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hoosierbitchTitle: Fucked Up the First Time
Series: Part 2 of Unconventional Geometry
Fandom: Avengers Movie!verse
Rating: R, although it'll be NC-17 eventually.
Pairing: Pepper/Tony leading into Pepper/Steve/Tony, Clint/Coulson/Natasha
Word Count: 3,300
Warnings/Content Advisory: References to neglectful/alcoholic parenting and prior torture, but nothing outside of movie canon.
Notes: I'm posting this as a WIP on my DW/LJ, anticipating that I might need to make changes to it once I finish. When it's complete, I'll post it to AO3. It's just easier to keep going if I make the parts that are finished a little more official, and a little less intimidating.
Summary: Sometimes it's easier to say no than yes.
*
Tony does not go to dinner.
Pepper arrives at the lab and spends a few minutes arguing with Tony, because she wants him to change out of his jeans and t-shirt (but these are his favorite jeans and t-shirt; they are his comfort grungy clothes; he is pretty sure she does not know that) and into something fancier. Pepper looks beautiful, but not too sexy; Tony's pretty sure she'd dressed up with Steve in mind.
Steve arrives in a suit. Coulson probably helped him pick it out, because it...it fits him. Really, really well.
Steve frowns when he walks into the room. "Am I early?"
"No," Tony says. Pepper sighs heavily and leans against his worktable. You rattles over to Steve's side, because he's a traitor, and Steve pats him absent-mindedly.
"Tony's just being stubborn."
"No," Tony says again. "I've got work I have to do. You two go; you've already got reservations."
Tony's staring at his work when he says that, staring at an array of fragile filaments through a range of microscopic lenses, and he focuses on the delicate interwoven pattern he’s trying to complete instead of looking over to see why You is whirring curiously.
"A raincheck, then," Steve says. "Or...whatever you want it to be. I don't--no offense, Pepper, but--"
"We come as a package deal," she says. "I'll call you later."
"Go," Tony says. He clears his throat because his voice had come out in a growl, he'd sounded like his father after a particularly spectacular bender. "Really. Tell me how it went when you get home."
It's only a few seconds before Pepper's heels click across the floor away from Tony and over to Steve. The door shuts behind them.
You rattles over to Tony's side and leans his arm over Tony's shoulder. "No helping from you," Tony says. "Your motor functions aren’t finely-tuned enough for work like this." Maybe Tony's motor functions aren't working that well either though, because he's got two wires grasped between his rubber-padded tweezers and he's halfway through the braided weave that will complete the pattern and he can't get his hands to move.
His fingers have begun to ache when the door to his lab reopens.
"You're being an ass," Pepper says. Tony pricks his fingers with the wires, he turns so quickly, and he swears as he gets lightly shocked. He's going to have to start that whole damn thing over again. Pepper's taken off her heels, and her sock-clad feet don't make any noise on the metal floor. She's traded out her dress for a pair of her own jeans and one of Tony's t-shirts (his second favorite comfort t-shirt, MIT, holes in the armpits and around the hem). "So we didn't order any pepperoni."
Steve is close behind her, two pizza boxes in one arm, a 2-liter of Diet Coke in his other hand. Pepper's carrying plates and napkins and silverware. She eats her pizza with a fork, but Tony can't even bring himself to tease her for it, she does it so primly.
"We got one veggie one," Steve says, setting the boxes down on the two crates near the couch that serve as a table when Tony needs one. "And a meat lover's."
"No pepperoni," Pepper says again. She plops down on the couch, grabs a slice from each pizza, and settles in. Seconds later Steve nestles himself in the opposite corner of the couch.
"We should have brought beer," Steve says, halfway through his first slice, which only takes him one bite, because his mouth is big, and Tony's not thinking about that.
"Dummy," Pepper says, "please get Steve a beer." Dummy turns in a useless circle while You races over to the fridge and grabs a bottle for Steve and then carefully rolls over to the couch to deliver it.
"Thanks, You," Steve says. He pats You on the claw and You purrs.
"You got pizza grease on him," Tony says, because that’s is the first concrete thing they've done that he knows how to process.
Steve apologizes immediately and swipes at it with a napkin, which does no good at all. You rolls himself away and dunks his head in the sink, which JARVIS activates for him. Tony waterproofed all his favorite electronics back in his drinking days.
"Do you want to join us?" Pepper asks.
Tony stares at the mess of wires on his table, and then the perfect people on his couch, and his favorite creations buzzing around the room making utter fools of themselves, turning in circles the way Tony's mind is frantically revolving.
"Sir would love to join you," JARVIS says, because JARVIS is a traitor. "I believe it has been twenty-four hours since he last ate, and he requested that I notify him at regular intervals should he neglect to provide sustenance for himself."
Steve grabs the third plate, puts a piece of meat lover's pizza on it, and holds it out like a peace offering.
Tony stands up from his stool--which hurts, he must have been sitting there since Pepper left him the night before, everything aches--and slowly makes his way over to the couch.
"You're both insane," he says, staring at his plate. Steve's fingers brush Tony's when he hands it over, and Pepper is smiling when Tony looks over at her.
Pepper turns on the television and JARVIS already has Adam’s Rib cued up. Pepper and Steve are both Katherine Hepburn fans. Steve and Pepper make idle small talk and Tony manages to eat an entire slice of pizza and they leave without letting him explain himself, or apologize, or pretend he has any fucking idea what’s going on.
“Steve’s offer of a raincheck on dinner is still good,” Pepper says. “It’s all up to you. Whatever you decide will be completely fine. Let me know if you need me to help you talk it out.” She leans over and kisses the top of his head, then crouches to kiss his forehead, and then comes in closer to kiss his mouth and pulls away before he has to respond. “I love you,” she says. She takes the dirty plates and silverware with her when she leaves. Dummy puts Steve’s beer bottle into the trash can and the half-full pizza boxes into the recycling bin.
Tony goes back to his workbench and tries to weave things back together.
*
Eventually, when night passes to morning and then into afternoon and on into evening and Tony’s over-caffeinated enough that his vision’s gone blurry, he calls Clint. He's too miffed to call Agent, and Natasha still scares him, and Tony’s not ready to talk to Pepper about this, but he does need to talk to someone.
"Barton," Clint barks, when he answers his phone. Tony can hear wind in the background. Clint must not be using his StarkPhone, what even is wrong with these people; Tony’s phones compensate for wind, goddamnit.
"Am I interrupting something?” Tony asks when he hears something in the background crash.
“Roof barbeque. Wrapping up, though. Please tell me there's Avengers business so I can get out of clean-up duty?"
Tony spins a screwdriver in circles on top of his workbench. "How long have you been fucking Romanoff and Agent?" Clint laughs, which makes Tony want to throw the screwdriver at his face (which is less violent than it sounds, since Clint always catches Tony’s projectiles and then throws them again so that they stick somewhere cool; usually in the wall or ceiling or once--only once!--through the eyeball of a Vermeer portrait. Pepper's not Clint's biggest fan).
"Have you been picking up SHIELD scuttlebutt? There's been rumours about us for years, Tony. After my recruitment people thought I was fucking my way up the ranks, and then when I brought Natasha in apparently there was a betting pool about what kind of arrangements we had going--"
"I know it's not just a rumour."
"Why? Did you read about it in 'Superhero Weekly?'"
"Steve talked to Agent." There's dead space on the other end, then Tony hears a door close and sound of wind cuts off.
"Well, shit. Coulson would tell Steve everything. Especially if he asked while he was wearing the suit."
"So, uh. How long's your super spy orgy been going on?"
Clint laughs; he must be in a stairwell because it echoes. "The rumours were actually pretty on the mark. Me and Coulson starting fucking about a week after we met. A few years later I went off the grid for four months, going after Tasha, and--things developed there. When I came back, I thought..." There's dead air on Clint's end.
Tony's workshop is whirring quietly around him. There's nothing for his robots to do, so JARVIS must be making up errands. He sets the screwdriver on the floor and Dummy picks it up and gives it back. "How does it work?" Tony asks. “It's been years for you, right? How does it--how hasn't it..."
"Fallen apart? I don't know. Sometimes it does. We generally manage to put it back together. Sometimes things change. Natasha broke up with us for six months after she went through a bad op, but she came back." There's a strain of gratitude laced though Clint's voice. "Coulson tried to break up with us after New York, but we didn't let him."
"But how--"
"Goddamn. If you want me to keep talking about my damn feelings, then I'm going to need booze. Have it ready and waiting. And no fucking whisky." Clint hangs up before Tony can say No, stay out of my space, what's wrong with my whisky, I don't know if I can talk about this face to face, you’re an asshole, thank you.
*
Clint appears in the lab like he always does. Tony looks meaningfully from the ceiling vent to the door and Clint shrugs.
"I brought hot dogs," Clint says, handing over a tinfoil wrapped package. "Where's the booze?"
They eat the hotdogs, a set of Dummy's smoothies (This green shit doesn't suck as hard as I thought it would), and a bottle of tequila. Three quarters of the way through the bottle Clint explains why he doesn't drink whisky. His dad had. Tony says he drinks whisky for the exact same reason: Howard had been a fan. Now every time Tony drinks whisky (which he buys with his own company's money) he toasts a little 'Fuck you!' to the past. Clint mulls that over and says that if the scent of it ever stops making him flinch, he'll try doing that, too.
Clint's lying flat on his back on the worktable. The robots have stopped moving because Tony kept tripping over them, and apparently Clint's finally drunk enough to talk about emotions and not just his past painful experiences. Apparently it's harder for him to talk about the good things than the bad. Tony gets that.
"He asked me out," Clint says. "And I thought he was prepping me for an op where I’d need to know how to behave at a fancy restaurant. Halfway through dinner I realized what was actually happening, freaked out, and left without saying anything. Stuck him with the bill, too.
"I don't know why he asked me out a second time," Clint says, honest, open confusion on his face, "but he did. He laid out date parameters that time. Gave me a full mission briefing for our trip to the zoo and ice cream afterwards." Clint bites his lip and Tony wishes they had lime to go with their tequila, which they've been drinking straight; he thinks about lime and salt and this one time in Cancun, anything he can pull out of the corners of his brain because--because Tony knows how it feels to be that confused. Tony still has no idea what to do with Pepper, doesn’t know how to plan their birthdays or anniversaries or how to make her happy.
"Coulson basically taught me how to date while he was dating me. After eight months, we moved in together. He still hasn't let me buy a dog. I still can't make his coffee the way he likes it. He works too late at nights and when I come home from missions I'm a cranky bitch for at least twenty-four hours, but he--I don't know. We put up with each other. The sex is pretty good too," Clint says with a smirk, turning his head to look at Tony. Tony's slouched so low in his chair that the only thing keeping him from sliding to the floor are his hands, clutching the edge of the table, and his chin resting on top of it.
"Does he wear his suit to bed?"
"Sometimes."
"I knew it."
"Sometimes he wears--"
"I don't want to know." Clint smirks and takes another swig. "Then...how did Natasha happen?"
"Most of that's classified. Op went wrong, I lost my comm device, and chased her across Russia. At some point she stopped running. I had a shot and I didn’t take it. She broke my nose but then brought me an icepack for it. We got an apartment in Budapest and ate shitty food and had sex on pretty much every surface--I mean, you know how bendy she is, right? Anyway. We fought and fucked all day and then at night we'd go out and break up fights and shoot bad guys. Played at being superheroes. Vigilantes. Whatever." Clint's face twists. "Coulson found us. Of course. And he--he processed us both, and quarantined us, and had someone else put me through all these psych tests to see if I'd been brainwashed or programmed or something."
Tony takes the bottle from Clint before he can take another drink. It's not loosening his tongue anymore, it's dulling pain, and Tony--and probably Clint--knows that's not a good road to go down.
"Fucker checked me out of medical, brought me to his office, and asked me if I still--don't laugh at this, okay Stark?"
"Don' think I can," Tony mumbles. "Too laugh to drunk."
"Awesome. So, he asked me if I still loved him. And I said yes. And he kissed me and said 'Okay.' We did this weird--like, parallel dating? Thing? For a while? I dated both of them, but they weren't dating each other, they just went on missions as agent and handler."
Clint grins and sits up after a couple of tries. "Me and Tasha fucking sucked at dating each other. Eventually we asked him if he could plan our dates for us, not just our missions, and he asked if he could come along, to…I don't know. Supervise, probably. Natasha said yes. It took about...I don't know, five months? Of dating all together? Before Natasha kissed Coulson, and then kissed me, and then took us both to her apartment and--do you want the sex details?"
Tony ponders. "Yes."
"Cool. She rode Coulson like a cowboy, made me eat her out after her came inside of her, and watched while Coulson fucked me. Then she did me with a strap-on, because I'd told Coulson that she had one, and he wanted to see it." Clint points a wobbly hand at Tony. "You and Pepper should totally try it, if you haven’t already. Anal pleasure isn't just for gay dudes." He hiccups. "Although maybe you are a gay dude. Half-gay? Gay for your country?"
"Heteroflexible. And Pepper has yet to find a strap-on harness that doesn't offend her fashion sensibilities."
"She can borrow Tasha's. Tasha's are pretty fucking hot. They've got these, like, panties now, that you can just wiggle the dildo into."
Tony swishes the tequila in the bottle and watches it until it makes him dizzy. "Do you ever worry that they'll leave you? Decide they're better off as a couple, not a--a trio?"
Clint's Adam's apple moves when he swallows. He stares at his hands (which are covered in scars; Tony had taken a 3D scan of them once when he was working on Clint's arm guards and could barely believe how well he still functions with the amount of damage that’s been done).
"Yes," Clint says, like that's the hardest thing he’s had to say all night. "I worry that they'll leave me." Dummy rolls up to him and bumps his knee, because Dummy’s adorable and Tony had added a subprogram so that he’ll bump Avengers whenever they look sad. Clint pets Dummy on the head and says, "I just do my best not to let that fear stop me from enjoying every single second of it. Even the bad seconds." He shoots Tony a wry grin. "We all almost die pretty much every week anyway."
"You almost die every week, I'm practically immortal."
"I don't think you get that claim to fame when you're on a team with Steve and Thor and Bruce."
"I do what I want."
"Do you like Steve?"
"He's Captain Fucking America."
"Well, do you want him to be Captain fucking Iron Man?"
"Asshole."
"Captain fucking assho--"
"Yes, damnit. Yes. I like him."
"And he likes you and Pepper?"
"That's what he said, and I’m pretty sure he’s incapable of lying."
"I don't know about that," Clint says. Even cross-eyed and swaying Tony knows that Clint's insights are worth listening to. "I think sometimes he lies so good we just don't notice."
"Except you."
Clint shrugs. "So you all like each other. It's just one date. They’re cool that you postponed the first one because of your weird issues.”
“My perfectly normal issues, according to the therapist Coulson made me see that time.”
“Therapy is for the weak.” Clint turns his head and grins at him. “And I say that as someone who sees a therapist regularly, because I know I’m weak, and I’m working on it. So. Dinner date. I say go for it."
Clint stands up, one hand on Dummy's head, and navigates towards the couch. After he collapses he toes off his boots. Dummy fetches them for him and deposits them on Clint's stomach. Clint says, “Thanks,” and wiggles himself back into the cushions. Tony lurches over and sits down in front of the couch.
"Steve's a better guy than I am," Tony says. It's easier to have this conversation when he's staring at a blank TV screen than it is when he's looking at a person. "So is Pepper. I don't know..."
"Ask them," Clint says, turning over onto his stomach. One of his boots falls on the floor and Tony waves Dummy away. "If you need to know why they want you, when they could have each other, then ask."
“What did Tasha and Agent say when you asked them?”
There’s a long silence before Clint replies, “I haven’t had the balls to ask yet. There’s just…”
“You don’t want to ask why they want you because maybe, if they think it over, they won’t come up with a good reason.” Clint doesn’t say anything and Tony wishes he’d brought the tequila with him from the work table.
Tony waits until Clint starts snoring before he says, "Pepper promised she wouldn't leave me."
Clint, who apparently has sleeping-ninja-listening skills, smacks the back of Tony's head with his remaining boot and tells him to stop fucking worrying then, because Pepper's a stand-up chick. He then rambles a bit more about strap-ons before falling asleep for real.
Tony's awake, just barely, when Natasha slips in. She puts two bottles of water and a bottle of aspirin on the worktable and then leaves.
Dinner, Tony thinks. With America’s Golden Boy and the CEO of Stark Industries. He'll ask them, maybe, provided there's a lot of wine with the meal, why exactly it is that they want him there. Otherwise he'll just keep his mouth shut and his fingers crossed and hope like hell that things work out on their own.
Series: Part 2 of Unconventional Geometry
Fandom: Avengers Movie!verse
Rating: R, although it'll be NC-17 eventually.
Pairing: Pepper/Tony leading into Pepper/Steve/Tony, Clint/Coulson/Natasha
Word Count: 3,300
Warnings/Content Advisory: References to neglectful/alcoholic parenting and prior torture, but nothing outside of movie canon.
Notes: I'm posting this as a WIP on my DW/LJ, anticipating that I might need to make changes to it once I finish. When it's complete, I'll post it to AO3. It's just easier to keep going if I make the parts that are finished a little more official, and a little less intimidating.
Summary: Sometimes it's easier to say no than yes.
Tony does not go to dinner.
Pepper arrives at the lab and spends a few minutes arguing with Tony, because she wants him to change out of his jeans and t-shirt (but these are his favorite jeans and t-shirt; they are his comfort grungy clothes; he is pretty sure she does not know that) and into something fancier. Pepper looks beautiful, but not too sexy; Tony's pretty sure she'd dressed up with Steve in mind.
Steve arrives in a suit. Coulson probably helped him pick it out, because it...it fits him. Really, really well.
Steve frowns when he walks into the room. "Am I early?"
"No," Tony says. Pepper sighs heavily and leans against his worktable. You rattles over to Steve's side, because he's a traitor, and Steve pats him absent-mindedly.
"Tony's just being stubborn."
"No," Tony says again. "I've got work I have to do. You two go; you've already got reservations."
Tony's staring at his work when he says that, staring at an array of fragile filaments through a range of microscopic lenses, and he focuses on the delicate interwoven pattern he’s trying to complete instead of looking over to see why You is whirring curiously.
"A raincheck, then," Steve says. "Or...whatever you want it to be. I don't--no offense, Pepper, but--"
"We come as a package deal," she says. "I'll call you later."
"Go," Tony says. He clears his throat because his voice had come out in a growl, he'd sounded like his father after a particularly spectacular bender. "Really. Tell me how it went when you get home."
It's only a few seconds before Pepper's heels click across the floor away from Tony and over to Steve. The door shuts behind them.
You rattles over to Tony's side and leans his arm over Tony's shoulder. "No helping from you," Tony says. "Your motor functions aren’t finely-tuned enough for work like this." Maybe Tony's motor functions aren't working that well either though, because he's got two wires grasped between his rubber-padded tweezers and he's halfway through the braided weave that will complete the pattern and he can't get his hands to move.
His fingers have begun to ache when the door to his lab reopens.
"You're being an ass," Pepper says. Tony pricks his fingers with the wires, he turns so quickly, and he swears as he gets lightly shocked. He's going to have to start that whole damn thing over again. Pepper's taken off her heels, and her sock-clad feet don't make any noise on the metal floor. She's traded out her dress for a pair of her own jeans and one of Tony's t-shirts (his second favorite comfort t-shirt, MIT, holes in the armpits and around the hem). "So we didn't order any pepperoni."
Steve is close behind her, two pizza boxes in one arm, a 2-liter of Diet Coke in his other hand. Pepper's carrying plates and napkins and silverware. She eats her pizza with a fork, but Tony can't even bring himself to tease her for it, she does it so primly.
"We got one veggie one," Steve says, setting the boxes down on the two crates near the couch that serve as a table when Tony needs one. "And a meat lover's."
"No pepperoni," Pepper says again. She plops down on the couch, grabs a slice from each pizza, and settles in. Seconds later Steve nestles himself in the opposite corner of the couch.
"We should have brought beer," Steve says, halfway through his first slice, which only takes him one bite, because his mouth is big, and Tony's not thinking about that.
"Dummy," Pepper says, "please get Steve a beer." Dummy turns in a useless circle while You races over to the fridge and grabs a bottle for Steve and then carefully rolls over to the couch to deliver it.
"Thanks, You," Steve says. He pats You on the claw and You purrs.
"You got pizza grease on him," Tony says, because that’s is the first concrete thing they've done that he knows how to process.
Steve apologizes immediately and swipes at it with a napkin, which does no good at all. You rolls himself away and dunks his head in the sink, which JARVIS activates for him. Tony waterproofed all his favorite electronics back in his drinking days.
"Do you want to join us?" Pepper asks.
Tony stares at the mess of wires on his table, and then the perfect people on his couch, and his favorite creations buzzing around the room making utter fools of themselves, turning in circles the way Tony's mind is frantically revolving.
"Sir would love to join you," JARVIS says, because JARVIS is a traitor. "I believe it has been twenty-four hours since he last ate, and he requested that I notify him at regular intervals should he neglect to provide sustenance for himself."
Steve grabs the third plate, puts a piece of meat lover's pizza on it, and holds it out like a peace offering.
Tony stands up from his stool--which hurts, he must have been sitting there since Pepper left him the night before, everything aches--and slowly makes his way over to the couch.
"You're both insane," he says, staring at his plate. Steve's fingers brush Tony's when he hands it over, and Pepper is smiling when Tony looks over at her.
Pepper turns on the television and JARVIS already has Adam’s Rib cued up. Pepper and Steve are both Katherine Hepburn fans. Steve and Pepper make idle small talk and Tony manages to eat an entire slice of pizza and they leave without letting him explain himself, or apologize, or pretend he has any fucking idea what’s going on.
“Steve’s offer of a raincheck on dinner is still good,” Pepper says. “It’s all up to you. Whatever you decide will be completely fine. Let me know if you need me to help you talk it out.” She leans over and kisses the top of his head, then crouches to kiss his forehead, and then comes in closer to kiss his mouth and pulls away before he has to respond. “I love you,” she says. She takes the dirty plates and silverware with her when she leaves. Dummy puts Steve’s beer bottle into the trash can and the half-full pizza boxes into the recycling bin.
Tony goes back to his workbench and tries to weave things back together.
Eventually, when night passes to morning and then into afternoon and on into evening and Tony’s over-caffeinated enough that his vision’s gone blurry, he calls Clint. He's too miffed to call Agent, and Natasha still scares him, and Tony’s not ready to talk to Pepper about this, but he does need to talk to someone.
"Barton," Clint barks, when he answers his phone. Tony can hear wind in the background. Clint must not be using his StarkPhone, what even is wrong with these people; Tony’s phones compensate for wind, goddamnit.
"Am I interrupting something?” Tony asks when he hears something in the background crash.
“Roof barbeque. Wrapping up, though. Please tell me there's Avengers business so I can get out of clean-up duty?"
Tony spins a screwdriver in circles on top of his workbench. "How long have you been fucking Romanoff and Agent?" Clint laughs, which makes Tony want to throw the screwdriver at his face (which is less violent than it sounds, since Clint always catches Tony’s projectiles and then throws them again so that they stick somewhere cool; usually in the wall or ceiling or once--only once!--through the eyeball of a Vermeer portrait. Pepper's not Clint's biggest fan).
"Have you been picking up SHIELD scuttlebutt? There's been rumours about us for years, Tony. After my recruitment people thought I was fucking my way up the ranks, and then when I brought Natasha in apparently there was a betting pool about what kind of arrangements we had going--"
"I know it's not just a rumour."
"Why? Did you read about it in 'Superhero Weekly?'"
"Steve talked to Agent." There's dead space on the other end, then Tony hears a door close and sound of wind cuts off.
"Well, shit. Coulson would tell Steve everything. Especially if he asked while he was wearing the suit."
"So, uh. How long's your super spy orgy been going on?"
Clint laughs; he must be in a stairwell because it echoes. "The rumours were actually pretty on the mark. Me and Coulson starting fucking about a week after we met. A few years later I went off the grid for four months, going after Tasha, and--things developed there. When I came back, I thought..." There's dead air on Clint's end.
Tony's workshop is whirring quietly around him. There's nothing for his robots to do, so JARVIS must be making up errands. He sets the screwdriver on the floor and Dummy picks it up and gives it back. "How does it work?" Tony asks. “It's been years for you, right? How does it--how hasn't it..."
"Fallen apart? I don't know. Sometimes it does. We generally manage to put it back together. Sometimes things change. Natasha broke up with us for six months after she went through a bad op, but she came back." There's a strain of gratitude laced though Clint's voice. "Coulson tried to break up with us after New York, but we didn't let him."
"But how--"
"Goddamn. If you want me to keep talking about my damn feelings, then I'm going to need booze. Have it ready and waiting. And no fucking whisky." Clint hangs up before Tony can say No, stay out of my space, what's wrong with my whisky, I don't know if I can talk about this face to face, you’re an asshole, thank you.
Clint appears in the lab like he always does. Tony looks meaningfully from the ceiling vent to the door and Clint shrugs.
"I brought hot dogs," Clint says, handing over a tinfoil wrapped package. "Where's the booze?"
They eat the hotdogs, a set of Dummy's smoothies (This green shit doesn't suck as hard as I thought it would), and a bottle of tequila. Three quarters of the way through the bottle Clint explains why he doesn't drink whisky. His dad had. Tony says he drinks whisky for the exact same reason: Howard had been a fan. Now every time Tony drinks whisky (which he buys with his own company's money) he toasts a little 'Fuck you!' to the past. Clint mulls that over and says that if the scent of it ever stops making him flinch, he'll try doing that, too.
Clint's lying flat on his back on the worktable. The robots have stopped moving because Tony kept tripping over them, and apparently Clint's finally drunk enough to talk about emotions and not just his past painful experiences. Apparently it's harder for him to talk about the good things than the bad. Tony gets that.
"He asked me out," Clint says. "And I thought he was prepping me for an op where I’d need to know how to behave at a fancy restaurant. Halfway through dinner I realized what was actually happening, freaked out, and left without saying anything. Stuck him with the bill, too.
"I don't know why he asked me out a second time," Clint says, honest, open confusion on his face, "but he did. He laid out date parameters that time. Gave me a full mission briefing for our trip to the zoo and ice cream afterwards." Clint bites his lip and Tony wishes they had lime to go with their tequila, which they've been drinking straight; he thinks about lime and salt and this one time in Cancun, anything he can pull out of the corners of his brain because--because Tony knows how it feels to be that confused. Tony still has no idea what to do with Pepper, doesn’t know how to plan their birthdays or anniversaries or how to make her happy.
"Coulson basically taught me how to date while he was dating me. After eight months, we moved in together. He still hasn't let me buy a dog. I still can't make his coffee the way he likes it. He works too late at nights and when I come home from missions I'm a cranky bitch for at least twenty-four hours, but he--I don't know. We put up with each other. The sex is pretty good too," Clint says with a smirk, turning his head to look at Tony. Tony's slouched so low in his chair that the only thing keeping him from sliding to the floor are his hands, clutching the edge of the table, and his chin resting on top of it.
"Does he wear his suit to bed?"
"Sometimes."
"I knew it."
"Sometimes he wears--"
"I don't want to know." Clint smirks and takes another swig. "Then...how did Natasha happen?"
"Most of that's classified. Op went wrong, I lost my comm device, and chased her across Russia. At some point she stopped running. I had a shot and I didn’t take it. She broke my nose but then brought me an icepack for it. We got an apartment in Budapest and ate shitty food and had sex on pretty much every surface--I mean, you know how bendy she is, right? Anyway. We fought and fucked all day and then at night we'd go out and break up fights and shoot bad guys. Played at being superheroes. Vigilantes. Whatever." Clint's face twists. "Coulson found us. Of course. And he--he processed us both, and quarantined us, and had someone else put me through all these psych tests to see if I'd been brainwashed or programmed or something."
Tony takes the bottle from Clint before he can take another drink. It's not loosening his tongue anymore, it's dulling pain, and Tony--and probably Clint--knows that's not a good road to go down.
"Fucker checked me out of medical, brought me to his office, and asked me if I still--don't laugh at this, okay Stark?"
"Don' think I can," Tony mumbles. "Too laugh to drunk."
"Awesome. So, he asked me if I still loved him. And I said yes. And he kissed me and said 'Okay.' We did this weird--like, parallel dating? Thing? For a while? I dated both of them, but they weren't dating each other, they just went on missions as agent and handler."
Clint grins and sits up after a couple of tries. "Me and Tasha fucking sucked at dating each other. Eventually we asked him if he could plan our dates for us, not just our missions, and he asked if he could come along, to…I don't know. Supervise, probably. Natasha said yes. It took about...I don't know, five months? Of dating all together? Before Natasha kissed Coulson, and then kissed me, and then took us both to her apartment and--do you want the sex details?"
Tony ponders. "Yes."
"Cool. She rode Coulson like a cowboy, made me eat her out after her came inside of her, and watched while Coulson fucked me. Then she did me with a strap-on, because I'd told Coulson that she had one, and he wanted to see it." Clint points a wobbly hand at Tony. "You and Pepper should totally try it, if you haven’t already. Anal pleasure isn't just for gay dudes." He hiccups. "Although maybe you are a gay dude. Half-gay? Gay for your country?"
"Heteroflexible. And Pepper has yet to find a strap-on harness that doesn't offend her fashion sensibilities."
"She can borrow Tasha's. Tasha's are pretty fucking hot. They've got these, like, panties now, that you can just wiggle the dildo into."
Tony swishes the tequila in the bottle and watches it until it makes him dizzy. "Do you ever worry that they'll leave you? Decide they're better off as a couple, not a--a trio?"
Clint's Adam's apple moves when he swallows. He stares at his hands (which are covered in scars; Tony had taken a 3D scan of them once when he was working on Clint's arm guards and could barely believe how well he still functions with the amount of damage that’s been done).
"Yes," Clint says, like that's the hardest thing he’s had to say all night. "I worry that they'll leave me." Dummy rolls up to him and bumps his knee, because Dummy’s adorable and Tony had added a subprogram so that he’ll bump Avengers whenever they look sad. Clint pets Dummy on the head and says, "I just do my best not to let that fear stop me from enjoying every single second of it. Even the bad seconds." He shoots Tony a wry grin. "We all almost die pretty much every week anyway."
"You almost die every week, I'm practically immortal."
"I don't think you get that claim to fame when you're on a team with Steve and Thor and Bruce."
"I do what I want."
"Do you like Steve?"
"He's Captain Fucking America."
"Well, do you want him to be Captain fucking Iron Man?"
"Asshole."
"Captain fucking assho--"
"Yes, damnit. Yes. I like him."
"And he likes you and Pepper?"
"That's what he said, and I’m pretty sure he’s incapable of lying."
"I don't know about that," Clint says. Even cross-eyed and swaying Tony knows that Clint's insights are worth listening to. "I think sometimes he lies so good we just don't notice."
"Except you."
Clint shrugs. "So you all like each other. It's just one date. They’re cool that you postponed the first one because of your weird issues.”
“My perfectly normal issues, according to the therapist Coulson made me see that time.”
“Therapy is for the weak.” Clint turns his head and grins at him. “And I say that as someone who sees a therapist regularly, because I know I’m weak, and I’m working on it. So. Dinner date. I say go for it."
Clint stands up, one hand on Dummy's head, and navigates towards the couch. After he collapses he toes off his boots. Dummy fetches them for him and deposits them on Clint's stomach. Clint says, “Thanks,” and wiggles himself back into the cushions. Tony lurches over and sits down in front of the couch.
"Steve's a better guy than I am," Tony says. It's easier to have this conversation when he's staring at a blank TV screen than it is when he's looking at a person. "So is Pepper. I don't know..."
"Ask them," Clint says, turning over onto his stomach. One of his boots falls on the floor and Tony waves Dummy away. "If you need to know why they want you, when they could have each other, then ask."
“What did Tasha and Agent say when you asked them?”
There’s a long silence before Clint replies, “I haven’t had the balls to ask yet. There’s just…”
“You don’t want to ask why they want you because maybe, if they think it over, they won’t come up with a good reason.” Clint doesn’t say anything and Tony wishes he’d brought the tequila with him from the work table.
Tony waits until Clint starts snoring before he says, "Pepper promised she wouldn't leave me."
Clint, who apparently has sleeping-ninja-listening skills, smacks the back of Tony's head with his remaining boot and tells him to stop fucking worrying then, because Pepper's a stand-up chick. He then rambles a bit more about strap-ons before falling asleep for real.
Tony's awake, just barely, when Natasha slips in. She puts two bottles of water and a bottle of aspirin on the worktable and then leaves.
Dinner, Tony thinks. With America’s Golden Boy and the CEO of Stark Industries. He'll ask them, maybe, provided there's a lot of wine with the meal, why exactly it is that they want him there. Otherwise he'll just keep his mouth shut and his fingers crossed and hope like hell that things work out on their own.
(no subject)
Date: 2013-07-14 09:46 pm (UTC)I adore you!!!