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a key to the lock of your heart

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Bruce tried to be subtle.

Really, he tried. But Clint was a fucking assassin and what not, so he had detected that Bruce was staring and looking at him.

“Yes, Banner?” Clint broke their working silence, not bothering to look up from his phone. He was leaning back casually in his chair at his desk, the tip of his thumb in his mouth and the first few buttons of his white collared button up were popped open, revealing the tan and beginnings of the muscle underneath. His tie was loosened so it was hanging loosely off his neck, untied, and his suit jacket was god knows where.

Safe to say Bruce was hot and bothered and frankly, did not know what to do. Ever since their moment in Clint’s apartment three days ago, they’ve gotten more touchy and intimate with each other.

Just yesterday, Bruce ended up on his knees between Clint’s legs and under the desk, giving Clint the best blowjob of his life as Clint was talking to Agent Coulson on the phone. Bruce’s head still hurt from all the hair pulling Clint had done to stop himself from moaning out loud. It was quite the show, watching Clint’s head drop back, mouth wide open and mouthing Bruce’s name as Coulson talked on the other end of the phone.

His swollen, saliva-slickened lips glistened in the low light of his lampshade on his desk, after biting his lips in another attempt to shut himself up. Clint had come down Bruce’s throat just as Phil finished, Clint slamming down the phone back into its station and moaning and repeating Bruce’s name like a mantra as Clint rolled his hips, cock heavy in Bruce’s mouth. 

Bruce’s head bobbed up and down to get the last bits of Clint’s come out of him, removing his mouth from Clint’s cock with an obscene pop, like he had done just a few days prior, in Clint’s apartment. He chuckled when Clint asked if he had a gag reflex or not, Bruce just pressing a kiss to Clint’s forearm, Clint’s hand still tangled in Bruce’s curls.

Bruce, now sitting at his table in Clint’s office, inferred Clint was just dying to do something to Bruce, make him fall apart and brain malfunction from the pleasure. Because, really, their sexual relationship (if that’s what you could call it) basically only consisted of Bruce blowing Clint’s brains out till Clint could barely register the world around him.

“Uh, nothing.” Bruce stammered, dropping his gaze from Clint’s collarbone back to his work, fiddling with the pen in his hand. The hickies on his neck had faded after he pressed a cold spoon to each spot that resulted in him standing beside his refrigerator for two hours, waiting for the spoon to get cold again after every use. 

Still, a few of his friends (well, mostly Clint’s friends) suspected something. Nat had thought that he was getting beat up and threatened to mutilate the person that gave them to Bruce.

Bruce had to kindly explain that he was out with someone the previous night, Nat reluctantly drawing back and turning to talk to Clint. 

“You sure?” Clint put his phone down and turned his chair to look directly at Bruce, a few metres away from him and sitting on his office couch, papers scattered on the coffee table. Bruce liked working in Clint’s office, leading to him working in Clint’s office, which also conveniently gave him access to Clint. 

He continued, “Cause I’ve felt you turn to stare at me at least twenty times in the past four hours; I’d be a shit spy if I didn’t.” 

Bruce thought for a moment, before getting up and walking to the door of Clint’s office. It only locked from the inside, giving Bruce an unseen advantage. He turned the key that was always in it, hearing the click of the lock.

He turned to look at Clint, watching Clint lose his breath for a second, watching him soothe a muscle in his hand with his thumb. “Is there anything you would like to do to me, Clint?” Bruce asked innocently, tilting his head a little to the right just to spite Clint.

Bruce walked to Clint’s desk and leaned forward, spreading his fingers and placing his hands on top of some sheets of paper that were scattered on Clint’s desk. Clint raised a brow, “Trying to do something, Banner?”

Bruce shrugged, “Just asking a question.” He then turned around and sat on the couch, continuing with his stack of paperwork like nothing happened. He leaned back, and, just to fuck with Clint, he unhooked his glasses from the collar of his shirt and put them on—Bruce had figured out that Clint had a thing for his glasses many months ago but didn’t elaborate on it. He figured that out when he saw Clint staring at him a lot, especially when he would put his glasses back on after he needed to clean them.

And, to spite Clint even more, Bruce deliberately licked his thumb and slid the piece of paper off the stack he was holding. He heard a breathy sigh from Clint’s end of the room and a mumbled “fuck, I’m so screwed” before Clint cleared his throat, getting his attention. Bruce looked up, peering over the wire rimmed frame. “Yeah?”

In the most controlled yet strained voice ever, Clint replied, “Is the door still locked?” Bruce nodded and put down his work things on the table.

“Fuck, come ‘ere,” Clint’s voice cracked as he motioned for Bruce to walk to him, biting his lip as he complied.

Bruce walked over and was pulled onto Clint’s lap by surprise, Bruce making a breathy noise as Clint slammed his lips onto Bruce’s. It took a minute for the two to get adjusted but Bruce ended up straddling Clint’s thighs, sitting on Clint’s lap and his legs folded by the narrow and empty sides of the office chair they were lounging on.

Clint’s hands made it to Bruce’s side while Bruce was ten steps ahead of him and already pushing Clint’s button up off his shoulders. Bruce’s hands landed on Clint’s muscular chest and started to map the planes and curves of his partner’s skin.

He rubbed at one of Clint’s nipples, smiling softly as Clint’s hands moved down to his ass and groaned as Bruce rolled his hips. 

As they continued to kiss, Clint soon unlatching his lips from Bruce’s and going down to his jaw and to attack his poor neck, their shirts unbuttoned and either fully off (in Clint’s case) or pushed to his shoulders (in Bruce’s case), and their pants had been pulled down somewhat to put their hands down each other’s pants and stroke their cocks.

They compressed their moans into breathy noises or muffled moans into the other’s collarbone to avoid anyone passing by hearing their activities. Clint removed his lips from his neck and moved to his ear, whispering, “I wanna do so many things to you, Bruce. God, you don’t even wanna know half of them.”

Bruce groaned and rubbed his thumb over the head of Clint’s cock, his fingernails digging themselves more into Bruce’s hips. Bruce reattached their lips together, both of them stroking each other’s cocks. Bruce rocked his hips more and more aggressively each time Clint did something to his cock, from twisting his wrist the right way or tugging the right way.

“Shit, Bruce, I need you. I need you to…fuck…I need you to ride me.” Clint gasped out as Bruce’s strokes became faster and faster. Bruce took his jaw in his hand and smashed their lips together, hearing Clint go through his drawer. 

He heard the familiar squirt of a lube bottle and then he found himself sitting up on his knees and pushing his pants down to his calves, his dress shoes the only thing stopping them from falling off. A cold and wet finger circled his hole, making Bruce shut his eyes and his mouth drop open, moving his hips to the movement of Clint’s finger.

The same finger that circled his hole pushed into him carefully and slowly, Bruce moaning straight into Clint’s ear. Bruce already started moving, already ready to take another finger or two.

Clint groaned and moved his lips to kiss at Bruce’s collarbone, then to his nipple where he flattened his tongue against the bud and circled it with the tip of his wet and hot tongue, hardening it.

Bruce moaned in pleasure at the tongue on his nipple, the same time Clint pushed another finger into him. Bruce nuzzled his face into Clint’s neck and nipped at it, biting inevitable red marks into the sensitive skin. He hummed and moved his hips accordingly, Clint curling his fingers yet avoiding his prostate.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Bruce sighed, but then sat on his knees and rode Clint’s fingers. He threw his head back and played with his rosy buds, circling them and trying to get the feeling of Clint’s tongue circling them back in his mind. 

He slapped a hand over his mouth and moaned loudly as he rolled his hips the same time Clint curled his fingers. In a flash, there were three fingers in him and Bruce was absolutely begging for Clint’s cock to be in him. “Please, please, please. I need it, I need you, I need your cock to stretch me and hit my prostate till I come.”

Clint rolled on a condom and was sliding into him in what was about two seconds flat, Bruce’s moans going straight to Clint’s dick and already bouncing his hips as he slid down Clint’s cock, taking it rather well.

“Shit,” Clint said breathlessly as Bruce rocked his hips again, “You’re fucking tight as hell.” Bruce giggled but stopped as his jaw dropped open and he let out the most pornographic moan Clint’s ever heard.

And shit that was hot. 

Bruce had bottomed out and Clint’s cock must’ve hit a sensitive spot for Bruce to moan like that. “We’re so lucky my office has no windows,” Clint said, head thrown back and barely heard by Bruce as he slammed himself down onto Clint each time.

Bruce’s hands lay on Clint’s chest as he bounced up and down, riding like they had no time left, his eyes rolling back and breathlessly moaning Clint’s name every time he hit his prostate.

“Yes, Clint, right there!” Bruce moaned erotically (forgetting that he should be fucking quiet) as Clint nipped at a spot on Bruce’s neck, slapped his ass, and hit his prostate at the same time. 

Bruce could barely feel anything but Clint. He could only hear Clint’s moans and groans as Bruce’s tight ass engulfed his cock, Clint’s nails embedded into his hips and- fuck, now Clint was stroking his cock. 

Bruce bounced faster, Clint’s thighs slapping against Bruce’s ass, as Clint stroked his cock faster and created an erratic rhythm. Bruce placed his lips on Clint’s messily, moaning and crying out at the same time as Clint wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him steady as he rode out his pleasure, while the other did fast and jerky movements on his cock, twisting his wrist at every right moment.

Bruce was in a bliss and he was just done when Clint wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked him off, Bruce just taking control of Clint as he placed his hands on Clint’s shoulders and bounced and rocked his hips on Clint’s cock.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s it. Ride me like the dirty fucking slut you are.” Clint said, his voice rough and raspy from Bruce tiring him out. 

Bruce came as Clint twisted his wrist at the right time, Clint’s hand immediately going to the back of Bruce’s neck and pushing his face into the column of Clint’s neck, where Bruce moaned like a dirty fucking whore. 

He moaned quite loudly but it was muffled enough that if people walked by, they wouldn’t question. Bruce was in his post-orgasm haze as he rode out his orgasm, Clint quickly taking control and slamming himself into Bruce as much as he could before he came, biting a mark into Bruce’s shoulder. 

They stayed on top of each other, Bruce still bottomed out on Clint, for god knows long, catching their breath and panting out each other’s name, giving each other small kisses.

After what felt like ten minutes, Bruce leaned back and balanced himself by placing his hands behind him, cupping each of Clint’s knees. He took himself off of Clint’s cock, groaning when it slid out and fell limp onto Clint’s thigh, the tip of the condom now full of come, Bruce biting his lip as he eyed it.

He watched the other man pull off the condom, some of his come dripping down onto Clint’s cock, Bruce eying it hungrily. Clint tied it up and placed it in a tissue, crumpling it and tossing it into the bin under her desk.

Bruce stood up as Clint elegantly said “holy shit,” Bruce knowing Clint watched his ass as he bent over to pull his pants up. 

He bit his lip as he looked at Clint from almost what felt like a bird’s eye view, Clint practically glowing and looking hot as fuck. His muscular stomach and chest in view, cock pink and limp against his thigh that was pulled through a shrivel of his pants that were pulled down. Bruce now got what people meant when people glowed after a fuck. 

Clint caught Bruce staring at him and looped his finger in one of the belt loops of Bruce’s pants and pull him towards him, Bruce already leaning down to kiss him. It was gentle and sweet, contradicting the activities they had both just indulged in. Clint pulled back and leaned his forehead against Bruce’s, Bruce complying, a hand cradling Clint’s hickey littered jaw. 

“What?” Bruce whispered, opening his eyes slowly, staring into Clint’s soft yet sharp cobalt blue eyes.

Clint’s hand went up to Bruce’s face, his fingers splaying over Bruce’s cheek and his thumb stroking his jaw softly. “You’re so pretty.” Clint murmured into Bruce’s lips as he pulled them back together.

Bruce chuckled in surprise and deepened their kiss to last a few more minutes. Fuck, he could do this all day, just kissing Clint.

Bruce had to reluctantly stop kissing Clint so they could both clean up, opting to do so with tissues, and sharing a few post-coital kisses in between. Bruce then noticed they still both looked like a fucking mess even after they cleaned up, both their necks, jaws and some parts of their collarbone collectively covered in hickies and lips swollen red and shimmered in spit.

Bruce helped Clint with his tie and Clint helped Bruce with his belt as he fixed he and Clint’s hair. Just as Bruce finished fixing Clint’s hair and after Clint gave him a kiss on the cheek, the phone rang, making Bruce jump back and squeak in surprise.

Clint laughed at his antics and answered it. In the meantime, Bruce walked away and decided to organize this paperwork for tomorrow as it was an hour before the end of his shift. His shifts ended at 1500 hours on the weekends instead of at 2100 hours on the weekdays since people usually were out doing other stuff, like hanging out with family.

Bruce looked up from cleaning up his workspace the same time Clint did, Clint gracing him with that soft smile of his (Bruce returning it back) and then blowing him a dramatic kiss. Bruce just rolled his eyes and went to retrieve his backpack, placing it on the wide arm of the couch, starting to organize his papers and folders for the day.

As he was in the middle of sorting his papers from least to most important into separate folders, Clint came up behind him and slid his arms around his waist, making Bruce laugh quietly. Clint was tall enough to rest his chin on top of Bruce’s head but decided to rest it on his shoulder, so he could watch what Bruce was doing.

“What are you doing?” Clint questioned, his rough voice so close to his ear it made Bruce slightly bite his lip, Clint’s hot breath fanning against the side of his neck.

“I’m organizing my papers so I know what to work on first.” Bruce replied, ignoring how Clint’s hands started to rub slow circles into his hips and how good it felt.

“You’re such a nerd,” Clint softly replied, sounding fond. Bruce stopped and rested his hands on top of Clint’s arms, dropping his head back onto Clint’s shoulder. Clint turned to look at him, “And you love me for it.” Bruce murmured, before Clint initiated another soft kiss between them.

One of Bruce’s arms trailed up and rested itself on the back of Clint’s neck, tangling itself in the tuft of hair that grew over onto his neck. They stood there, softly kissing, Bruce’s folders and papers forgotten, for what felt like five minutes but ended up being twenty. 

When they broke apart softly, Clint’s lips literally chasing after Bruce’s, Bruce smiled at Clint and Clint smiled back.

Bruce didn’t know what was prompting their such long makeout sessions but he was all here for it and was obsessed with it. Bruce put on his coat and then his backpack, Clint following closely behind with his belongings.

Bruce didn’t know why Clint was with him since he usually worked an extra hour on the weekends to get some more work done. As they walked outside, Clint’s hand intertwined with Bruce’s pretty discreetly, behind Bruce’s backpack that leaned loosely off one shoulder.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you.” Clint whispered into his ear, making Bruce stop them and frown. “What? It’s okay, I have a bus card.”

“Which you will not need anymore since you now have me.” Clint grinned at Bruce, Bruce furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m still gonna take the bus, Clint. Go back inside so you can finish some more work.” Bruce sighed, carding a hand through his hair.

“C’mon. Please, Bruce?” Bruce turned to look at Clint’s horrendous attempt at puppy dog eyes. Bruce hasn’t pulled that trick in a while but he remembered he would get everything and anything when he pulled that card.

Bruce sighed, “Fine, but only today since, well…” Bruce trailed off, making Clint grin cockily while Bruce blushed and ducked his head in embarrassment.

Clint ruffled Bruce’s hair, “It’s fine, nothing to be ashamed of.”

Bruce blankly stared at Clint, making the latter rethink again and make a ‘actually, good point’ face.

They made it to Clint’s car, Bruce taking the passenger seat. They talked on the way to Bruce’s apartment, about archery and Clint and Nat being assassins. It still weirded Bruce out that Clint and Nat were freaking assassins, but it was kind of reassuring in a way.

As Clint pulled up into the drop off lane in front of the apartment, Clint leaned in for a kiss (like a goodbye kiss…or basically just that) and Bruce had barely managed to step away after unknowingly deepening it. Thank god for Clint’s tinted windows on his car.

“Bye Bruce, see you tomorrow.” Clint had rolled down the window and waved at him, throwing him another smile, his heart melting.

He bade Clint goodbye and ignored the way the receptionist gave him a look.

When he got into his apartment, he danced around his apartment gracefully as he put his things down, finishing his work in record time and then proceeding to be able to just relax.

In the middle of his relaxation period, Clint called, who was now at his apartment. They talked for hours from there on out, talked until Bruce’s eyes were dropping on their own. 

Bruce was half-asleep on his arm when he noticed he was no longer on a call with Clint and had found a text message from him saying ‘goodnight sleeping beauty <3”

Bruce did indeed have the best night of sleep that night. He dreamed of a certain boss of his that did archery on the side and eyes as blue as the ocean in the tropical parts of the world.