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Promise me (you will always remember who you are)

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Tony is literally speechless, which is honestly saying something.

He'd come down to invite the deadly duo up to his lab, finally finished with the latest round of weapon mods, only to hear what he'd originally thought was the two of them going at it like Caerbannogian bunnies. Not wanting to call out to JARVIS to record a message and risk potentially kill the mood by being overhead, he decided to type a note on the fridge and let them know where to find him after they rehydrated.

He had just passed the bedroom door on the way to the kitchen when he froze in place, hearing Clint cry out, "Oh, God! Fuck. Alexander! Sir, please! Fuck me! Harder, please harder? I need it. Oh, FUCK."

Maybe he misheard? Yeah, that had to be it- but then Clint continues, "Fuck, please, please, Sir? Anything, just please, I need your dick, need to feel you come, fuck me, fuck me hard, make it hurt, make me feel you."

Jesus. He has to leave. He has to tell Nat. No. Not him. Someone else. Anyone else. He abruptly turns around, rushing back to the elevator, hoping it hasn't been called by another floor.

"Please? Please, Sir, I need you!"

Why the FUCK is the elevator so slow? Why hadn't he put the bedroom further down the hall, or padded every wall with sound proofing? Clint's voice has chased him down the hall, "Yes, FUCK, YES, love your dick, like that, so much, love it need it..."

He covers his ears, humming mindlessly to block out Clint as best he can. The doors finally open, and he's through them in an instant, as he reaches out for the button he catches, "-love you!"

The doors close and he stares back at himself in their mirrored surface, wondering if he can ignore this. He can be a heartless bastard when he needs to; hell, once upon a time his reputation was built on it. He just has to summon up some of the old Stark iron and pretend he was never there.

Anyway, maybe Clint and Natasha have some kind of open thing or an exception clause or something. But... If Clint really is cheating on Natasha, can he really just let that go?

Maybe this Alexander guy doesn't even know about Natasha? Tony has admittedly few standard's when it comes to his sex life, but having been unknowingly (and, yes, occasionally uncaringly) cast as the other guy, he feels for him.

Shit.

Okay, so he can't let this go, but given the option of talking to Nat and finding out she knows nothing about it and confronting Clint and praying there's a good explanation, it's an easy choice.

For certain definitions of easy.

After all they've been through, it's not that he's scared of Natasha.

It's that he's scared of hurting her.

God damn Clint for doing this to them.

He's hopes he's just jumping to conclusions, but Clint's last words echo in his head.

'Love you.'

***

 

In the end he decides to start by feeling out Natasha. Contrary to popular belief, he can do subtle; he just usually chooses not to. It makes it that much more effective those rare times he deems it necessary.

He's fiddling with the Bite around her wrist, when he looks up at her from the corner of his eye, "So... You and Clint seem pretty serious..."

She raises an eyebrow, implying 'And?'

"I was just wondering... Is it, like... An exclusive thing? Or are you guys open-"

She abruptly plus her wrist away, glaring at him, "I'm not helping you screw around on Pepper, you asshole."

"What? No, that wasn't- I would never! That's-!"

"Then what, Stark? I have a very low tolerance for adulterers. I've lost count of the number of men I've turned with a pretty face and they all had one thing in common; they deserved everything that followed."

Okay. This could be fine. There's no way she doesn't know Clint's got a boy toy. Right? 'Please, Sir, I need you'. Is a boy toy. She probably doesn't consider what Clint's doing as cheating; maybe it's not behind her back. 'Love you.' Tony tries to convince himself she was watching, that the 'Love you'  was for her. That has to be it. Also? HOT.

Not that her reverting back to Tony's last name is a good sign; but still, this is salvageable.

"I would never do anything without her permission, I swear. I was just wondering if you and Clint, have um... permission?"

"I'm not sleeping with you,"

"Hey, you're amazing and all, but was actually more wondering about... Clint?"

She doesn't bother to hide her disbelief, "Pepper wants to sleep with Clint?"

"No! I mean maybe? I've never asked, but probably. Who wouldn't-" Christ, this went off the rails quick.

"Clint's not sleeping with you either, Tony."

"Hey, I happen to be great in bed; just ask the Internet."

"Neither of us is sleeping with you, or anyone else, Tony," she says as she slips off her Widow's Bite, dropping it on the work bench as if it was someone else's garbage instead of a million dollar prototype and stalking out of the lab, “We're done here.”

Subtle like a tac nuke.

 

***

 

"Has Tony been acting weird around you?”

“He asked me if I knew dog CPR the other day. Does that count?”

“I mean weird for Tony.”

“I guess not? Why? Has he been weird around you?”

Natasha frowns, then starts to speak a couple times, unable to find the words she wants; which is weird for Natasha. Then it clicks and Clint laughs, “Oh my God, did he proposition you?”

“I think he propositioned you. Through me.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Yet. It sounded like he was asking for my permission before asking Pepper for her permission?. I have to admit, I thought he was still on the ‘easier to ask for forgiveness’ side of the scale.”

Natasha inhales as she sees how Clint’s eyes have dilated. Her stance slowly shifts; she holds her hips differently and something about it makes his shoulders seem wider.

“Do… do you think he’s a sub, too?” Clint’s posture changes, too; becoming softer. Yielding.

Aleksandr grabs his hair, twisting just enough to make him whimper and brings his lips to brush against Clint’s ear, he has to strain to hear Aleksandr’s low murmur, “Would my boy like that? Another sub to play with?”

“Yes,” Clint gasps, pulling against Aleksandr’s grip, “Yes, Sir. You said… Last night you said I was a good boy?”

“And good boys do get rewarded,” Aleksandr bites the edge of his ear quick and sharp and Clint moans, “And you were very, very, good last night.”

 

***


"Oh, God! Fuck. Aleksandr! Sir, please! Fuck me! Harder, please harder? I need it. Oh, FUCK," Clint sobs.

Aleksandr had slowly wrapped the nylon rope around Clint's forearms just this side of too tight before pushing him face down on their bed, the luxury sheets a cool contrast against his heated skin. Now the Egyptian cotton was almost as warm as he was, damp with his sweat and precome. Client's fists clench around the loose ends of the rope that pin his wrists below each of his elbows; he desperately wants to let go and allow the smooth coils slip free, to press his hands into the mattress and get the leverage he needs to thrust back as hard as he wants it, hard enough to feel Aleksandr's dick balls deep for days.

A whimper works its way out of the back of his throat as he pushes his shoulders down and it's close to that perfect angle, so close, but it may as well be the moon. The movement digs his hands into the small of his back, slick from his earlier exertions, and he feels each twist of the rope bite into his skin as Aleksandr fucks him. He hates the pillowy softness of the mattress beneath him, wishing just this once Tony could have been less generous.

He continues to beg, knowing the only way he's going to get what he wants, what he needs, is when Aleksandr is ready to give it to him, "Fuck, please, please, Sir? Anything, just please, I need your dick, need to feel you come, fuck me, fuck me hard, make it hurt, make me feel you."

Clint had given up on being quiet at Aleksandr's first slick thrust, giving into the safety afforded them by sharing a floor in Tony's tower. It had been far too long since the last time they'd been able to do this, since Natasha had felt comfortable enough to shed all her false personas, leaving only him.

Clint loves everything about Natasha, her curves, her wicked smile, the soft catch in the back of her throat when she lets him lick her to orgasm; but what he loves best is this, when Aleksandr lets her defenses melt away and he allows himself to just be.

"Please? Please, Sir, I need you!"

Aleksandr rarely speaks, even at his lowest timber he hears too much of Natasha's husky drawl, and that's okay with Clint, he doesn't need the words to know that Aleksandr can love him in ways he never lets himself feel as Natasha, with her layers and compromises, she says it feels too much like a lie, and he doesn't want to lie to Clint, would rather never have to lie to him, but especially not about this, not about what Clint means to him.

Aleksandr spreads his knees, forcing Clint's legs further apart. He moans as his muscles burn, stretched to his limit in this position. He's hyperaware of every inch of his skin, the rough brush of the inside of his thighs against the silk of Aleksandr's, his arms caught behind him, his chest open no matter how much he pulls against it in an effort to raise his hips. He feels like a butterfly held in place; not by his complicit bondage, not by Aleksandr's tight grip on his waist or the unyielding length of his dick thrusting relentlessly into Clint, but by his implacable will. Clint feels like his very soul is being exposed, his heart open and aching and he has to turn his head into the tangle of sheets that had twisted up beneath his cheek in an effort to muffle his cries.

Aleksandr's having none of it, refuses to let him hide and this is why Clint loves him, NEEDS him, and he stops holding back when Aleksandr's gun calluses hands slip from his waist to his chest, pinching and twisting his nipples as he drags Clint up and back into Aleksandr's chest, his knuckles drag across the lycra binding Natasha's breasts.

His gasp becomes a shout, "Yes, FUCK, YES, love your dick, like that, so much, love it need it," as the movement sinks him back on Aleksandr's dick and then it's perfect, better than perfect as Aleksandr fucks him without mercy, scratching across his nipples and down his chest, and then his coming, untouched, touched everywhere, too much and everything he's ever wanted, "Oh, oh fuck. GOD! FUCK, SASHA, LOVE YOU!"

The diminutive undoes Aleksandr he reaches his own release, latching onto Clint as if to make them one body, one whole, from so many fractured parts.

And then Clint's slipping-falling-can't catch himself but Aleksandr has him, practically floating Clint gently to the mattress, Aleksandr still molded to his back.

"Love you, too," he whispers, hiding the words in Clint's ear where no one else can find them. He eases Clint's grip from the rope, loosening it until he can bring Clint's hands to his sides, intertwining their fingers. His breath evens out, and they both half drift to sleep.

In a bit Clint will have to wake her up, knows Aleksandr won't sleep well with how tightly he's bound her breasts. Depending on how vulnerable he's willing to feel, he'll let Clint help him unbind her breasts, let him watch as he loses Sasha to Tasha. While Clint wishes it didn't have to be one or another, it's not his choice; and really, the only thing that truly matters is that he's allowed to stay.

 

***

 

“I’ll call Pepper.”