Work Text:
After the food is gone and rubbish cleaned away, everyone scatters: Steve leaves for his apartment, Thor to visit Loki in SHIELD's New York Base (Tony presumes the holding facilities, but he isn't going to ask), Natasha for an undisclosed location ("my place here," she says, Tony suspects a lair, but again, not asking). Bruce has already taken Tony up on his offer of a guest suite in the tower and says he wants to walk there. That leaves Clint sitting oblivious to the pointed cleaning of the staff around them and Tony hovering awkwardly beside him. Natasha kissed Clint cheek as she stood to left, which Tony might have thought was evidence of something, except that he's the one left here now.
"Are you going home?" he asks.
Clint raises his head to meet Tony's eye. "No."
"Then come back to mine."
Clint doesn't respond. Even his expression doesn't change. But his "no" made it clear that option was impossible, and the staff have starting putting chairs on tables, so Tony decides to take it as read. He calls for the car and Happy pulls up just as Clint emerges from the restaurant, prefect timing to follow Tony into the back seat.
Tony doesn't quite have the words, yet, for the thoughts tumbling through his head, the images of darkness and the last thought of Pepper. Clint's barely spoken since they stopped fighting. The silence between them is hardly comfortable. Tony doesn't care.
Tony breaks the silence when they reach the living room on the floor below the main space. The bar's not as well stocked, but the windows are intact. Clint wanders across the room and sits on the arm of the couch, leaning against the back. Tony pulls out a bottle of whiskey.
"Do you want a drink?" Then, because he needs to do something with the way he can't slow down, and Clint is eyeing the walls like he wants to burst through them, Tony says, "Do you want to screw?"
"Yes."
Tony pours Clint a drink to match his own and carries it to his outreached hand. Clint takes a sip, nods in brief appreciation and sets the glass on the coffee table. He holds his hand out again.
In a rush, like free fall, all of Tony's scattered energy resolves into arousal. He puts his glass down and his hand in Clint's. Clint tugs him forward so he stumbles into the couch and then they'e kissing. Or Clint's biting at Tony's mouth, which definitely works for Tony. He worms his way between Clint's thighs, so Clint's legs are around his hips and they're touching, chest to chest. Clint lets Tony's hand go to grab his hips. Tony wraps his fingers around Clint's very nice arms.
"This isn't going to be quite what you expect," Clint tells him.
It takes Tony a moment to process that, distracted as he is by the dig of Clint's fingers into his sides, into his waistband of his underwear. Tony's never been one to assume the outcome of an unknown equation.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing." A blunt denial like he gave the question about home.
Tony considers what he actually needs to know for this work: "What can't I touch?"
"That's going to be what you expect." Clint smirks.
"Bedroom? Not that I'm at all opposed to living room shenanigans, but I have a superbly comfortable mattress."
Clint's smile fades slightly, but he relaxes, which Tony counts as a win. There's a flash of something calculating across his face, then he cups Tony's face and kisses him thoroughly. Tony holds onto Clint's arms and loses himself in the heat of Clint's mouth, and skill of his tongue.
"Bedroom," Clint says as he pushes Tony away. Tony falls off the couch onto his feet by instinct. He holds out his hand for Clint and leads him down the hall to his bedroom. The room is dwarfed by the bed, because that's supposed to be the defining feature of a bedroom, and Tony Stark doesn't do subtlety.
He looks over his shoulder at Clint. Clint tries to play it cool, but his expression slips to impressed and then he smiles at himself. Tony grins. He drops onto the edge of the bed and leans down to take off his shoes.
Clint kicks his own shoes off then unzips his top and pulls it over his head.
"Where can't I touch you?" Clint asks.
Tony stops in the middle of unbuckling his belt.
"Scars." He says that because that's the answer. He has to blink to realise that he's staring at the scars across Clint's chest.
"Okay. My scars are fine," Clint adds, smirking again. This was definitely a good idea, Tony thinks. "You're falling behind," Clint tells him.
Tony pulls his shirt over his head and strips of his trousers and underwear, standing to kick everything out of the way. Then he is naked, mostly hard, standing in his dimly lit bedroom, watching Clint check him out.
"Lie back on the bed," Clint tells him, with a jerk of his head. As though Tony didn't know where the bed was, really. Tony doesn't roll his eyes. He sits down then pushes himself back over the covered until he can lie, legs open and arms wide. He raises his neck to give Clint his best 'get on with it,' expression.
Clint gets rid of the rest of his clothes in one fluid movement which carries up onto the bed, crawling over Tony to straddle his thighs.
Clint's hard, his dick standing proud of his pubic hair. Tony lets his eyes wander up over Clint's well defined abdomen and chest and then meets his eyes. He recognises the tension across Clint's shoulders, at the edges of his eyes, the precipitous moment: having to do with precipices and not ever turning back.
"Come on," Tony says, going for a complete derailment of Clint's anxiety in favour of his own pleasure, "Let me suck you."
To Tony's surprise, Clint doesn't just thrust himself into Tony's mouth. He huffs something like a laugh then throws himself onto his back, legs wide. Tony crawls out from under Clint's left leg and rolls over him. He takes the opportunity to put his tongue back in Clint's month because, oh yeah, Clint knows how to kiss.
Clint's rocking his hips, his thigh a distracting pressure against Tony's dick by the time Tony draws back from Clint's mouth and finally crawls down the bed to bury his face in Clint's crotch.
It's not like going down a woman, but it's also not like any other time Tony's gone down a man, either. He can suck the whole of Clint's dick into his mouth, can tease him with teeth and tongue while Clint writhes under him and curses. Tony pulls off long enough to throw his own smirk back at Clint. In retaliation, Clint slides a hand into Tony's hair and forces his head back down. Tony goes happily.
He settles into a rhythm, bobbing his head, careful where he puts his tongue. Clint's breathing quickens and his cursing becomes less and less distinct until he stops saying anything at all.
Tony tries a trick with his teeth and is rewarded with Clint's hand clenching in his hair and Clint's ragged voice, "Tony, Tony, fuck." Pride and pleasure flow through Tony's arousal. Tony has an established relationship with using sex as a distraction, but he still prefers his partners know who's going down on them.
Clint comes with a grunt. He grabs hold of Tony's head and rocks himself against Tony's mouth. Tony holds on for the ride as Clint shakes through his orgasm, then pushes Tony away and flops against the covers, panting.
Tony gives him about half a minute before kissing Clint's knee—being the closest bit he can reach—and manoeuvring himself back up the bed to lie beside Clint. Clint turns his head to grin at Tony, looking gratifyingly spaced out. Tony kisses him again.
"Do you wanna fuck me?" Clint slurs.
Tony had been thinking of a hand job. He blinks twice without saying anything. Clint stretches, showing off the lean line of his hips. Tony has to swallow hard before he can say yes.
"Yes."
"I assume you have stuff?"
"Yes, yes. We are well equipped for any eventuality."
Tony rolls over to reach the side table, the drawer, the condoms and lube. When he turns back, Clint's got his head on his hands and his ass in the air.
"Oh, fuck."
"Yep."
"Right, of course."
It's quick work to spread lube over his fingers and get one into Clint. It's a little more work to stretch him open, but Clint is surprisingly responsive and Tony fast loses the threads of his patience.
Eventually Clint's breathing evens out again and he says, "Alright, get on with it then."
Tony's right there with a condom, lube, then sliding into the tight welcoming heat of Clint's body. Tony leans over Clint, his weight on his hands but it's less him fucking Clint than Clint fucking himself on Tony cock. He pushes back insistently, there to meet Tony's thrusts, his body clenching around Tony.
Tony doesn't try to wrest control away from Clint. He pushes himself back onto his knees and settles so Clint is half in his lap. Tony wraps his hands around Clint's waist, closes his eyes and waits to be overwhelmed. It doesn't take long.
Clint starts working himself, and that's it for Tony. He grabs Clint's hips to hold him steady through the last desperate thrusts before Tony comes with a shout and a flood of heat along his spine that feels nothing at all like floating or falling.
Tony collapses onto Clint with a harsh breath against the side of Clint's neck. He rests a moment, until Clint tries to shrug him off. Tony's slow to get up, works himself slowly out of Clint. He gets back from the bathroom with a wash cloth for Clint to discover Clint on his back again, lying stretched out over Tony's bed like an ad for coffee.
When the damp flannel hits him on the chest, Clint grunts. But he smiles his thanks as he wipes himself down. Then he throws the cloth back at Tony who lobs it over his shoulder barely in the direction of the bathroom.
"You can stay the night, if you want," Tony says. He pulls the covers up, forcing Clint to roll away.
"Maybe a bit," Clint says. He is completely inelegant as he crawls over the bed and under the covers on the far side.
"You can have rooms in the tower, too, of you want," Tony offers. He gets a contemplative hmm in response, which was more than he was honestly expecting. It's followed shortly by quiet snoring. Then Tony's mind lets go of the last tangle of thoughts it's been trying to burst through and he floats to sleep on the sound of Clint's breathing.
*
Clint wakes a little before four in the morning and extracts himself for the bed with impressive care. If Tony weren't already fighting wakefulness, he wouldn't have noticed. Clint knows Tony's awake: after he's pulled on his underwear and gathered up the rest of his clothes, he waves at Tony as he leaves. Tony pulls his hand out from under the covers to wave back.
Then he digs his phone out of the pocket of his trousers on the floor and brings up Pepper's number. He pushes 'call', still uncertain whether he wants her to answer.