Chapter Text
Clint went down to the range and made good on his promise to Tony to make good on his responsibilities to Cap, the team, and America. Maybe to Earth, if he wanted to get really self-important and dramatic about it.
Mostly, though, he just wanted to avoid giving Steve until he was ready to talk to him or be talked at. There was probably a point at which procrastinating on inviting Steve to invite Tony to hash out the terms of his loaning out could be counted as further defiance and dishonesty, and Clint had the feeling he was skating on thin enough ice that I haven't seen him yet was probably a better bet than I just haven't done it.
He wasn't sure Tony could deal with a lot of rebellion at the moment, anyway. Even though Tony was usually pretty relaxed about exerting overt control, actually losing control was doing a number on him.
Or at least, that would explain why Tony was back on the lies lies filthy lies track that Clint thought was over, understood, and forgiven, if not forgotten. It probably meant Tony was getting worse, or at least that Tony thought he was, which might mean that Clint wasn't alone in the lying, sneaking, and hiding. Possibly not even in the scaring-Bruce department. Tony, he realized, hadn't just been hanging around half building robots and then destroying them. Tony probably wasn't shaking strange and cryptic answers out of their Thor-of-rambling-fortune-telling, but he also wasn't likely to just wait for Bruce and-or medical to come up with answers and not try anything on his own.
Mostly because Tony was both smart and stupid enough to think that trying to be his own health care provider was a reasonable plan of action.
-----
"Did what you wanted," Clint told Tony, dropping himself onto Tony's giant bed. Landing in a messy sprawl on his stomach. "Shot lots of things. Or shot the same couple of things, but lots of times." Tony had less of his crap on his own floor than he had on Clint's floor, which was somewhere between puzzling and obnoxious. Tony didn't even do that much in his room, but at this point Clint had more of Tony's things than maybe Tony did.
If he didn't count jets, properties and satellite companies. Or cars and maybe hovercraft. There was the slight chance that Tony had hovercraft. Somewhere. Clint wouldn't have been surprised, anyway.
Tony gave him a look when he belly-crawled up the bed, but dropped a hand on his still-damp hair as soon as he was in reach. Asked, "You hit the gym showers?" in a doubtful tone, because no one used the gym showers. Except maybe Steve. Clint grinned.
"Nope."
"That's--" Tony stopped, then made a face and pretended to be flicking something off his hand.
"Thought I'd invite you," Clint said, ignoring it. He probably was kind of gross. Gross, and on top of Tony's fancy covers. It used to be kind of strange to hang out on Tony's stupid gigantic bed, in his I-have-windows-instead-of-walls-because-I-can penthouse and feel not quite owned or kept, but something like it. Now, he only cared that the duvet cover was cool against his skin where his t-shirt was rucked up, and that there was enough room to get his whole length on the bed even though he was lying sideways across it.
"That's a sexier offer when you don't smell like an old sneaker," Tony observed, but went back to petting him, fingers careful in his hair before they trailed down the side of his face then traced the top edge of the collar with a finger. Clint rolled his eyes. Twitched away from the tickling, then stilled when Tony's finger hooked under the collar and tugged.
The thing felt deceptively fragile even though Clint knew it wouldn't give unless he put some intentional effort into it, and he followed the pull automatically to make some slack. Letting Tony reel him in.
"Don't give me attitude," Tony warned, but mildly. Without even with his usual joking fake-stern tone. He sounded tired.
Clint went with it anyway, dipping his head obediently and not saying anything that might come off like shit-talking.
Tony snorted, then added "You're such a good boy," in the same tone, but grinned a little when Clint looked back up to search his face--brief, just checking that he was okay and still there and himself.
"Believe it." Clint twisted a bit as he let himself drop, so he could flop half on top of Tony, careful to avoid the arc reactor, for both of their sakes. Tony could get antsy and protective of it, and Clint had whacked himself on the housing enough times to stay aware and clear of it. "I'm great."
"Mm," Tony agreed, brushing fingers across Clint's throat, twisting the fabric of the collar a little, but not pulling. Just toying with it because it was Tony and he'd probably explode if he wasn't fussing with something. "I guess you're reasonably decent."
"Pff," Clint sniffed, offended, pressing the noise into Tony's skin.
"You are disgusting and on my bed," Tony pointed out, but his a grip on the collar was firmer now, which meant he didn't actually want Clint to leave. Having all Tony's fingers under it, clinging, was pulling the damn thing into his throat.
Tony might have point. A bit of a point. He was also close to choking Clint. He pulled a bit against Tony's grip, but Tony's hand tightened, and Clint made a dramatic wheezing noise as subtle hint. Then, when it had no effect, tried, "Let me get out of my shirt."
"And then come back."
"I'm not going anywhere, Tony."
"Right. Yeah. Okay," Tony said, and let go before carefully straightening the collar, letting his touch be interrupted by Clint tugging bunched damp fabric over his head and tossing it onto the floor.
"Less gross?"
Tony considered that, like it was a serious question, then said, "Not really," in an almost apologetic way, but tugged Clint back onto his chest. A little gingerly.
Which was understandable, because Clint was still a little sweat-damp, and sticking to Tony in a way that really wasn't that pleasant. He probably did smell like the inside of someone's gym bag. "You behave?" Clint asked, draping an arm over Tony, but mostly so he could stretch his shoulder out. Tony misread it and traced Clint's arm with his fingertips, smirking, and that at least was a more normal expression. That smug look he got when he thought Clint was being possessive.
"Sure. Look around. Tower still standing. Drapes not turned into dresses. And me. Waiting in bed for you."
Tony's eyebrow waggle was a little lacking, but Clint grinned. Propped his chin against Tony's ribs to smirk at him. "Good," he said, and Tony puffed like he couldn't decide whether to be offended or amused. His fingers were at Clint's shoulder, then playing down the line of his spine and back up again before finally stilling at the back of his neck, fingers wrapping firmly, his thumb digging in on one side.
It made Clint relax, breath sighing out of him like he was being deflated. Leaving him pliant. And still disgustingly sticky. He had a distant awareness of that. Of the fact that he should go shower with or without Tony, but protest seemed suddenly off the table unless he wanted to get really serious about his it. And that was a lot less appealing than squirming himself closer to Tony--grossness be damned--so he could drop goofy kisses along Tony's ribs to get him back for the tickling.
"Hey. Hey." Tony gripped his neck tighter, then twitched and grabbed for his hair instead, pulling him away. Tony was totally entertained by him. Clint could tell.
"Quit, Barton," Tony said, pushing him away a bit as he released, "Go do your thing. Don't take forever."
Clint considered telling him I'm not going anywhere again, then decided he'd better make his getaway while the getting was good and before they could get distracted into new arguments and side arguments and arguments and rolled away to slide off the end of the bed.
It was awesome how far away that was.
Clint loved that fucking bed.
-----
"So," Clint said again, when he came back from a quick Tony-less shower and perfunctory dry-off to kneel damp and naked on the edge of the mattress--on the far side, away from Tony, "I did what you said."
"You're supposed to do what I say."
Clint didn't mention Tony vetoing that on the grounds of thinking he was enough of a threat to make any kind of difference to Clint, even though he could have. Tony got on the same page pretty quickly though, and gestured him over, saying, "Okay. Fine. You're very good. Which I already said. And I don't know if I actually owe you compliments for Avengering and Avengering related things."
"You can't boss me about Avengers related things," Clint corrected, going over on hands and knees. Probably ruining the effect by arguing while he was doing it, but Tony didn't seem to mind. "You can compliment me anytime. For any reason. I'm not picky."
"Oh," Tony said, and lifted a hand so he could drop it onto Clint's head a little more heavily than was actually nice, "Give me some reasons, then."
-----
Clint gave him the very good reason of a blowjob, but did it lazy and slow just to make Tony crazy, which was maybe not the best plan, considering, but at least Tony made appreciative sounds and bucked and squirmed under him. Pulling his hair until it got to be too much and Clint let up, straightening enough that he could kiss the inside of Tony's bent knee.
"Whenever you're done catching your breath," Clint told him, "I'm listening."
"You are not listening. You are not even close to listening," Tony grouched, "And you're not done."
"I might be."
That brought Tony to his elbows, and even with his hair ruffled and ridiculous looking, his face was serious. Eyes dark and--not dangerous, but just unreadable. "Clint--"
"You can bail anytime. Just say uncle and tap out." Clint offered him a crooked smile and kissed his knee again. Glanced questioningly back through the corner of his eye in a way that Tony would know was complete bullshit.
"Don't push me, Barton," was what he said. It wasn't exactly what Clint was angling for. "And you don't tell me about tap outs."
He didn't really want to get back on that, but Tony didn't look more than a little annoyed and that could be at least partly because of his neglected hard-on. Before he could do anything else about it, or consider his doing-about options, Tony pushed himself the rest of the way up and kissed him, catching him by the shoulder and back of the head, but letting Clint take control the moment he started kissing back. The asshole was taking his veto seriously.
"Tony--"
"Shh." Tony murmured it against his mouth, hands on either side of Clint's head, holding him in place. "Stay with me, okay? Don't go anywhere. This would be a really bad time to have JARVIS think you need a rescue."
Clint glanced down at Tony's dick and then back up. Tried the no kidding eyebrow raise he'd learned from Coulson and that Natasha could mimic with perfection. Clint's wasn't as good, but it was enough to make Tony snort and say, "Smartass," with the kind of amused approval that was probably enabling most of Clint's bad sub attitude problems. "Give me your hand."
Clint offered it, palm up, then wrinkled his nose when Tony drizzled lube over his fingers. Messy and without warning. "Geez, Stark."
Tony ignored it, flipping the bottle cap shut with his thumb before tossing the thing aside. "Since I'm old and tired and sickly and you think I'm incompetent," he said, "you can do the work."
"I already did work," Clint complained, moving his fingers around. Trying to spread the slick without spilling any more of it.
"Do some more. I'm frail." He flopped back and waved a hand in an imperious go-ahead gesture before tucking the arm comfortably under his head. Looking totally fucking ridiculous.
He licked his lower lip when Clint touched his hole with his slicked up fingers, and Clint knew he would bite down as soon as he pushed in and kind of wanted to see that happen, but Tony was watching him all bright-eyed and intense in the way he got when something was a challenge, but one that Tony was sure he was more than equal to.
Which was just weird. He'd been more than equal to Clint for awhile now.
"You okay?" Tony asked, "Having fun? Paying attention? Want to try doing that a little faster?"
Tony was going to start talking, then. Great. Clint tried to ignore it, but Tony hooked him with one heel, digging it into his hip to get his attention. "Clint?"
"Yes." That was a yes, Tony yes, but tending also in the direction of shut the fuck up, Tony. Just a little bit. If Tony caught it, he didn't seem to give a shit, dropping the whole thing when Clint got another finger in in favor of rolling his hips up.
"Good?" Clint hinted, smirking and twisting his fingers.
"Fuck," Tony panted, "Get hard if you're not. I'm not waiting."
Clint was pretty much there already, but he gave himself a couple of firm strokes with his free hand before pulling his fingers free of Tony and lining up. "'Kay." He sounded rougher than Tony, and low voiced. Automatically dropping his volume to avoid missing or competing with orders. Even without looking he knew Tony was either grinning at it, or getting a serious, intent look.
"Ask nicely," Tony said, and that was definitely a grinning tone. He shifted a little to wrap a leg around Clint, dropping the other over his arm and arching his back, pressing down onto Clint just enough to make him shiver, then drawing away again. "Come on, Barton."
"I--"
"Use your words."
He was pretty sure he was supposed to be doing this for Tony, so Clint considered going along with Tony's keep away games, except that Tony talking shit and being totally fucking entertained by himself wasn't something he wanted to waste, so he swallowed and offered, "Please let me, Tony."
"Let you?"
"Let me fuck you," Clint said and added "Please," again.
Tony dawdled on giving him the okay, mostly because Tony was an asshole, but as soon as he was pushing in, and Tony was letting his breath out in low moans, Clint forgave it and the annoying babble and the making Clint ask for permission to service him.
"Move," Tony told him, as soon as he was seated, "I'm good with the moving." He sounded a little breathless.
Clint nodded, and wrapped a hand around Tony's cock without being told. Hoping to get him off while he was still there. Everything was so good that the possibility of Tony losing it was suddenly a looming in his awareness.
Tony bucked against him and gasped, "Jesus, Clint. Easy," but followed it with sounds that were definitely not complaining noises. Clint slowed it down anyway. Tony was probably doing more work than he'd intended to, and Clint could just about hear the whining and complaining about Clint banning him from binge-building but then making him exert himself.
"There you go," Tony moaned, when he shifted both their weights for a better angle, "Just like that. Good, Clint."
That hit with a wash of quiet pleasure that Clint knew he couldn't give in to. He concentrated on Tony, and the way the muscles in Tony's stomach worked, as Clint withdrew and pumped back into him. Keeping it lazy and slow the way Tony wanted.
"Don't come."
Tony managed to make it sound like a proper command, even though he was panting--shallow and interspersed with little gaspy noises that would totally ruin the image he was trying to project if he let them turn into moans the way they clearly wanted to.
Clint cast a questioning look up at him, and Tony clarified, "You don't get to come," and fuck. Fuck. He really was supposed to just be servicing Tony. Getting Tony off in his giant fucking bed and on his silky damn sheets and Clint should say something about that, and about not being Tony's goddamn sex toy, but if Tony wanted him to be, then--
Clint nodded. Had to swallow twice before he managed a raspy, "Yes."
It made everything narrow down to Tony. The way his eyes were closed, but his mouth was open, a little, and the way he wasn't talking anymore, but breathing in time to the way his body was rocking to meet Clint's. The way he felt in Clint's hand, hard and slick and hot, and then he'd come and Clint was waiting, still all the way inside him and panting hard himself. Swallowing to try to get his voice to work while he watched Tony's ribs rise and fall with heaving breaths.
"Tony," he pleaded, as soon as it seemed like it wouldn't ruin Tony's buzz. "Tony, c'mon."
"Nope. Not this time. Come here."
Clint swallowed, and pulled out. Slow, hissing at how good that still felt, shuddering at the loss of sensation. And then Tony was sitting up and kissing his face, sloppy and making loud, silly smoochy noises, like they'd been playing and he wasn't the cause of Clint's brain cells burning out. "You did great, Barton. Perfect." He wrapped his hand loosely around Clint's cock and stroked lightly, and shushed at the choked noise Clint made. "I just want you like this for awhile. You think can do that?"
With all the things Tony was trying to be careful of, this was low on Clint's list of preferred domination options, but it also felt good to be Tony's, and to let Tony selfishly use him, even if Tony maybe just thought that it was safe. Even Tony continuing to tease him wasn't likely to hurt or kill him. Probably. Maybe.
Clint tucked his head against Tony's shoulder and nodded. Murmured "Yeah. Okay," and turned his head enough to lay kisses on Tony's neck and throat, rocking into Tony's hand as his stroking slowed. Tony kissed him again, then pulled them both down. Shoved at Clint until he had them both on their sides and could mumble lazy praise against the back of Clint's neck while Clint tried to slow his breathing and convince his cock it was really a no-go and to settle the hell down.
He could hear Tony making content little noises at his back, pressed close and with one arm draped over Clint in a way that let him slide his fingers in under the collar. Like he was checking the fit or keeping the material off Clint's skin. His thumb was a firm pressure, just for a couple of seconds, before Tony relaxed his grip.
"I'm not going anywhere," Clint reminded him, when Tony didn't let go. Just kept his hand there, loosely pressed to Clint's throat.
"You better not," Tony said, "I'm going to make sure you're okay this time. So shut up and let me work here, Barton."
Clint was fine. He thought maybe he should be hovering over Tony, no matter who'd been giving the orders, but he shut up and let Tony hang on and murmur, good, you did good into his ear.