Showing posts tagged bruceclint
After a miserable day out in the cold and sleet, their first stop was the bath. They helped each other strip out of their sopping wet clothing as the tub filled with steaming water, the mirrors fogging up, the door locked. They had earned this, the hot water soaking the aches and pains from their bodies, restoring warmth and feeling to their numb joints and fingers. They had earned the biting kisses and blunt nails dragging down their skin, leaving thin red trails in their wake.
The team had more or less known about them sleeping together for a good week or two. Hell, Tony had been the one to give Bruce the ok, letting him know the likelihood of him killing Clint during sex wasn’t as high as they had first thought. He had been very smug when he’d seen Bruce the next morning with a trail of hickeys down his neck. Everyone else had sort of figured it out along the way, so that by the time thanksgiving had passed and Christmas was around corner, the two of them were considered a couple by pretty much everyone.
So when Clint came wandering into the kitchen one morning, bleary eyed, with his hair sticking out every which way, drowning in one of Bruce’s oversized sweaters, no one really had anything to say.
Except Tony. Tony always had something to say.
“That is the most hideous sweater dress I have yet to see, Barton. Congratulations. You deserve a medal,” he teased over the brim of his coffee cup. Steve shot him a look, his own mug of coffee in his hand, but Tony just kept the teasing grin on his face and ignored him, waiting for Clint’s reply.
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell Bruce when I go back upstairs.” was all Clint said as he fumbled for two mugs of coffee. Thor chuckled and got up to help him, the sleeves of the sweater covering Clint’s hands. Every time he pushed them up his arms, it only took a few seconds before they slid back down. “Thanks big guy.”
“You left the doctor in bed alone? For shame,” Tony murmured, hissing at Steve, who tried to take his coffee as punishment for the snide remarks.
“Well, seeing as he’s too sore to walk, yes I did,” Clint replied, flashing Tony a sleepy smirk. “Anything else to say or are you going to let me go back upstairs for round three?” He didn’t wait for Tony’s witty reply, which ended up being a sputtered, “Three? Three rounds? Are you fucking kidding me?” Instead he took the mugs from Thor with a nod of thanks and trotted back up stairs, the sweater tickling his thighs as he went. It was a dark red wool sweater with white Christmas designs around the neck, something that looked like snow flakes but neither of them were really sure.
“Morning, handsome,” He called when he reached their bedroom. It was technically Bruce’s, but they’d been sharing rooms for a while and whose room it was didn’t really matter. He set the mugs on the nightstand and stretched, the sweater riding up his thighs, cold air biting at his ass. He pulled the sweater back down and shivered before climbing back into bed. Bruce groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. Clint chuckled and crawled closer, snuggling up behind him.
“You’re wearing my sweater again aren’t you?” Bruce mumbled in a groggy voice. He grabbed for Clint’s arm and pulled him closer, wrapping himself in Clint’s arms.
“It’s warm. And the house is cold.”
“You didn’t have to get out of bed you know.”
Bruce rolled onto his back and raised an eyebrow. “We have a coffee maker in here. you just wanted to see Tony’s face.”
Clint nibbled at Bruce’s ear. “Well yeah, that too.” He kissed his cheek. “You should have seen it, it was priceless. He’d like to give you a medal for ugliest Christmas sweater.”
“It is not that ugly.”
“It kind of is, babe.” Clint grinned at the frown he got from Bruce. “But that’s why we love it.” He moved the blankets and crawled on top of Bruce, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him. “When you can walk again, you should go downstairs in it, see what he says.”
Bruce hummed as Clint rolled his hips, his hands running down the archer’s thighs. “I don’t plan on leaving bed today. At all.”
Clint smiled and nipped at Bruce’ bottom lip. “Good.”
oh my god it’s halloween i have to draw a halloween doodle don’t i ok then guess what I’m drawing-
Bruce and Clint as Danny and Sandy.
Bucky was indeed waking up when they reached the Sick Room. He was moaning, a guttural sound bubbling up from his throat. He was pale, sickly, a picture of death. It made Steve’s heart grow heavy, his feet halting him at the door. Tony slipped past him.
“Evening, Barnes,” He said in a soft voice. “Can you hear me alright?”
“Who’re… you?” Bucky mumbled, eyelids fluttering.
“Names Tony. I’m one of the guys who fixed you up.” Tony smiled down at him, adjusting the covers. “Steve’s here.”
“Stevie?” It was an invisible cord pulling him quickly to the bedside.
“I… I’m here Buck, I’m here.” Steve ran a hand over Bucky’s messy brown hair. “How’re you feeling?”
“I can imagine.”
“Everything… feels heavy…”
It had been a bad day.
A long day, a long, rotten, no good, very bad, day. It was stupid, an easy mission that had become overly complicated because of SHIELD refusing to stop being dicks and get out of the way, and the local police trying to tranq Hulk and Hawkeye almost getting thrown from the Quin-Jet, again. And then of course Bucky had gone missing cause the asshole couldn’t just stay where he was supposed to.
Not that Tony had any right to talk, he never stayed where he was supposed to. He sighed and pressed his forehead into the wet tiles of the shower wall. Everything hurt, he’d been tossed around, up and down, thrown through an office building, into a tank, and various other painful things that had done way too much damage to the suit. And then of course Steve had bitched at him about safety and being reckless and well sorry Captain Asshole if the thought getting in the line of fire to keep your star spangled pompous ass safe seemed better than watching you get fried.
But in the end Steve was right, as usual. He’d been reckless and Steve had been scared. They had all been scared.
He shut off the water and grabbed for his towel, trying to mull over some sort of makeshift apology in his head. Steve wouldn’t accept I’m Sorry Blowjobs yet, not if he was still mad. And a round of I’m sorry angry sex was out of the question because Steve was too busy making sure everyone else was alive.
That meant he actually had to apologize properly.
Oh god that sounded awful.