Today’s theme is poetry - not lyrics or songs, but simply poems. You can provide particular verses or link to the whole poem elsewhere
( Read more... )
Betrayed the Body 3enmuseMarch 16 2015, 03:49:15 UTC
Clint walks away from Stark, not towards the elevator, but further into the living room. "JARVIS, queue up Plan 9 From Outer Space."
"What are you doing?" Stark asks.
"Watching a movie," Clint replies as the television screen flickers on, almost painfully bright in the dark room. Clint drops onto the couch and leans back, coaxing his muscles to relax. "Your screen's bigger than mine."
Stark doesn't say anything for a long time.
Clint keeps his gaze fixed on the screen, though he barely recognizes the images showing in black and white. With careful effort he keeps his breathing steady and relaxes his arms along the back of the couch.
He isn't sure how long it takes for Stark to move. Eventually Clint hears the shift of clothing and the bumps of various body parts knocking into furniture. He stares intently at the television, resisting the urge to get up and support the other man. Stark appears in Clint's peripheral vision; his shoulders are hunched and his arms hover away from his body awkwardly as he wavers on his feet. When Stark sits, it's more of a fall onto the couch. He lands hard, Clint able to feel the bounce against the cushion. Stark immediately drops his head against the back of the couch, coincidentally knocking against Clint's stretched arm. Stark grunts but merely shifts his head to a position that presumably is more comfortable.
They don't speak, Clint can feel how tense Stark gets any time the archer takes a little deeper breath, a potential precursor to speech. So Clint doesn't say anything.
Later - much later, after Stark dozes fitfully, starting awake with half-finished pleas on his lips - Clint lets one arm drape over Stark's shoulders. Clint doesn't say anything except to murmur the occasional reassurance during Stark's partially lucid nightmares. During one of the times he nodded off, Stark's head dropped against the archer's shoulder. Even when he wakes, Stark remains where he is and doesn't comment on the arm half-embracing him.
Even later, as Stark shuffles about the kitchen preparing coffee after shoving Clint towards a stool at the breakfast bar, Stark mutters something under his breath. Clint can't make out the mumble and frowns to himself. Before he can ask if it's something he's supposed to hear, Stark speaks up.
"You stayed."
Clint shrugs, careful to keep his movements and voice casual as he responds. "You didn't kick me out." He admits, "I'm kind of surprised."
Stark stands in front of the percolating coffee machine, pushing an empty mug back and forth with one finger. His posture's defensive again and it looks like he can't quite decide if it's better to have his back to or face Clint.
The kitchen remains silent except for the sound of the coffee machine for some time.
Eventually Clint says, "Next time, pull up a movie and call me. Or have JARVIS hit me up."
Stark's fingers curl into a fist against the counter. "It was ju-"
"Next time," Clint says firmly, "I'll call you for absurd fighting games with gravity-defying boobs and ludicrous voice-overs."
"I don't-"
Clint continues to talk over him, "And I'll expect you to show up unless you're halfway across the world or doing something for that CEO of yours."
He can see when Stark gets it. The other man's head comes up suddenly and he turns to look at Clint questioningly.
Holding Stark's gaze, Clint says, "So next time, I call you. Next time, you call me."
"What are you doing?" Stark asks.
"Watching a movie," Clint replies as the television screen flickers on, almost painfully bright in the dark room. Clint drops onto the couch and leans back, coaxing his muscles to relax. "Your screen's bigger than mine."
Stark doesn't say anything for a long time.
Clint keeps his gaze fixed on the screen, though he barely recognizes the images showing in black and white. With careful effort he keeps his breathing steady and relaxes his arms along the back of the couch.
He isn't sure how long it takes for Stark to move. Eventually Clint hears the shift of clothing and the bumps of various body parts knocking into furniture. He stares intently at the television, resisting the urge to get up and support the other man. Stark appears in Clint's peripheral vision; his shoulders are hunched and his arms hover away from his body awkwardly as he wavers on his feet. When Stark sits, it's more of a fall onto the couch. He lands hard, Clint able to feel the bounce against the cushion. Stark immediately drops his head against the back of the couch, coincidentally knocking against Clint's stretched arm. Stark grunts but merely shifts his head to a position that presumably is more comfortable.
They don't speak, Clint can feel how tense Stark gets any time the archer takes a little deeper breath, a potential precursor to speech. So Clint doesn't say anything.
Later - much later, after Stark dozes fitfully, starting awake with half-finished pleas on his lips - Clint lets one arm drape over Stark's shoulders. Clint doesn't say anything except to murmur the occasional reassurance during Stark's partially lucid nightmares. During one of the times he nodded off, Stark's head dropped against the archer's shoulder. Even when he wakes, Stark remains where he is and doesn't comment on the arm half-embracing him.
Even later, as Stark shuffles about the kitchen preparing coffee after shoving Clint towards a stool at the breakfast bar, Stark mutters something under his breath. Clint can't make out the mumble and frowns to himself. Before he can ask if it's something he's supposed to hear, Stark speaks up.
"You stayed."
Clint shrugs, careful to keep his movements and voice casual as he responds. "You didn't kick me out." He admits, "I'm kind of surprised."
Stark stands in front of the percolating coffee machine, pushing an empty mug back and forth with one finger. His posture's defensive again and it looks like he can't quite decide if it's better to have his back to or face Clint.
The kitchen remains silent except for the sound of the coffee machine for some time.
Eventually Clint says, "Next time, pull up a movie and call me. Or have JARVIS hit me up."
Stark's fingers curl into a fist against the counter. "It was ju-"
"Next time," Clint says firmly, "I'll call you for absurd fighting games with gravity-defying boobs and ludicrous voice-overs."
"I don't-"
Clint continues to talk over him, "And I'll expect you to show up unless you're halfway across the world or doing something for that CEO of yours."
He can see when Stark gets it. The other man's head comes up suddenly and he turns to look at Clint questioningly.
Holding Stark's gaze, Clint says, "So next time, I call you. Next time, you call me."
Stark doesn't agree, but he doesn't look away.
-Fin-
Reply
Leave a comment