please be forewarned that there is attempted rape in this story. It is not detailed and far from violent, but it is there and I always prefer to warn.


Touches.

They were never sexual or something inappropriate, but they were there. Feather light on the back of his neck or panicked and demanding all over his body. The feel of those deft fingers always on him had gotten so normal and frequent that it startled him when he didn't feel them.

Logan smiled as Clint's hand rubbed his arm in precise circles. Even in his sleep, the omega archer did everything perfectly. It was a wonder how they even managed to be bonded, what with Logan's lack of cleanliness and Clint's abundance of cleanliness. And the fact that mutant-human bonds were rare. Not to mention how incompatible they should be.

In fact, the moment they laid eyes on each other, Clint was on a recon mission and Logan had stumbled upon the scene. Logan saw that a baddie was about to kill a little girl, and he lunged to save her just as Clint fired a shot. Because of this, the girl jerked so hard that the man fell to the ground, allowing Logan (who had received the bullet in his left shoulder) to stab his heart and kill him. Clint dropped down from his perch, livid at his missed shot and the fact that some wiley rouge claw-man managed to royally screw up his recon mission and expose the princess of Moda-something to violence. She was supposed to stay pure or some shit like that and Logan rolled his eyes before telling Clint to fuck himself and he stalked off, leaving Clint with a scarred and blubbering young princess and a shit-tonne of paperwork to cajole Coulson into doing.

But it all worked out the second time they saw each other.

Clint was shit faced. He was liver-destroying, hangover-suicide drunk. And on the precipice of his heat, which was bad. It was very late at night and Clint was suffering from the normal turmoil of being a single omega right before the onset of a heat. The feeling of loneliness coupled with the crippling emptiness and craving babies like mad was too much for Clint and he caved to spend the night in an omega bar. The bartender allowed him to get hammered but cut him off after a few hours, instructing him to take a pheromone reducer at the door and go home.

Clint was too drunk to remember the pheromone reducer and he was cornered by a few young unmated alphas who were stone cold sober. With his training, he could probably take them even while so drunk, but his heat decided to take hold while surrounded by potential rapists and Clint reacted violently and the Alphas almost managed to get him naked but Logan miraculously showed up. Clint wasn't sure what happened, but he knew that Logan was a saint. A god sent saint. Because what alpha has enough self control to help an omega through a Heat without giving into the urge of penetrating him or her? Seriously, Logan pushed endlessly bigger dildos into Clint's sweet, fluttering hole, resisting the urge to breed him over and over.

So Clint gained a new-found respect and admiration of Logan and Logan got attached. They began courting after that. And it was during that courting that Logan found out about Clint's many quirks. Many, many quirks.

He loved carrots raw, but he puked if he ate them cooked. Unless Natasha had put them in her famous soup. And he had once taken culinary studies and was qualified to be a chef. His skills in the kitchen were unparalleled.

He had OCD and hated messes. It was good when he could memorise the exact setup of a room he needed to scout out but it wasn't so good when Tony was in a creative mood and the poor archer ended up following Tony around picking things up and wiping motor oil and various lubricants and God knows what else that probably messed with his allergies. Oh boy, Clint had some major seasonal allergies. Logan found that out the hard way.

Blindfolded and being escorted, Clint was giddy about the day ahead of them. Logan had bribed him with a romantic dinner and Clint loved food. When. The blindfold dropped, they were in the middle of a clearing in full spring bloom. Blossoms and flowers and young green leaves were all over the place and Clint's eyes began watering immediately. They didn't stay very long. They ended up eating in the car and then kissing sweetly in the back-seat like virgin teenagers.

Clint's attitude towards children was 'the more, the merrier.' and 'the sooner, the better.' Logan had no problem with that. Although he was apprehensive about actually having children, the experience would make Clint happy and he would love to be able to protect his children from baddies. And Clint was a screamer. Sex was wild, animalistic and loud. But oh so satisfying. Clint was always a boneless over-sensitive heap of slick and semen and Logan was always a smiling, satiated alpha. And Clint liked being sore for days, sadomasi-something that Logan never paid attention to. But he was always ready to tear Clint open, leave him gaping and raw and leaking for hours.

But the touches were his favourite quirk.

He noticed them early on, but didn't pay attention to them. They were simply a reassurance tactic that Clint used. If he was alone or out of reach, he would rub the fabric of his shirt between his fingers and bite his tongue. If anyone was in reach, they would be prodded, poked and stroked softly and almost imperceptibly. Steve allowed Clint to press against him during Avengers charity balls. Bruce acted like he didn't notice Clint constantly in his hair, but secretly enjoyed the soothing pulls and tugs. Natasha only allowed Clint (out of all the avengers) to touch her anyways. Tony was already a pretty handsy person, so Clint didn't have to do much touching of his own. And Thor didn't notice at all.

But the little touches for Logan were special. They signified their unity, and togetherness. Even then, as Logan smiled down at Clint's pregnant belly, letting his mate sleepily run his fingers though his thick arm hair, Logan was sure.

Touches meant something. Expecially for him and Clint.