
clint/coulson, drinking game
A loud bang caused Coulson to sigh heavily and set down his pen. A full bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey was now sitting on top of Stark's A-3729 form (the third one this month). "Absolutely not, Barton," he said, firmly.
"Absolutely yes," Clint retorted. "This is the third week in a row you've skipped out on me, and I'm not letting you get away with it again."
Coulson scrubbed his hand over his face. "Clint, I have to get this done--"
"We'll make a game of it," Clint said, voice cajoling. "Every time you finish a form, we take a shot."
Coulson glanced at his inbox, which was close to empty, then back to Clint. "Fine," he agreed, and rolled his eyes at Clint's little victory dance. "But I'm not carrying you back to your room if you pass out."