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Clint won't lie that he's feeling apprehensive about this. Never before has he not been there to watch the waters, never before had someone not of his family run Gallantry Light. But now he's standing on the dock, next to the Triskelion, and looking up.
Peter waves from the washroom and gives Clint a thumbs up. It's just one day, the weather is fair, everyone is sure that there won't any disasters. And yet... He still worries. Just lingering there is making him antsy and he's about to take a step toward land when his phone chirps in his pocket.
Stop, it's a text from Natasha. I know what you're thinking. You won't even be out so far as to be out of radio range. Go have fun.
Right, fun. Clint swallows and turns back toward Phil's ship and the almost-chuckling captain. He doesn't pout. Really. He stands there with his waning pride until Phil holds out his hand, he tips his head toward the Triskelion. Clint knows what he's trying to say.
He raises a hand to wave at Peter, silently wishing him luck. Never again will he volunteer to let his light be a final test for a training Wickie, even if he likes the kid. All this is borderline too much for him. He's grateful that Phil will be with him to take his mind off it.
Clint hikes his bag on his shoulder, it's nothing but a change of clothes, something to sleep in, and toiletries—and turns to Phil. "Okay. Let's go." He expects teasing but only gets a soft, warm smile and a hand clasped around his.
He needs a little help getting into the boat, his balance is way off in something that moves like this. Phil assures him that he'll get his sea legs in time... But that means leaving his light more. Clint doesn't know how to feel about or respond to that quite yet. Instead of replying he finds the perfect perch to watch Phil as he moves about his ship.
Up on top of the cabin makes the most sense and he braces himself as the boat rocks under him. He can’t help but smile because Phil is smiling. He relaxes, slowly, even when the boat is under way. Phil’s presence is calming whether he wants it to be or not. He finds himself slouching back and whistling an old shanty that he’s forgotten the words to.
Clint’s shocked out of whistling when he hears Phil start singing along at the chorus. “Tie me up in me oilskins and jumper, no more on the docks I'll be seen. Just tell me old shipmates, ‘I'm takin a trip mates, I'll see you someday in Fiddler's Green.’” He picks it up again as soon as it's time for the next verse and he's content to just listen to the lyrics that roll off Phil's tongue.
Phil locks the rudder into place, only needing to go straight out for now. He slides his hands over ropes in a lover's caress, giving them all attention before grasping the one he needs. With a graceful pull, the sail unfurls. Half a breath is all it takes for the thick fabric to snap loudly as the winds pushes them off.
Clint sways back on top of the cabin and lets out a shout of laughter. He firms his grip and whoops, a bright grin taking over his face. For someone who had lived on an island all his life, this is his first time on a boat (other than a canoe, which totally doesn't count).
"Want to steer?" Phil asks, hope sparking in his eyes. Clint's not sure about the emotion there but he won't fight down his smile. He will admit that he wants to try his hand at being a sailor while he has the chance.
With a spin and a slide off the cabin, Clint is on his feet and walking towards the stern of the Triskelion. Phil shuffles to the side and let's Clint take his place. The younger man hesitates but Phil just gives him a calm and patient smile and gestures for him to take over. When Clint still hesitates, Phil places his hand over Clint's and intertwines their fingers. Although the fisherman allows Clint all the control, he remains holding his hand for the comfort and support. This way Clint knows that he has free reign but if something were to happen Phil could step in when he needs to.
It’s exhilarating in a way that Clint hadn’t expected at all. The salt in the air is stronger out here, the wind cooler. He turns his face into it and inhales deeply. He can see why Phil loves it out here. The song of the waves is subtler but no less lovely. He’s so caught up in enjoying the world around him through his senses that he completely misses how the ship begins to rock. Stumbling back, Clint goes to catch himself without yanking them off course when a solid warmth presses up along his back. The Keep’s breath catches in his throat as Phil wraps an arm around his waist and holds him steady.
“Thanks,” Clint turns a little to look at Phil. The smile he receives is soft and fond. When he looks ahead once more, Phil’s chin rests on his shoulder. He tries not to melt into the man’s arms too obviously, but a chuckle that vibrates through his back alerts him to how he’s failed. Clint just leans on him with more purpose to be contrary, which makes Phil laugh more.
“Keep an eye to the course.” The seaman chides gently, squeezing Clint’s hand where it rests to guide them further out to sea. Clint agreed (reluctantly) to go out far enough that it was just the ocean around them. He wants to share Phil’s world with him, so he has to temporarily give up the land.
There’s actually a lot more that he wants to share with Phil, like hundreds of sleepy mornings in his bed, and hours upon hours and maybe even days worth of conversations over the radio and in person, and batteries, just scores and scores of batteries. He wants his smiles and his time and his… his life. Clint wants a life with Phil because he can no longer picture one without it.
Frankly, it scares him.
It scares him because he hasn’t ever needed someone else in his life since he was too young to care for himself on his own (and even then, that was debatable). It scares him because he can’t be sure of what to do, how to keep Phil with him as long as he needs him to be. Sure, he knows the next logical step, but what if it’s too soon? What if he scares the man off? They haven’t even kissed yet and he’s already thinking about…
“We can stop here.” Phil’s words cut through Clint’s thoughts and he looks around. Land is actually nowhere in sight and now might be the time to panic. He just stands there as Phil cuts the engine and lowers the anchor. It’s only when the sailor comes up and wraps an arm around his waist that Clint jerks back to here and now. “Come here,” he tugs gently.
Clint trusts him. He trusts him with everything that he is so he lets Phil lead the way and together they climb up onto the cabin, after the older man grabs a blanket that has a weird, rubbery underside. He spreads it over the hard and cold surface and lays down on his back, leaving his arm outstretched for Clint to join him.
It doesn’t take more than a blink for Clint to make up his mind. He lays back and presses close to Phil as the older man does the same. Phil points above them and tugs Clint closer so that he can see each star he’s pointing out. He names them all, but they can only really see the two most prominent, Deneb Adige and Albireo. He teaches Clint the name, Cygnus, and the different lore behind it, seeing as there are a few famous swans in Greek mythology.
Once Cygnus is complete, he points out Draco the dragon defeated and tossed into the sky by Minerva in the Greco-Roman tales. He follows with Hercules, and Ursa Major and Minor, Cepheus and his wife Cassiopeia. He’s talking about the Lyre that brings them full circle back to Cygnus when Clint starts yawning. He doesn’t want to be yawning because he can’t remember Phil ever talking so much.
“Time for bed,” Phil muses as they both hear Clint’s jaw crack his with his latest yawn.
“Not yet,” Clint protests, snuggling in closer as the wind picks up and whips the edges of the blanket at them. He tilts his head up from where it rests on Phil’s bicep.
“Oh? And why is that?” Phil asks, smiling down at him. His cold fingers cup Clint’s almost-as-cold cheek. There is a warmth in his gaze that makes Clint believe he would never have to go inside again, as long as Phil continued to look at him like that.
“‘Cause I’m getting to see Phil, the Closet Romantic.” He smirks up at him and tries not to giggle when Phil huffs and rolls his eyes at him. He sits up a little and leans over Phil, bracing his forearms on either side of Phil’s torso.
Phil shifts a little and turns into Clint, propping up one of his legs, the other pinned under Clint’s thigh. “It’s entirely your fault, Hawkeye,” he teases.
“Good.” Clint dips his head a little closer, “if it were anyone else, I’d be mighty upset, Loner.” He can’t help it when his eyes flick down to Phil’s lips. It’s the other’s fault because Clint’s eye catches the flash of pink as a lower lip is licked. Clint wants to taste it for himself. Before he can move any closer, the wind whips the blanket again and this time it hits in the face.
Phil laughs and an embarrassed Clint decides that maybe it is time to head inside.
In the cabin, the rocking of the Triskelion in the wind is far more soothing. The waves are a steady and calming lap against the walls. It’s cold inside but not as bad as up on the cabin roof had been. There is, however, a bed calling both of them. Together, they shed their boots (but the socks stay) and they help each other out of the thick coats that kept the biting late-September winds at bay.
Clint crawls in eagerly to take his side so Phil doesn’t have to wait and no one has to crawl over the other. It’s unsurprising that the bed is awfully cold too, but Phil slips in close and wraps his arms around Clint’s middle. Their combined heat helps warm the blankets and the appendages cooled by the weather outside. Clint lays his arms on top of Phil’s and threads their fingers together with a soft hum. “Thanks,” he murmurs.
Phil hums inquisitively, half asleep already. He’s always been good at falling asleep quickly when in his bunk.
“For tonight. It was really nice.” Clint smiles and rolls over to face Phil. He rests his forehead against the older man’s, a smile tugging at his lips when his Loner nudges their noses together.
“I like sharin’ my space with you,” Phil slurs in his sleepiness.
“Yeah,” Clint grins, “the feelin’s mutual.” He really does enjoy sharing the Light with him and he would like for it to maybe be a more permanent arrangement. He almost goes to say something about that but hesitates, not wanting to ruin the moment they have right then. He bites at his lip and looks at Phil, just in time to hear the soft snuffle of a snore. “In the morning it is, then.” He mumbles.
It takes a lot of not-quite-fidgeting for Clint to finally go to sleep. He’s trying not to move and wake Phil up but his mind can’t stop turning over and bringing up everything that could go wrong when he opens his mouth. (Natasha says that him just opening his mouth is a hazard some days and he really can’t disagree when he looks at his track record.)
He contents himself with watching Phil sleep, which also isn’t something new because his insomnia was bad before he met the man, and he’s never been any good at sleeping during the night anyway. When he finally manages to carefully roll over without waking his partner, he studies the color of the sky out the window next to the bunk. It’s probably after three in the morning. Phil curled up tightly behind him, his arms keeping them snug together. Between that, and the gentle rocking of the boat and the hush of the waves, Clint finally manages to drift off.
He wakes up to the sun glaring off the waves and Phil nosing softly at his neck. He’s still held tight and the feeling makes Clint melt into the man behind him. A soft chuckle sounds in his ear and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Sleep well?”
“More or less,” Clint replies, turning a little in his arms to face away from the water. “Until the sun tried to burn my eyes from their sockets.”
Phil snorts. “Here, let me save you.” He raises an eyebrow before he shifts and climbs over Clint, now on his other side but half-laying on him, because there really isn’t much room. He props his head on his hand and uses that and his shoulder to block the sun and its reflection on the water from Clint’s face.
“My hero,” Clint’s fond smile is soft and the answering one he gets is so sweet his heart aches. He can’t find the right words to say, he can’t describe how he doesn’t want this to end. “Phil,” he swallows the anxiety rising in his throat. “Move in wi’me.”
Panic chills him when the look of shock overtakes Phil’s face. He doesn’t let the older man speak out of fear he’ll say no. Best to prolong the inevitable because Clint’s sure he’s messed up royally. “It’s just… we hardly get to see each other anyway, so why don’t you just cut out the part of your trip where you have to go to your apartment after selling all the fish? I have a private dock an’ everything.” He can feel himself start to tremble. “If you’re ever sick of me, it’s easy enough ta hop on the Triskelion and just leave. And hey, you’ll save money on a place to stay, an’ I know you love my cooking, so there’s an added bonus. I know it’s sudden an’ you’re probably just waitin’ for me to shut up so you can say no—”
Phil cuts him off. Phil cuts him off quite efficiently. Most efficiently. Wow, Phil should have shut him up like this a long time ago because Clint’s mind has never melted faster. He cups the back of Phil’s neck and melts into the kiss. It was firm at first, something to get his mouth to stop moving. But as soon as shock took over, a warm hand came up to cup his scratchy cheek and the angle changed. Everything changed because there was a soft hesitance to it that just took Clint apart at a molecular level.
Is it possible to miss a mouth that only just left? Clint wants to protest but as he opens his eyes, he’s at a complete loss of words at the expression on Phil’s face.
“Yes.” Phil says, his voice shaking just a touch.
“Yes, you were wait—” Another kiss silences him, harder and more insistent than its predecessors. Clint hums softly—although it could have been a groan.
“Yes, I’ll move in with you, Clint.” His tone is no-nonsense with a compliment of warmth and happiness.
Clint closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. “Say it again?” He didn’t think Phil would… and he did… His heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he’s sure his jugular is jumping with it.
As if Phil could read his thoughts, he leans down and presses his lips to the vein in particular. “Yes. Yes, Clint, I want to move in with you.”
This time, Clint kisses Phil. He wraps his arms around him enthusiastically and rolls him over so he can be on top. Unfortunately for the both of them, they aren’t in Clint’s bed and the bunk is only so wide. Phil flails a little before they drop to the ground on their sides. Their noses knock together but neither of them break the kiss.
They’ll have to figure out how they’re doing this later, since Phil needs to head out for his next trip in only a couple days. There’s no point for him to keep paying rent for his place because he’s never really around to be in it anyway. But, that is for later. Possibly much later, if the way Clint is sliding his tongue along Phil’s lower lip has anything to say about it.