to kill his husband. The evil grin on Clint’s face made it a near thing. “Please?”

Clint heaved a sigh as if he’d just made a heartbreaking choice. “All right. But it has to be a good kiss.”

“I promise.” He grunted as Clint pressed him against the side of the couch and his stomach protested the pressure by cranking up the churning to the next setting.

Normally, kissing Clint was something he’d do anytime, anywhere, for any reason – missions not withstanding, of course – but not while he was trying to survive a hangover. The fresh, wet smell of shampoo and soap made him choke back the urge to see exactly what was making laps in his stomach.

Be a man, Phil, kiss your husband. A slightly hysterical giggle squeaked from him as he turned his face toward Clint. There was enough alcohol still active that the teenage boy in him thought that was funny. He also had a great idea…

Clint’s lips were soft, as always, something surprising in someone who looked so rough, and Phil was glad he’d changed his mind about the kiss. When they parted, he took advantage and stuck his tongue into his husband’s mouth. No subtly at all, just an attempt to get some revenge by sharing the garbage truck taste he’d woken up with.

Revenge wasn’t sweet, however, it was overpoweringly cinnamon. Phil jerked his head back and looked for somewhere to spit out the big wad of gum that had been passed to him.

 “Yeah, I’ve had that trick pulled on me before.” Laughing, Clint held out an ashtray to him. It was nearly overflowing with ashes and cigar butts.

“Oh… ugh…” He dropped the gum in and looked away. “So that’s the disgusting taste.”

“Don’t let Stark hear you say that.” Clint helped Phil back to an upright position. “Those are the finest cigars in the world, and you loved them last night.”

“That was before I woke up tasting like the floor of the cigar factory.” He sagged. “Please don’t smell so good, it hurts.”

Clint laughed again, softer this time.  “I thought you liked me all fresh and squeaky clean?”

“I do.” He groaned as a fresh, loud, kiss was planted on his cheek. “Can you be fresh and squeaky clean somewhere else?”

“No. I missed you!” Wrapping his arms around Phil, he pulled him into a tight hug. “You went off and left me! I woke up and was so sad!”


“Well, I thought maybe you’d be right back. But when I got out of the shower, you still weren’t there.” He’d taken a shower to lull Phil into a false sense of security. Sneaking up on Super Special Agent Coulson wasn’t easy even when he wasn’t feeling well. “But now I found you and everything is okay!”

“Why do you hate me?” He rested his head against Clint’s chest.

“I don’t hate you.” Clint kissed the top of his head, gently this time. “I guess I’m making up for all those times I was quiet and trying to be good and still managed to make too much noise and get smacked.”

“No fair playing the bad childhood card.” Phil slid his hand up and down Clint’s chest and stomach in a comforting manner. “Especially since I can’t kick your father’s ass.”

“I only have a couple of cards to play, so I have to use it when I can. Besides, you told me last night it was okay to torment you if you woke up with a hangover.”

“I have no memory of that.”

Clint snorted. “I'm not surprised. I can have Jarvis play it back for you if you like. Jarvis!”

“Already cued, up, Agent Barton.” Jarvis answered.

“No.” He could only imagine what he looked like last night. There were vague memories of playing the drums and wanting to form a band with Thor and Rhodey. Clint’s chest shook with laughter, and Phil groaned, pushing away to lean against the cushions again.

“You need some food.” Clint bounded up off the couch. “I’ll make some eggs and bacon – you like your eggs over easy, right? All runny egg yolk everywhere, icky yellow, right? Plenty of grease just like mom used to make, right?”

Phil closed his eyes as the couch bounced and his stomach flipped into a landing that even the Russian judges would give a ten for.

“How about some sausage and gravy?” There was a crash and clang as what sounded like a battleship crashed in the kitchen. “Oops!” Clint called. “It’s okay, nothing broke!”

The smell of frying sausage floated to him and Phil gulped. “Kill me now, Jarvis. Please just kill me now.”

“Sorry, sir, you’re currently out of range of my death ray.” Jarvis told him. “I do have the recording of your, quote, most awesome band ever, unquote, if you’d like to hear it. I believe it might do the job.”

Phil groaned, covering his face with his hands. “New year’s resolution number one – no more hangovers.”


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