Rule number one – it was not a date. So, he’d showered and put on cologne – that’s okay, people did that before going out for drinks with friends. Even friends who were also almost fuck-buddies. It’s normal.
Okay. It was a pressed shirt. And it was blue, which Bruce just loved seeing him in. Well, as long as it stayed on. It also matched his bedroom carpet nicely.
“Wow, pulling out all the stops I see?” Clint turned and smiled at Natasha, who was leaning in the doorway. She had quite a brilliant skill for sneaking up on people.
“No, it’s just a drink,” he replied, glancing in the mirror again.
Natasha just smiled broadly. “Well, if you turn up tomorrow walking normally we’ll know it was just drinks, right?”
Clint felt his ears go pink. “Sure, whatever,” he replied, picking up a casual jacket and pushing past her. It wasn’t her business. Was it?
Out of the apartment, down the stairs, turn right then three lefts. They never went back to the apartment he shared with Natasha. Not that she minded their forays into… Whatever the hell this was, but somehow he wanted to keep Bruce all to himself, and that included evading Natasha.
After the fun with Loki, Fury had made it clear that they were on retainer. All of them. Tony had kicked off, predictably, Steve had just accepted it, Bruce had shrugged nonchalantly without a comment, and Natasha and Clint had known it was coming. They all found apartments in New York, subsidised by SHIELD, of course, so they were a hair’s breadth away if the need arose. You know, for when all hell broke loose again.
The bar was so far from any other it was only frequented by locals who knew the city really well. Or had eyesight so good they could see a target from a good distance away. It was comfortable, with little booths along the outside wall and an old-fashioned mahogany bar along the back wall, with a friendly staff who were always asking questions.
Bruce was already there – Clint had started to wonder if Bruce had moved into Fran's Bar officially, because he was always sat in their usual booth, waiting patiently. He had an eye for watching people and always made up stories about different visitors, using them as some kind of ice breaker at the beginning of the meeting. Not the date. It wasn't a date.
Personally, Clint could do with just a stiff whiskey followed by going back to Bruce's sparse apartment and getting the fudge sauce out, but he didn't really mind the awkward conversation first.
"I'm not late," he said, slipping into the bench seat opposite Bruce. He glanced at the good doctor, taking in what he was wearing (navy shirt, open at the neck, navy chinos and those awful brown loafers he insisted on wearing everywhere) and the fact that he was almost half-way through a bottle of beer.
"No, not late," Bruce agreed, pushing a full bottle of beer across the table. Clint took it, fingertips touching briefly, no big deal. "He was late, though. You can tell; the girl is seriously pissed," he finished, pointing at a young couple sat over by the window. The girl, pretty, blonde hair flicked over one shoulder, was staring out the window, looking pensive, while the boy told her loud, raucous stories to try and glean a reaction from her.
"Big mistake. Always make sure you're on time for d-" Clint stopped himself, busying himself with his beer. Bruce heard the slip, and smiled briefly, raising an eyebrow. He felt a nudge just above his ankle, and smiled around his beer bottle. Bruce idly wondered if that would look quite as appealing if the smile was around something more personal and bigger than a beer bottle.
"What?" Clint asked, having watched a mischievous smile spread across Bruce's face.
"Hurry up and finish your beer," Bruce almost growled. Clint raised that eyebrow again, tipping the bottle up and emptying it in what seemed like one huge gulp. He dropped the bottle and coughed - remember not to inhale the beer; it somewhat destroys the sultry look you were going for - before he found he could speak.
"I like how you just did it," Bruce said, smiling thoughtfully. "My place or yours?"
Bruce's place, in the end. Clint gave him some excuse about Natasha having friends over (more of a joke, really - she didn't really attract friends who were big on sitting in each other's apartments watching movies), but Bruce didn't push it.
He did push Clint through the door, slamming it behind them, then pushed him against the wall beside it. If he'd have had a bookcase, he might have knocked a few books off. He made a note to invest in one - and a desk so he could sweep all the paperwork off it and push Clint against him and fuck him and-
He stopped. Pulled back. Took a deep breath. "Bruce?" Clint's hand was on his shoulder, comforting, hot and heavy through his shirt.
"It's… I'm fine," he lied, reaching back out for Clint's waist and pulling him back close again. "The other guy just…" They both stopped, then, just standing there, holding onto each other. Though Clint wasn't usually big on cuddling, it didn't feel like that - it felt like a natural, safe, thing to do. He didn't probe the thought any further than that.
"I can go, if-"
"No." Bruce sighed, chest heaving. "Stay." Clint turned his head, not really sure why but finding a piece of skin to nibble seemed the most logical thing to do. Bruce leant back, wanting to look at Clint as he spoke, tried a wan smile.
"What," Clint said, not really asking, just trying to prompt Bruce into saying something.
"The other guy… He… I... Want us to do more." He sounded so small, and hated the fact that he sounded like a complete fucking idiot.
Clint waited, trying to keep his face passive. He understood. This arrangement had been going on for three months, and blow jobs, hand jobs and various other non-penetrative exercises were not enough. He never thought 'the other guy' and he would have much in common. Who knew? "Okay," he said, still not pushing or asking, just saying the word.
"Did you have a timeframe in mind or-"
"Now. Tonight. Now." Clint stuttered, trying to find a way of replying to Bruce's newfound decisiveness. He didn't sound sure, though.
"Really?" Clint wanted to make sure they were completely on the same page. No misunderstandings later or anything. Bruce just nodded, cheeks pinking a little, and Clint realised that he would have to take control of this situation. He moved them back close again, and, starting at the collar and working down, started unbuttoning Bruce's shirt. He tugged the shirt free and dropped it on the floor, piling his own on top of it, and dragged Bruce tight against his chest, near-smothering him with a fierce, hot kiss. And they both stopped thinking.
Somehow, through some well considered manoureing, they found the bedroom. Well, it was so small that it was predominantly 'bed' and less 'room', and the wallpaper was floral and the chest of drawers was falling apart. Not that it mattered.
Clint shoved Bruce by the hips onto the bed. "Budge up,' he said, nudging his head in the direction of the pillows. Bruce considered disagreeing, but caught a look on Clint's face that made him want to know his plan.
Clint watched him, predatory look on his face, then worked his own belt loose, tossing his trousers to one side. Once he was in nothing but his boxers, he crawled onto the bed, working up Bruce's body, hovering teasingly over his groin, grinning devilishly. They looked at each other for a few moments, Bruce trying to resist the urge to grind upwards against Clint.
Clint lowered his hips onto Bruce, who sucked air in through his teeth and ground upwards against Clint. "Uh-uh," Clint teased, arching up again, removing to contact.
Bruce sat up, pulling their chests together, and in one motion flipped them over, harder than he expected, the 'other guy' flaring up again. He stopped, suddenly, holding himself over Clint, who looked up at him wide-eyed. "The other guy," Bruce said by way of an explanation, and Clint just nodded.
"Yes. Just... Slowly," Bruce said, cutting Clint off before he could finish. Clint just nodded, hands on the waist band of Bruce's chinos. He tugged at them gently, quirking an eyebrow, enjoying the smile it brought to Bruce's face. Bruce stood up and worked his chinos off, throwing them over one shoulder.
"Lay down," Clint said, going up on one shoulder. He was enjoying himself. Previously with his other partners it had been a quick meeting, a fumble in a hotel room, a fuck that didn't matter. Having time to spend, and wanting to spend that time jus touching and feeling everything, felt like a luxury he intended to keep going as long as he could.
Bruce laid down, rolling onto his side so they were face to face, looking expectantly at Clint. Clint wriggled across the bed, closer to Bruce, put his hand on Bruce's cheek and kissed him. It felt meaningful, like he'd been waiting forever for that one kiss, and as it heated up and hands started moving south, it was made even better.
Clint dragged his free hand down Bruce's chest, gently thumbing over one nipple and drawing a hitch of breath from Bruce. He worked lower, tracing along the elastic at the top of Bruce's boxers before dipping below them, hand wrapping around Bruce's already hard cock.
He pulled it free of the fabric and began moving his hand up and down, not breaking the kiss. He loved feeling Bruce's hands on the back of his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. The way he could feel Bruce's breathing changing, his hips thrusting forward, almost begging for more.
He stopped, so suddenly Bruce whimpered and frowned. "Lube?" he asked, ignoring the pointed look he was receiving from his bed partner.
"Top," Bruce coughed, trying to clear the thickness from his voice, "Top drawer, right hand side."
Clint nodded, sitting up and fighting the drawer open. He tore open a condom with his teeth & tossed it onto the bed, then discovered the lube and squeezed an ample amount onto his hand. He pulled his own boxers off one handed, and glanced up grinning that Bruce had done the same.
It was all he could do not to throw himself on Bruce and fuck him then and there. He was tanned all over (mental note - go somewhere sunny and private sometime soon), more toned than his usual clothing let on, and Clint drank in the sight like nectar.
He moved back across the bed, keeping his hand cupped so as not to spill any of the lube, and laid back down. "Fuck you looking so good," he said, realising he was making absolutely no sense.
"You're not exactly a Picasso yourself," Bruce replied, going slightly pink again. He ran a hand up Clint's thigh, brushing his lab- roughened knuckles against the head of Clint's cock. "Hurry up," he whispered, not taking his eyes off Clint's face.
Clint leant forward and kissed him, putting his hand down between them, past Bruce's dick which he was desperate to grasp and suck and kiss, and travelled to his hole. He massaged around it gently, then teased at it with his pinky finger, pushing in gently. Bruce gasped, hips moving forward again involuntarily, making a low moaning noise. "Hurts?" Clint asked, desperate to get another finger in to watch Bruce pull that 'fuck me' face again.
"No," Bruce whispered, eyes tightly closed and hands flat on Clint's back. Clint nuzzled at his cheek, kissing down towards his ear while still thrusting with one finger. He moved up to two, his cock twitching with approval at the was Bruce's face changed, so desperate for more. "God," he said, breaking the kiss for a moment.
"Don't come," Clint said, third finger moving in, avoiding the sensitive bundle of nerves that Bruce was so desperate for him to touch. Bruce nodded mutely, making a low sound in his throat. Clint kissed him, fingers stretching him wide and filling him with lube.
At the fourth finger, he was sure Bruce was going to come from the noise he made. He stilled in his actions, letting Bruce catch his breath. "Fuck me," was all Bruce could say once his breath was back.
Clint pulled out slowly, and reached over for the condom, rolling it on. He slicked the outside with lube, then rolled Bruce onto his back. "Just... Say stop if, you know, you start to feel the need to," he said, hands either side of Bruce's abdomen.
"Keep it slow, I'll be fine," he eventually said, canting his hips up, spreading his legs wide. Clint lined himself up and pushed the tip in, slow enough that Bruce could adjust, get used to it. Bruce's fingers tangled in the bed sheets and he muttered something in a language Clint didn't recognise. "Tease," he whispered, not wanting to beg but so desperate for more.
Clint laughed softly and pushed further in, inch by inch, until he was up to his length in Bruce's body. "Fuck," he muttered, eyes still on Bruce.
"Yes, please," Bruce replied, a twinkle of mischievousness in his eyes. Clint started thrusting, a slow rhythm, watching Bruce's face & loving how his back arched whenever his cock hit his prostate.
He felt so close to coming, so stopped and asked Bruce to go on all fours. Bruce obliged, and Clint entered him again, stopping to plant sloppy kisses in the middle of his shoulder blades whenever he reached the top.
Bruce's breathing change, hands gripping the bedclothes so tightly Clint wondered if he'd rip them. He thrust up and leant down, whispering, "It's okay, you're okay," in Bruce's ear. One more smooth movement was all it took, Bruce moaning hard, whole body twitching and barely keeping himself up off the bed. Clint pulled out, giving Bruce space to fall face- first into the pillows.
He started finishing himself off, but was surprised when he found Bruce's hand brushing his own away. Bruce peeled the condom off and dropped it over the side of the bed, then wrapped his hand around Clint's member and moved his hand up and down rhythmically. It didn't take long before Clint's seed joined Bruce's on the bedspread.
Bruce laid down beside Clint, watching him as the orgasm subsided. Clint laughed (he always did after he came - Bruce thought it was adorable), and rolled over to face Bruce. They looked at one another, Bruce not able to stop the grin across his face and the one on Clint's made it even harder to keep a straight face.
Clint spoke, his voice sounding too loud in the post- coital silence. "Should I... Go?"
Bruce shook his head, snuggling closer so he could tuck his cheek under Clint's. "Stay over. I bought you a toothbrush," Bruce whispered back, raising a laugh from Clint.
They both got up and went to the bathroom to clean up. Clint had no idea of the etiquette required for staying after shagging; he'd always been a 'come and go' kind of guy.
Bruce beat him back to the bedroom. He was sat up under the cover, glasses on, reading a book. Clint fought the urge to run - he panicked at the merest hint of domesticity - and slipped into his side (when the hell did he get a 'side'?) of the bed. He watched Bruce for a few minutes before Bruce spoke.
"I have to read before bed," he said by way of an explanation. Clint leant past him and turned the light out. "Hey!"
Clint pulled the book out of his hands and the glasses off his nose, putting them on the rickety chest of drawers. He pushed on Bruce's shoulder, until Bruce was laying on his side under the covers. Clint spooned up behind him, one hand on Bruce's still-bare hip and the other under his own head. Bruce put his hand on Clint's, rubbing the knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
"I've never..." Bruce started, then took a gulp of air, swallowing hard.
"It's okay. You- we're okay," Clint said, pressing a kiss against the back of Bruce's neck. "How's the other guy?" he asked after a long pause.
"Don't know. Don't care much now," Bruce answered, voice thickening with sleep. "He went away. You made him go away."
Clint didn't know what to say.