Work Text:
Phil would never have thought there could be such a thing as too much paperwork.
Paperwork was a necessary evil. Clint may complain whenever he came back from a mission, but at least he bothered filling up a couple of forms… before shoving them under Phil’s door and leaving S.H.I.E.L.D.’s headquarters through the vents. The Director had tried to condemn a certain number of those ventilation shafts, first and foremost to keep the enemy from getting in, but Clint always seemed to dig up a new one. Off the record, Phil suspected his charge to have teamed up with Stark to alter the headquarters blueprints. Which meant more paperwork, that Phil filled and forwarded in an endless show of good faith and efficiency way beyond his contracted 9 to 5.
James Buchanan Barnes wasn’t as helpful. More often than not, he straight-up ignored the documents Phil left at his intention. Phil had tried to hand the most urgent forms in person, but Barnes ‘lost’ these with even more alacrity. The former Winter Soldier hadn’t become any more paperwork-savvy after breaking Helmut Zemo out of prison twice and secreting away the criminal mastermind half in T’Challa’s debt, and half on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s payroll, to a secret loft in Bavaria. Phil knew the address, of course, because of the paper trail involved. In this time and age, no one could truly hide, not for long, and never from Phil Coulson.
Which brought Phil to his current predicament.
“Oh, Mr. Coulson! Do come in.”
Peter Parker, alias Spiderman, opened the door of his dorm room wider. He must just have left the shower, because his brown curls were still wet, and water drops beaded just under his collarbone, drawing attention to the unmarred line of his throat. Phil wished he didn’t notice such details. For one thing, it was highly unprofessional. For another, Peter may be halfway through his PhD, he was only twenty-one.
“I’m afraid there’s more of the same waiting in my office.” Phil didn’t quite manage to keep the regret out of his tone, and handed out a thick envelope to Peter in a somewhat stiff gesture. The young man didn’t blink at the size of his non-university homework, and smiled even wider.
No one ever smiled at Phil when he handed off paperwork. There were grimaces (Clint), eyerolls (Barnes), and a variety of hell-no’s, but never… smiles. This was new.
“That’s too bad.” Peter’s smile dimmed a fraction. He brushed away the wet strand of hair falling across his brow and tilted his head back just a little. “Well, I’ll get started on this. Try not to overwork yourself, Mr. Coulson.”
There was a pause, and for a moment there, Phil thought his world would tip on its ear and the gorgeous graduate student with a 3.995 GPA would lean in for a kiss. Which didn’t make sense at all, because their only interactions outside interstellar wars were through paperwork, and no one liked paperwork.
“My door’s open if you’d like a break,” Peter said at last, and looked Phil squarely in the eyes while he plucked the envelope, still smiling, still impossibly refreshing in every way.
Phil cleared his throat. He felt distinctly like one of those birds missing its cue during the mating dance - and suppressed each and every thought of birds or mating at once. “Thank you for the offer,” he managed to say.
Peter kept smiling.
“Good night, Mr. Coulson.”
“Good night, Peter.”
Phil’s delivery was a lot less smooth. He nodded once, stiffer than ever, and left Peter standing on the doorstep, those warm brown eyes burning on his nape. He took the stairs - the long way down. And if he chose to walk back to the subway instead of hailing a taxi, well, he needed the exercise.
At least, that's what he told himself in between thoughts of one Peter Parker.
*
“You haven’t filled your paperwork,” Phil told Barnes in his best no-nonsense voice.
“One would have thought that performing avenging on a regular basis would cut me some slack,” Barnes drawled in reply, before switching to Russian.
Phil’s level of Russian was more than good enough to follow. Much to his chagrin, because Barnes’s aside with his lover wasn’t work-related at all. Somehow, it wouldn’t surprise him that Barnes knew, and made a point to screw with him while he discussed literal screwing with Baron Zemo.
Phil scribbled his name to the bottom of a seventeen-page report while he waited for Barnes to stop being quite so explicit in his flirting. These two had been in ‘hideout’ for close to eight months now, but so far they still acted like they'd just gone on their first date.
Phil knew for a fact that they'd been on several. The amount of money the former colonel was throwing at Barnes weekly could have funded several of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s more expensive programs for years.
“Give me a couple more days,” Barnes said at last, in English.
Phil sighed. Why was it that none of the people he worked with - except one - cared to make his life easier?
“Fine,” he said in clipped tones. And then, smiling at the Pisa-esque tower of forms at the corner of his desk. “And Barnes?”
“Yeah?”
“Please inform Mr. Zemo that having you warm his cock is the perfect occasion for him to fill his own paperwork.”
The choked sound an ocean away filled Phil with a sense of deep satisfaction. He hung up, and reached for the single envelope sitting on his desk rather than the next document on the pile, smugness laced with anticipation.
To Mr. Coulson.
Phil let his fingers run over the curly letters, heartbeat quickening. And when he opened the envelope and spread the five pages of neatly filled document over his desk, he let himself appreciate Peter Parker’s dedication to making his life easier.
Well, easier in some respects, anyway.
There was a note in the margin of the last page.
I have a desk in my living room, if you feel like having company while you work.
Smaller still, in a script that spoke of excitement - or nervousness?
I also have more comfortable surfaces, should you have other things in mind.
Phil had never rubbed one off in his office before, but there was a first time for everything.
*
If Phil was apt at following a paper trail, he was equally skilled at following the sticky crumbs of web fluid left behind by one Peter Parker.
His heart missed a beat as he caught sight of the young man perched on the rooftop. Despite knowing Peter couldn’t fall - and even if he did, would catch himself before he hit the ground - fear gripped his throat.
“Mr. Coulson.”
Again with the brilliant, genuine smile. Phil felt his own lips twitch in an echo of the young man’s obvious happiness.
“More forms?” Peter inquired.
He sounded… expectant. For one moment of pure confusion, Phil wasn’t sure if he should have brought paperwork to their little rendezvous. What if he’d somehow misread Peter’s intentions? What if-
“Sit with me?”
Phil hurried to comply, and made a point to leave exactly three and a half inches between them.
Peter’s hand found his own, and brought it to his lips, making it quite clear that such politeness was unnecessary. The sun was setting, and Peter’s face was a study in shadows and light, the softness of his delicate features echoed in the look he gave Phil as he brushed his lips against scarred knuckles.
“Is that okay?”
For all that he spent day after day stringing words together in a half dozen languages, Phil found that his grasp on speech was eluding him at this moment. He nodded, once, and bit down his bottom lip as the beautiful, witty young man at his side trailed his lips on the inside of Phil’s wrist, a hint of teeth hinting at so many promises Phil’s mind buzzed with need. All of a sudden, his perfectly ironed slacks felt very tight.
Peter’s eyelids dropped to half-mast. “Do you think your paperwork could wait until tomorrow?”
There was distinct respect lacing the words, as though the pile of international issues standing out in black and white on Phil’s desk was one of Stark’s AIs, deserving of acknowledgment. Phil twisted his hand around, taking a hold of Peter’s wrist, and pulled just enough to supply an answer.
Peter Parker tasted of coffee and hot chocolate, and Phil felt the kick of caffeine on some level, and a definite longing for more sweetness, more of this young man’s taste. Peter’s lips parted on an eager gasp at the first hint of tongue, and Phil found himself licking inside the delicious young man’s mouth with something akin to desperation.
Work could and would wait.
*
Meanwhile, in Trier (South Germany)
Zemo set down the transparent teapot on the counter. Behind the glass, the petals of an exotic flower unfolded one by one, sweetening the hot water that would soon become a dark purple. Two empty cups awaited nearby, matching the teapot and flower both - transparent and fragile. A secretive smile floated on the baron's lips as he sensed the heated gaze directed his way.
“Use your words, James.”
Bucky shot to his feet. Zemo had just left the shower, and had made exactly zero effort to tie his bathrobe in any decent way. While Bucky didn’t mind the shameless display at all, he also wasn’t interested in waiting after tea to do something about the way it made him feel.
“Fuck you,” he ground out, and moved just fast enough - just threateningly enough - to raise his lover’s interest another notch.
Zemo twisted around in his arms, hands caressing on both his arms. “Now, don’t be greedy, James,” he teased. His lover could probably tell how greedy he himself felt, considering their proximity. For all his vengeful hate towards supersoldiers, he felt nothing but awe - and lust - whenever Bucky reminded him just how lethal he could be. “You will enjoy this tea. It comes directly from Japan, and I have been told-”
“I don’t care about tea.”
It was very clear what Bucky cared about right now. Zemo tried not to lose his cool too quickly, even though he was sorely tempted by the hard length digging into his belly through leather and silk. They both enjoyed this game - the coaxing of tension to higher flames. “Patience comes to those who-” He trailed off and frowned at the sound of an ill-timed, obnoxious phone ring. “Who could possibly be calling you in the middle of the night?”
“Probably Coulson, to thank me.”
“Thank you for what?”
Amusement danced in Bucky’s eyes, warming the desire dilating his pupils. “I may or may not have offered some tips on how to court an enhanced.”
“The Spiderman?” Zemo cocked his head. He’d certainly sensed the mutual interest the one time he’d watched the two of them interact, but he hadn’t been sure Coulson would have the guts to act on it. “Very generous of you,” he said with a chuckle. “Any chance of a recording?”
“There are cameras in the flat,” Bucky deadpanned, crowding the baron further against the granite counter.
Zemo’s breath hitched. “I am well aware of that, James.” He had been reviewing some of the recordings, and not always in his lover’s company. Sometimes, they went weeks without seeing one another, and he relished a reminder of their… intimacy. “I meant a recording of you giving advice to Mr. Coulson.”
Bucky pressed a kiss over Zemo’s pulse point, grinning. “I may be a little rusty in the relationship department, but I give good advice and take it, too.” He groped Zemo through the silk of his rope.
“You do take it a lot,” Zemo countered, hands white-knuckled on his lover’s hips. “We could switch, if you’d like.”
“Maybe later.”
The phone kept ringing. Just as Bucky was about to untie Zemo’s robe, the voicemail clicked in.
“Just so you both know,” Coulson’s distinctly cheery voice rose, “being in a relationship won’t distract me for long. Fill your forms, both of you.” A pause. “If you don’t, I’m freezing your assets, Mr. Zemo... and wiping off the footage of your surveillance system.”
The way he said ‘surveillance’ made it clear he was well aware of the kinky use of said footage.
“You have until Friday,” Coulson concluded.
Bucky groaned in the returned silence, dismayed and amused in equal measures. “I’m longing for the time Coulson was single, now.”
“This man is relentless,” Zemo agreed, and watched his lover with interest as they got back to business. “But we are much more resilient and stubborn than he could ever be. He won’t touch my assets or our cameras. We could move somewhere else, as well. I could-”
“I know just how loaded you are, doll. Keep your wallet in your pants for now.”
The strand of silk tying up the bathrobe slid to the floor, and soon more plum fabric followed, pooling around Zemo’s ankles. Bucky licked his lips at the glorious sight of his naked - and very aroused - lover.
“You make me feel as though I’m seventeen all over again,” he purred, sinking to his knees on the plush carpet.
Heat cut through the amused fondness in Zemo’s blue eyes. “Do I- oh.”
“You do,” Bucky said, lips brushing his lover’s cock in between his fingers. “Now, please make some noise this time, I’m trying to freshen up my playlist of your pleasure, doll.” He darted out his tongue, and licked his lover from root to tip. “Technology will never be as good as my senses.”
“I suppose I can.” Zemo’s voice was a little unsteady, quite unlike his lover’s fingers. “In that case, you will have to refrain from choking me too hard, I’m afraid.”
“Never fear.” Bucky purred, cold metal fingers smoother than the silk of the bathrobe on the inside of Zemo’s thigh. “You’ll get everything you need.”
The delicious gasp that escaped the baron was promptly saved to the Zemo Folder in Bucky’s mind, central on the desk of his thoughts.