[FIC] Puppy Love
Title: Puppy Love
Fandom: Avengers (MCU)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Bruce/Clint
Genre: Fluff, established relationship
Summary: Bruce wants to make Clint happy, and so brings Logan into their lives. He didn't count on learning to hate his 4-legged competitor for Clint's affections.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. They are Marvel's, and we can just pretend this might happen.
That first Christmas that Logan was in their lives, Bruce realised it was entirely possible to hate an animal.
All Clint had asked for was a puppy. Bruce had trawled the internet, shelters, pounds, for weeks trying to find a puppy who'd be ready for Christmas and who'd hopefully been male. Logan was a twelve week old German Shepherd puppy when Bruce dropped him off with Tony and Steve on Christmas Eve to be collected first thing Christmas morning after Bruce disposed of all the cream and simply had to go and get more for their Christmas money.
Clint instantly loved the puppy. Bruce had sat him on the bed, his little red collar jingling with the ID tag he'd bought and his tail wagging like his life depended on it. Carrying the wriggling bundle of fluff home through the snow inside his jacket had been interesting, but seeing Clint's face when the puppy bounced over to him, properly lighting up for the first time since they'd come home, had been worth it. He just looked so excited to have the little guy, and even Bruce, a perpetual cat person, had to admit the pup was cute.
Clint spent that Christmas in bed with a fractured pelvis, Bruce wheeling in food, TV, entertainment, presents and anything else Clint wanted. He soon taught the little dog to sit, speak, lie down, roll over and fetch, and was positively delighted every time the dog brought his little red ball back.
What Bruce didn't tell Clint about was Logan chewing his baby teeth out on their Folio edition of Lord of the Rings. And then vomiting Frodo's adventures all over the couch. For two days.
As Bruce sat there, frantically scrubbing dog sick off of the red silk cushions, cursing the tiny bundle of adorable fluff, when said bundle of adorable fluff appeared with his glasses in his mouth. Bruce watched in horror as the puppy crunched through them, spat them out, then jumped on Clint's lap and kissed his face.
Bruce then swept up the glass and plastic so when Clint did his rehab he didn't see. He wanted to keep that light in Clint's eyes and on his face, the happiness at having the little puppy making his partner instantly brighten. It was worth it.
When they went back to work at the Times Square office, Bruce grudgingly agreed to let the puppy sleep in his office.
Mistake.
Apparently, Logan was the only dog in America that couldn't tell what was a real plant and what was artificial. This wouldn't be a problem if he also couldn't tell what was a real plant and what was a woman's leg.
After that, Clint had to have Logan in his office.
When Bruce's birthday came around, they went to the Hamptons on holiday. Logan came too. Their first day, the dog stepped on a piece of glass and needed Bruce to patch him up, sacrificing one of his very favourite navy socks to cover the intricate bandaging job to heal the cut. That was also the first night Bruce slept on the sofa because 'Logan's hurt and wants his daddy'.
Bruce went to sleep muttering about dogs and their idiot owners.
In the morning, Clint brought him coffee and Logan gave him a wet sloppy kiss. Though Bruce was sure Logan was laughing at him as he limped after Clint's heels.
When Bruce got hurt driving home when a semi ran a red light and landed himself in hospital, he was glad Logan existed. Because when he got home to convalesce, he found that the dog had wholly moved into bed with Clint to take care of him. The idiot animal even curled up on the sofa with Bruce as he settled into his home-office and would bark at the door when Clint came home, so Bruce could move to the sofa so he didn't look like he'd been working instead of resting.
The first night he was able to go back to bed with all bones healed, he intended to make the most of it. Instead he came out of the bathroom to find the goddamn dog in bed with Clint, spooned against his back, and the blonde passed out beside him.
"Dog, move," he said quietly, nudging Logan's shoulder. The dog sighed and screwed his face up. "Seriously, mush. Go. Go on. Look there's a- Oh hell. Keep the damn bed, chair's more comfortable anyway," he muttered, curling up on the sofa.
The real clincher was their anniversary night. The dog tripped the pair of them over, sending Bruce on his ass with Clint on top of him and the dog licking his face. "Nope, enough, I am done," he said, getting to his feet and putting his jacket back on, straightening out his shirt. "That dog is a pain in my ass and has been since I bought him."
He was shouting then, the dog cowering with Clint on the floor, which was his last sight as he stormed out of the front door.
Bruce made it to the lift before his resolve broke. He turned back and nearly ran to the front door, then reconsidered.
When he came back it was gone midnight, but he had what he'd gone looking for. He slipped into their apartment and found Clint red eyed on the sofa, Logan curled at his side. Bruce hated that the dog flinched when he reached out to him, but persisted, and produced what he'd gone out to get.
He laid it in its bag on Clint's lap. "Open it," he said, rubbing the soft fur behind Logan's ear. Clint looked at him, considered arguing, but just mutely opened the paper bag.
Inside was a photograph frame with a picture of the three of them - Bruce, Clint and Logan - on their holiday to the Hamptons. Bruce's sunglasses were on Logan's panting, smiling face, and both Bruce and Clint were laughing happily to the camera. The frame had a word, written in purple glitter and a childlike font; just simply the word 'Family'.
Clint looked up at Bruce and smiled softly. "It's taken you three years to realise he loves you as much as me. Because you're his family too."
"I'm sorry I yelled at you, and him," Bruce replied, kissing the dog's head and receiving a kiss in return. "New rule. He can sleep in bed but only if I'm invited too."
"Deal."
"Oh and if he eats any more of my footwear I'm turning him into footwear."
"You hear that buddy?" Clint asked, ruffling up Logan's fur, "I think he likes you."
Okay. Maybe hate was too strong a word.
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