"Whose night is it to pick?" Tony asked, swinging over into his favorite seat in the big comfy couch. "How about an old Hope/Crosby pic? Road to Singapore?"
He hadn't stopped since they'd returned to the Tower, poking at both Clint and Bruce and their budding relationship. Bruce had taken it all with good grace and a calm façade; Clint had come prepared tonight, knowing Tony was wound tight because of Von Doom's neural inhibitor that he'd used on Bruce. He took out the little plastic nerf bow and shot a sucker arrow right between Tony's eyes.
"Hey!" Tony popped the bright red arrow off and tossed it back Clint's way. "If you prefer Brokeback Mountain, that's fine."
"Tony," Pepper said, climbing over him to settle in with her big bowl of popcorn that wouldn't last very long. "It's my night and I want to watch that funny movie about weddings, the one with all the women. It's been a long day and a laugh is just what I need."
"Bridesmaids?" Natasha swung over the back of the couch, not bothering with the steps. She swiped Clint's bowl from where he'd sat it down to take the shot at Tony. "Excellent choice, but I think it's still in theaters."
"Not a problem. I've got connections and I happen to have a line on the potential Oscar nominees," Tony gloated, his attention on Pepper, just as she'd planned. "JARVIS, queue it up for us, would you?"
"Hey!" Clint's hand shot out for his bowl, but Natasha deftly deflected him. Bruce reached another full bowl over the back of the couch and then climbed in; he plopped down in the corner, nudging Clint so he could rest his arm along the back of the cushions, draping the other one over Clint's shoulders. There was no reason to hide their relationship, not after they'd practically had a porno moment in Singapore and then again in the warehouse.
"What are we watching?" Steve asked, coming in a few minutes late.
"A nice wholesome comedy about weddings," Tony answered, scooting over to make room despite plenty of space on the other side where Thor usually sat. Steve paused, and then sat down next to Tony; he aimed a wink at Clint when Tony was busy on his phone. "And we've even managed to keep Bruce and Clint clothed for the evening to protect your modesty."
Steve did blush at that, but Clint knew it wasn't because of finding them naked when Monica Rappacini had them. It was because he'd been there when Clint had applied some pretty loud fuck therapy to keep the Hulk at bay. One of the things Clint learned was that Steve wasn't the virginal innocent people thought; still, throwing Bruce to the floor right in front of him was a little much. Good thing Steve understood the need for the tactic.
"I can handle a little nudity," Steve replied; he stretched over Tony's lap and Pepper very helpfully tilted the bowl his way, smacking Tony's hand when he tried to get some popcorn. "I've watched True Blood, you know."
"What? When? And why was I not invited to the party?" Tony demanded.
"Can we start the movie? Or are you going to complain some more?" Clint enjoyed returning fire. This was getting to be easy, the back-and-forth, the friendly banter, the way Bruce's body was warm against his. The conversation didn't stop even as the movie played, and they jockeyed for popcorn, shared drinks, and watched Tony do everything in his power to touch Steve accidentally. Long fingers wound around Clint's about halfway through, and he dropped his head back onto Bruce's arm, his crazy day catching up to him despite the laughter around him.
"Going to sleep on me?" Bruce whispered.
"Maybe." Clint wiggled into a more comfortable position and hooked his foot over Bruce's leg.
"Okay." Arms pulled tight and Clint turned a little as Natasha and Pepper laughed out loud.
As he dozed off, he wondered when things had changed, when he'd inherited a family he hadn't expected and a lover who not only put up with his crazy life, but understood him on some level that no one ever had. It was all too good, too much like a home … and good things never seemed to end well for Clint Barton.
NOW – Columbia and New York City
"Look, Clint, I know this is difficult, but …"
Tony had cornered him almost as soon as they returned, determined to have his say about the situation. Despite telling him they'd called a meeting to explain things, Tony kept stepping in front of Clint, angling to have a private conversation. Finally, Clint just let him.
"Tony, you don't know shit about this, okay? Far as you know you don't have any kids." Clint wanted to get back to Bruce, to the plans that needed to be put into place. But he knew Tony well enough to ride this out.
"I'm not one to talk, that's for damn sure. But we both understand what it's like, growing up always wondering, wanting an explanation. Being the smartest kid in the room, the best shot. You really going to put her in that situation? She's never going to be like the others." Tony was serious, all joking gone; this, Clint thought, was the real Tony, the one who cared more than he'd ever admit about his dysfunctional handpicked family.
"Are you comparing foster care and orphanages to boarding school? 'Cause last time I looked, old man Irwin's house was hell and gone from Cartagena." He put some humor in his voice, teasing Stark just a little.
"Okay, Joan Wilder, one day we're going to compare horror stories , but right now, there's a baby who's just a few days old who needs her grandpa to step up to the plate." Tony put a hand on Clint's shoulder. "You're not your father. Plus you've got the world's biggest green playmate for the kid."
"Tony …" Clint began, but Tony talked over him.
"We've got all the resources to take care of her. Thor will terrify her potential boyfriends … or girlfriends as the case may be. Natasha will teach her to kick any bully's ass. Steve will be the best uncle ever. Coulson? One word. Supernanny." Tony paused to draw a breath and Clint jumped in.
"We've decided to keep her," he said, cutting Tony off at the pass. "That's what the meeting's about."
"Oh. Well. Yeah. That's … hell, I was doing a good job of convincing you though. Didn't even get to the fact Pep's already put her on the waiting list for the best pre-school in New York City, and I've got alumni pull at MIT. Plus, I think Pepper's started shopping. Just a warning. If there's one thing Pepper does better than corporate management, it's buying expensive things with my money."
Sad thing was that Tony wasn't lying. Clint knew that there'd be a whole room outfitted for Becca before the jet could land at LaGuardia if they let it happen. "Moderation, Tony. Remember the Hulk chair?"
"Hey, you like that chair now. I have it on good authority that Jolly Green loves it." Tony stepped away and followed as Clint headed into the room where everyone else was gathered. "So, I was right after all."
"Fine, you can buy a few things, but only if Bruce and Pepper agree."
Clint knew he'd made a mistake when Tony grinned and said, "Done."
It didn't surprise Clint that there were no objections to the change in plans. Thor thumped him on the back, Steve smiled, and Natasha sat quietly, but he could see the approval in her eyes. Phil just pulled the adoption paperwork from his binder, already filled in, and slid it over for Clint to sign; there was a second line ready for Bruce's name as well. Leaving was all too easy after that. Tony's jet was fueled and waiting, Coulson had already dealt with the local government (Stark Industries lawyers were damn good, but Phil was even better), and there was nothing stopping them from going wheels up except the simple logistics of moving them all to the airport with what Clint thought was an inordinately large amount of supplies. They'd make plans while still in the air, decide what to tell Fury and the media when a baby suddenly appeared in Stark Tower.
She was awake and hungry when Clint buckled in his seat, and he took her gingerly, holding her in the crook of his arm as Steve sat next to him and talked him through the feeding. So tiny and fragile, her blue eyes looked up at him as she sucked greedily at the nipple, staring at him like he was the center of her world. Realistically he knew that she didn't know what she was seeing, but that didn't matter to Clint. All the emotions he'd been trying to put aside, pretend weren't taking over his heart, he finally stopped fighting and let go. When the bottle had just a bit left, she started to drift off, jerking awake to drink a little more when Clint jiggled the nipple in her mouth. He had to find a better position as he lifted her up to put her head on his shoulder, patting her back and bouncing in the chair, trying to alleviate the ache in his knee and lower leg. She fell asleep as soon as she burped, curled there on Clint's chest, and he couldn't bring himself to move her.
A glass of water and some pills appeared in front of him; Natasha glared until he took the pain medicine and leaned back enough to raise the footrest and stretch out. Around him, conversations flowed; Bruce was on the phone with Pepper talking about furniture and Tony was adding his two cents on every decision. Phil's voice was subdued, but right behind Clint, and he recognized the names as they passed along to Melinda, the moles in SHIELD and SI. If history was any teacher, Phil would run the leaks to ground before the plane landed in New York. Clint intended to join in but he found himself slipping under, Becca a weight that pinned him down and pull him with her into sleep. He had a second or two to wonder if Natasha had given him a sleeping pill – he wouldn't put it past her if she thought he needed it – and then they were on approach into New York. The whole way, he'd slept, and his body was stiff from the chair and staying still so the baby would be safe. When Steve took her so Clint could get up, he stretched and listened to his body pop and creak.
Pepper was waiting on the tarmac; she ignored Tony completely, focused on Clint as he carried Becca down the plane's stairs. They were delayed while Tony and Bruce tried to figure out the baby carrier slash car seat installed in the limo by Happy; finally, Phil stepped in and buckled her up within a minute, his experience with nieces and nephews coming in handy. Clint dragged Bruce by his sleeve into the car after a few warnings, but that didn't stop the conversation from continuing the whole way into downtown, Tony sketching a new seat with Mark technology for automatic closure on the back of a napkin. Smiling at Pepper and Phil, Clint stopped listening when Tony began to plan for g-forces and adding rollover cages. Damn thing would probably fly by the time Stark was done … and there was no way a new car seat wasn't going to appear after a workshop bender.
Arriving at the Tower, Clint wondered exactly what he'd find in their rooms and was pleased to see Bruce had negotiated a bassinette and changing table in their bedroom but nothing in the guest room. They had six weeks or so before she'd be sleeping in a full-sized crib Bruce assured Clint, so they could take the time to redecorate themselves. Tony had agreed because he wanted to special order some things from Europe and tweak a few others (something about a diaper pail Clint thought he remembered, but he wasn't sure). On the rocker front, Bruce had given in with no complaints to Tony and let him order an Erickson South Yuba and Elemental using the measurements JARVIS had on file; the custom made wooden chairs would take four weeks despite Tony's calls to Erickson himself. Until then, a couple gliders were added, one in the bedroom and another in the living room. Bags of clothes and "necessary" items were stacked along the wall; Clint couldn't imagine how long Becca could wear the designer outfits but he wasn't going to argue with Pepper's style choices, especially since it meant he didn't have to go shopping himself.
The diaper situation was still in flux. Bruce wanted to use cloth diapers for environmental reasons; realistically, Clint knew there were times when that just wouldn't be feasible. Pepper came up with the solution by talking to some of the women working in the offices at SI who suggested gdiapers with reusable covers that included a biodegradable insert. They could also be configured to use cloth as well. Plus, she said, they came in a variety of stylish fabric and they'd personalize them as well. Clint foresaw some new publicity coming soon from the small company. The environmentally friendly diaper used by the Avengers! Hulk, Iron Man, Thor, Captain America … Clint assumed Pep would make sure there were Hawkeye, Black Widow, and Captain Marvel ones too as part of the licensing deal. Fortunately, Bruce had agreed to give them a try until he could test their claims of no environmental impact.
There was no preparation for the way their lives had to change. Years of operating on little sleep and staying focused for days made waking up every two to three hours easier, but their whole schedule had to shift to accommodate Becca's needs. The first day brought the first problem: Bruce had tests to run on the formula that Clint was injected with and Clint had a debriefing plus a medical checkup. Coulson showed up at their door thirty minutes before Clint's appointment and ushered him out, promising he could complete his paperwork just as easily there as in his own office. Down in the lab, Carol had brought in a portable crib and tucked it in the corner where Becca could nap while they worked. In the next few days, Clint discovered just what it meant to have family. Janet Van Dyne was a natural with kids; she offered to babysit in the afternoons rather than working with Hank. Clint figured that was as much to tweak the tall doctor who seemed oblivious to Janet's growing interest or was just really good at hiding his own. Natasha showed up with a baby papoose sling thing on the third day when she wanted to drag Clint down to the gym to work him over and check out his injuries; seeing Bruce carrying Becca tied closed to his chest as he bent over his computer, crunching data made Clint's heart twist in his chest. Turned out, Clint could even shoot with the sling turned around on his back; Becca weighed significantly less than his quiver, and her little heartbeat was steady and sure, settling Clint's focus. Even Thor took a turn carrying her around, telling her stories in his deep voice that soothed her right to sleep.
The story that went out was a mixture of Ochoa's plan and Pepper's intuitive public relations acumen. Keep 'em guessing, Pepper said, and so they made a point of having all the Avengers seen with the baby around the Tower those first few days. There was no hiding Becca's presence even if they didn't leave the building, not with diaper services and deliveries from Petit Tresor. The best defense, Clint agreed, was a good offense; after their previous experience with being outted in the media, Clint knew all too well that gossips' tongues would be wagging with all sorts of rumors. The first story appeared on the morning of day three: Potts takes in Stark's love child, Page Six led with. From there it exploded. The National Enquirer went with Pepper adopting the orphaned baby because her lover, Ryan Reynolds, wanted a family. That one was funny because Pepper had actually gone out with the actor a few times; the two were friends and Reynolds didn't mind being the man on the CEO's arm. By that evening, Becca had made all the entertainment news shows and was trending on twitter with the hashtag #avengerbaby. Most took their scripts straight from the press release that went out earlier; orphaned baby, please respect our privacy, children are off-limits, blah, blah. The rest ran the gamut of theories, most making Tony the father which, considering Tony's very overt and varied sex life up to now, made a kind of sense; fortunately, Steve found the whole thing amusing since Tony got more embarrassed by each new name dredged up as a possible mother. Of the lot, the one that took the cake was that she was Steve Rogers' great-granddaughter. A so-called journalist dug up a surviving member of the dance troupe who claimed one of the other women had given birth to Steve's love child. No one got anywhere close to the truth; Clint's name was only mentioned in passing and Bruce wasn't in the running at all.
What to tell Fury was a different matter. Maria Hill herself showed up on the second day, knocking on the door of their apartment. She surprised Clint by the way her eyes softened as she looked at Becca; he'd thought her immune to baby feelings, but he was wrong. It was easy enough to use partial truth for the debriefing scheduled later that afternoon. An old contact with a tip, thinking it was a human problem, not a SHIELD one, then discovering those basement rooms and Julio's connection with Mab. Coulson's reports had done their job paving the way for keeping Ronin secret; Clint would be in trouble for dragging Phil along with him, but it wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. That was part of Clint's charm; be his friend and get into the most creative trouble. The bait and switch worked perfectly; hand over the names of the insiders and Hill dropped the question of exactly why Clint ran off so fast to South America.
Actually, the problem was too many cooks in the kitchen, wanting to help or hold Becca. The Big Guy insisted on getting his own time; Clint stayed nearby and watched as the Hulk cradled the baby, holding her as she slept. So careful, he kept completely still, barely touching her as she lay on his chest, just one hand cupped to stop her from sliding off. If he didn't love the Big Guy with all his heart, Clint would have fallen for him right then simply by the look in his dark brown eyes, so often filled with anger and fear, now amazed and happy. Bath time was the Hulk's favorite, but Clint preferred listening to the Big Guy sing Becca to sleep, sitting in his special chair and stroking her back.
On the fourth day, Clint spent the afternoon observing one Andrew LeHaye, secretary to the Assistant Director of Strategic Marketing for Stark Industries North America as he took time off to go shopping in the Village and pick up a rather expensive bottle of wine for the dinner he was planning with his brand new girlfriend, an aspiring model. The kid – he looked like he was 20 even if he was really 28 – seemed to have not a care in the world as he went about spending the money that was wired into a Grand Cayman account. Clint's read was that LeHaye didn't know he was working for people bent on world domination; if he had to guess, Clint would go with the 'help your government or SHIELD' persuasive line of bullshit. Too bad, really; Andrew acted like exactly what he was – a kid from Nebraska making it big in the city. By the time he wrote his report and got back to the apartment, he was thinking of what to order for dinner and how to convince Bruce to get a good night's sleep . They'd agreed to take turns sleeping through the night, but Bruce had stayed up working on the formulas instead. Between that and Becca's feeding schedule, the doc hadn't spent more than two hours in bed since they'd returned.
The room was filled with shadows, the only light coming from the city lights filtering through the security film on the windows. The clock on the kitchen microwave and the DVD player added little guiding lights; a crack of yellow spilled out from the shut bathroom door in the master bedroom. Stepping around the unpacked bags and boxes, Clint found Bruce sprawled on the sectional sofa, his head resting on the corner with a throw pillow tucked underneath his neck, mouth open and eyes closed. A light snore was drowned out by the classical music – Mozart's Piano Concerto 21, he'd bet – playing softly throughout the room. Cushioned in the nook of his right arm, Becca was swaddled in a blanket, just as deeply asleep as Bruce. A burp cloth was still across Bruce's shoulder. According to the feeding schedule – yes they had one of those and tried to keep as close as possible to it in order to teach her to sleep her longest period at night – she'd eaten less than thirty minutes ago. Bruce must have drifted off after.
Clint was tempted to leave them there, but odds were Becca would be up in an hour or two for one more bottle before bath time and then, he hoped, a longer sleep. That would mean Bruce getting up as well, and Clint wanted him to get a nice, undisturbed night. Kicking off his boots in the entryway, he padded across the hardwood floor and approached the situation like a mission. He needed to pick her up, move her into her bassinette and leave her without waking her up. Taking a deep breath, he bent and scooped her up just like he would a dangerous package that might go off at any second. She wiggled, scrunched up her nose; Clint eased her against his chest, wrapping her in his arms so she felt safe, and walked quickly into the bedroom, jiggling her with each step until he was above the bassinette. Fast seemed the best answer, so he snuggled her between the two wedges of foam that kept her on her back. She struggled for a few seconds, trying to get loose from the blanket wrapped around her, opened her mouth a few times, but then subsided, face going slack. Giving it a full five minutes, Clint waited, having learned that lesson the first day they'd been back; if you react every time she made a noise, there'd be no sleep at all. Give her five and let her settle herself.
"JARVIS," he said as he pulled the door shut behind him, leaving her in the quiet room.
"Sleep protocol engaged, sir," the AI replied. Better than the best baby monitors money could buy, JARVIS kept a close watch on Becca, maintaining an optimal room temperature, playing their approved playlist of sleepytime songs (thus the Mozart), and keeping constant readings of her heartbeat and breathing, among other things. As long as they were in the Tower, Becca would never go without JARVIS's all-seeing eye.
"She okay?" Bruce mumbled, fuzzy eyes looking through half-opened lids.
"Should be good until 10," Clint wandered over to the sofa, planning on sitting down, maybe curling up next to him until Bruce held out his hand. Taking it, Clint put a knee on either side of Bruce's legs and leaned his hands on either side of Bruce's head. "You need some sleep. I'll take watch tonight; go to bed, Doc. Rest up."
"Okay." That was too easy. Bruce never agreed that quickly.
"Unhuh." Clint narrowed his eyes. "What's the catch?"
"You are." Bruce slid his hands along Clint's thighs, curving around his ass and tugging him forward. "I seem to remember there was a plan."
A low laugh bubbled out of Clint's throat; he'd thought Bruce was too tired, but he should have known better. "You promise to get at least eight hours after?" Spreading his knees wider, he sank down onto Bruce's lap, the soft cotton of Bruce's sweats not hiding how his cock was stirring.
"Scout's honor. If you let me watch you take it out." Bruce's eyes glowed with a hint of green in the darkened room; Clint's gut rolled with the simmering desire that had been his constant companion all afternoon.
"I can do that," he answered, bending his elbows until he could brush a lazy kiss across Bruce's lips. "Let's get you ready first."
"Won't take much. Been thinking about you while you were gone." His voice turned breathy when Clint's fingers slipped beneath the waist band of his sweats, a tiny little moan of anticipation slipping out. He didn't have on underwear, and Clint grinned as his hand found hot flesh that stiffened as he stroked.
"You been like this the whole time? Get any work done, Doc? Or were you too busy imagining what I was feeling?" He nibbled on Bruce's neck, exposed as his head angled back.
"Tell me, Clint. Tell me what it was like." Shamelessly wanting, Bruce thrust his hips up into Clint's hand, urging him to do more than just light touches.
"Full and open and filled. Every move reminded me that it was you who'd done that and made me think about what it was going to feel like when you did it again." Clint worked Bruce's shirt up under his arms and spread his free hand around Bruce's chest, rubbing his thumb over a nipple, making it hard. Bruce arched up with a quiet gasp. "Best part was the meeting. I think Steve knew something was off, maybe the way I was sitting, but he kept giving me the sideways looks to check if I was okay."
"Oh, God," Bruce groaned as Clint bent and sucked the other nipple in his mouth. "Please. Please."
He could feel the sticky pre-come on his fingers and he absolutely loved the way Bruce was falling apart with need so fast. Sitting up, he pulled his t-shirt over his head then stood and shimmied out of the jeans he'd worn during his surveillance, kicking them to the side along with his briefs. He grabbed Bruce's waistband and tugged them down as Bruce lifted his hips. Bruce's hard leaking cock jumped free and Clint paused only to grab a tube of lube from his pocket before he straddled Bruce again. This time, the kiss was hard and fast; his desire for Bruce was only banked and the least touch stirred it back to full flames in seconds. All day as he followed the target, he'd felt the hard rubber plug Bruce had inserted after they'd made love earlier. It shifted when he did, a physical reminder of how it felt to have Bruce inside of him. But now that he could have the real thing, he was more than ready.
Bruce's hands brushed along Clint's ass, circling then grazing the end of the toy, feeling the way it flared and wiggled just enough to make Clint gasp with pleasure. As he reached back to take it out, Bruce smacked Clint's fingers away. "Mine," he said with a green glitter in his eyes. "I want …"
When Bruce wanted to, he could manhandle Clint; he did so rarely and only when he was aroused past the point of worrying that the Other Guy would hurt Clint. Now he surged up, pushing Clint over, pressing his chest down on the couch so his ass was in the air; sitting forward, Bruce cupped Clint's balls and ran a hand over the end of the plug. He hooked it with two fingers and pulled.
Bruce's arm weighed him down as the flared toy resisted, making him tug harder to slide it out, leaving Clint empty and messy with lube. Between Bruce throwing him down and the sudden rush of must-have now, Clint's cock jerked and hung heavy between his legs. He liked it, being held this way, pulled apart to be put back together, trusting Bruce and the Big Guy to give him exactly what he needed. Bracing his left leg on the floor and his right knee on the couch, Clint pushed back into Bruce's questing fingers, moaning his consent. Taking the lube from Clint's hands, Bruce slicked up and then he was pushing in, a tight grip on Clint's hip to keep him still as he sheathed himself inside Clint's body.
"God," Bruce breathed out, bending over Clint to catch a bit of skin along his shoulder and suck a dark bruise. "So good, Clint. So good."
Clint lost himself as Bruce stood up, letting him free so Bruce could grab both hips and use the leverage to snap in harder. The whole afternoon had been foreplay, a simmering arousal that put Clint on edge. That had been what Steve had caught, the tension of waiting for this moment, when Bruce would fold him over and fuck him again. He pushed up on his hands, changing the angle and gasped as Bruce slammed into him, his vision whiting in flashes as the pleasure soared up his spine and spiked into his brain. Wrapping an arm under Clint's hips, Bruce lifted him and kept thrusting in a rough rhythm that wrung little grunts and groans from Clint despite trying to stay as quiet as possible. With each of them having one knee on the couch and the other foot on the floor, it was a delicate balance that made working in harmony a requirement, Clint's hands reaching back to steady him on Bruce's hips and the iron strength of Bruce's arm keeping Clint upright.
"Clint, Clint, Clint. Oh, God, fuck, fuck, so good, so good." Burying his head in Clint's neck, Bruce muffled his own voice.
After a few minutes, Clint felt his knee twinge; without thinking, he drew in a quick breath. Bruce heard, of course, and stopped, buried deep. "You okay? Do you need …"
"Don't stop, just …" Clint shifted them until he could get both knees up on the couch and his hands on the back. He tossed a grin over his shoulder. "There, that's better." He wiggled his ass in little circles to encourage Bruce to start again.
"Damn it," Bruce muttered, pushing Clint forward until his head was chest flush against the cushions and Bruce could reach an arm to grab the scruff of Clint's hair. "Hold on."
They didn't speak again as they started the rush to climax, swiftly dropping back into a frantic rhythm that had Clint begging, a litany of please, please, please rolling like a mantra from his mouth. He thought he couldn't get any harder, but then all he could feel was the beat of heart in his dick that matched the thrusts of Bruce's hips. When Bruce's voice began to turn gravely and deep, Clint knew Bruce was nearing the end; hips stuttered, lost the pace and Bruce fell over onto Clint's back as he came, pulsing inside of Clint for what seemed like minutes, each shiver rocketing Clint further in his own chase of release.
"Mine," the Hulk growled, picking Clint up and turning him around like he weighed nothing at all, laying him along the back of the couch and parting his legs.
"Hey, Big Guy, going to get messy if we …" He stopped being able to form a coherent thought as the Hulk grew bigger, close to his normal size, knelt down and licked a long strip up the underside of Clint's aching cock. Back down the rough tongue went, stroking along the sensitive skin behind his balls and down further, cleaning the come leaking out before he went back up. Clint could only arch up and bite his lip to keep the loud moan muted as the Hulk did the same thing again, tongue wrapping around his cock and sucking him in with one smooth motion that made him finally see stars, his climax hitting him so hard he almost rolled right off the couch. Only one big green hand stopped him, trapping him in place until he could catch his breath.
"Wow, that was … Fuck!" Clint burst out with the word as the Big Guy went back to finishing the job, his tongue pressing inside, cleaning Clint inside and out, tickling him along his ribs and stomach, licking every last spot.
"Shhhhh!" The Hulk warned, his grin so wide it threatened to spill over the sides of his face. "Becca sleeping. Inside voice."
"Yeah, well, warn a guy next time, okay?" Clint replied.
"Cupid like being a mess?" The Hulk cocked his head as he asked, all seriousness.
"I don't mind, but I liked what you did, too." Clint pushed up on one elbow and wondered just how to extract himself from his position with any kind of grace. "You ready to sleep now?"
"Little Guy want to know about meerkat." Yeah, letting the Hulk get addicted to Meerkat Manor was probably not a good idea; he kept referring to the moles as meerkats. Tickled Tony to no end and Clint had to admit it made the Big Guy even more endearing. "But Hulk wants to cuddle. Best part is cuddle."
"Don't worry on that point; I'm looking forward to it myself. Let me talk to Bruce for a bit while we clean up and then I'm all yours until Becca gets hungry again," Clint bargained. The Hulk didn't like it but he agreed, shifting back to a very tired looking Bruce who leaned on Clint all the way into the second bathroom. For the time being, they were using both baths, depending upon where Becca was asleep. Clint started the shower and went back to pick up the plug that Bruce had dropped onto his t-shirt. No use leaving it there for someone to wander in and find.
"When did you find the time to order this?" Clint as he put it into a sink and ran soapy water to cover it. "We've only been back a few days."
"Priority mail and Tony's special store." Bruce was practically mumbling, all his energy gone as he slumped against the tile wall. "Feel like Wily E. Coyote and Acme products. Call and it shows up at the door instantly."
"Wait, you told Tony?" Clint stepped in and stole the soap out of Bruce's hand.
"No, I just know where Tony keeps his bookmarks and JARVIS has the ordering info." Eyes at half mast, Bruce still looked pleased with himself.
"Really? Interesting. JARVIS, can you access my last search and find what I put in my cart?" Clint asked, winking at Bruce.
"Indeed Agent Barton. Would you like me to facilitate ordering for you? I believe the arrival date would be in the morning delivery," the A.I. replied.
"Do I want to know?" Bruce raised an eyebrow, unsure of the answer.
"All I'll say is two words. Hulk model. That's all." Clint felt entirely too satisfied when Bruce's eyes widened.
"Oh, Lord, there's not a licensed line of …"
"Yep. I'd have gotten the Hawkeye model, but the clitoral stimulator seemed like overkill."
Bruce's head fell back against the wall as he groaned. "Lovely. Something to look forward to."
"Indeed. Now turn around and let me wash your back. I promised the Big Guy some cuddle time."
NOW –MEXICALI, MEXICO
He hated this damn place. Nobody respected him, just another gringo who had problems with the law and had to skip the country. Couldn't even keep a damn job as a courier; a Border Patrol agent on the company's payroll had recognized him on his third run to Yuma and he'd been dropped so fast he didn't get his last paycheck. The girl he'd been crashing with had screamed at him in rapid fire Spanish, probably telling him to get his ass out of her place and who the hell was she to kick him out? God damn it all, he was better than this. He just needed a chance, to be given what was his due. Slamming the door behind him, he took his one remaining duffle bag of belongings and walked down the rickety wood stairs nailed to the side of the old building. No plan was forming in his head; he had nothing, not options. Every bridge was burned … again … and here he was, another night sleeping outside in his near future.
A TV was playing at the local cantina where he stopped for a shot – to keep his belly warm during the night, he told himself – and there, bigger than life, was the little shit, getting off some private jet then dressed in a penguin suit then shooting that damn bow. Elbowing his way closer, he could just make out the words the anchor was saying, something about adoptions and babies and the past controversy of coming out as a gay couple. The rich one in the tin can was next up under the gossip's microscope, a laundry list of sex tapes and drunken antics and rampant rumors about who he was fucking now.
It wasn't fair. He'd sacrificed and helped the kid out and this is how it came down? Clint off living the high life in a tower in New York City with the whole world in love with him? He'd tried to get to Clint last year, after the big battle, but no one would let him within a hundred yards. Stupid security guards and men-in-black who ran him off like he was some fucking groupie, not the brother of the famous Hawkeye. If he could only get close enough, he knew Clint would spot him a loan like always ; hell, if Clint didn't cooperate, maybe Stark himself would pony up to keep some of Clint's secrets. All he had to do was avoid the red-haired bitch Clint ran with and he bet he could score big. Yeah, that's the plan. All he needed was a way to get from here to there. Then he could show Clint, make him remember who was the big brother. As he walked out of the bar, a little unsteady on his feet, he was already thinking about how to avoid being caught sneaking back in the U.S., what he could bully out of past associates.
"Charles Bernard Barton?"
She was drop dead gorgeous in a tight white dress that ended far above her knees and fuck-me-red pumps. His dick jumped to attention, her white skin so pure and smooth, her scent a cross between the crispness of snow and cedar wood. Out of place on this street, she was perfection, from her Louboutins to her coal black hair and ruby lips.
"Yes, ma'am. Barney Barton at your service. And I do mean service." He winked, fumbling a step forward, reaching to touch her.
"Ah, so eager to help, I see. Yes, you'll do for the moment. Charles Bernard Barton, will you offer yourself to me?" She spoke with an exotic accent, her ice blue eyes appraising him. Suddenly, he wished he'd cleaned up some before he'd run out, maybe had a shower.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, shifting to avoid the ache in his pants. "You can do whatever you want, sweetheart."
Her manicured nail touched his forehead, and Barney didn't have time to scream before he was ripped out of his flesh and thrown out into the void.