Fic: Purple Glints
Title: Purple Glints
Rating: T
Summary/Notes: Prompt: "Bruce Banner was dragged to a circus as a teen/young man, and hooked up behind a tent with a spiffily dressed carnival worker. A few decades later, he walks into Clint Barton's bedroom, recognizes the costume hanging on the wardrobe door, and realizes he may have a shot with Clint after all." Unedited - this is the same as the Kink Meme post (cause I'm lazy).
This is part of the whole "I'm claiming fics without really claiming them" thing I'm doing. Also, probably the only kink meme fill that kinda fits the bill... and maybe that Sherlock one. Or at least the closest I'm likely to get.
It was the purple glint that caught his eye. The late sun fell across the closet and Bruce couldn’t resist. A superstitious glance around and he was in Clint’s room, fully opening the closet. If someone were to ask, he wouldn’t be able to say why he did it. It’s not like he had any expectations or prank to avenge.
Hell, Clint barely interacted with him. That may partially be Bruce’s own fault, hanging out in the lab with Tony most of the time, but he didn’t know what else to do. He still remembered the fear and caution from everyone after Loki’s attack. And despite Clint not avoiding him after the battle, he hadn’t talked to him either.
In the months to follow, as the Avengers got called together again and again to save the city, Bruce couldn’t help but notice Hawkeye. His snarky comments directing battle from atop. The smile when Hulk launches him into the air. The grace portrayed with every snap of the bowstring. Then Stark was successful in forcing them all to live in what had been built as Stark Tower and Bruce realized he was doomed. Clint exuded confidence and Bruce couldn’t help but love that he would lose track of the archer only to discover Clint never left the room (what could he say, ninja skills are hot). The list goes on, but it doesn’t matter. For all that Bruce couldn’t seem to turn around without Clint being there, they never talked. It was frustrating.
And it’s not like Bruce had taken to walking by Clint’s room as often as he could get away with in order to hopefully, one day stumble upon what time he took his shower and hence would be walking around in just a towel. That would be ridiculous.
But then again it gave him this chance to sneak into the archer’s room and figure out the purple glint in Clint’s closet.
It was a uniform meant for a slender body and likely wouldn’t fit Clint, a leftover from his teenage years. The unitard was a faded purple, covered in dented sequins and wisps of purple sheen cloth. A seam along the underarm was torn, a thread dangling down. There was a stain peaking out from underneath a crocheted purple belt.
Bruce could remember a time when the outfit had been bright and vivid, shades of purple that demanded attention be paid with a voice laughing in his ear, tugging his arm (”Come on, I go on soon but, oh! Yesss. No, wait, over here - no one comes over here,” and giggles and sloppy kisses and fumbling and his hands, shoving at shoulders, his knee between the young man’s legs grinding). It had been a time before Bruce feared himself, before he learned the pain of arrogance.
He never got the young man’s name, hadn’t had time. Bruce had manhandled him until the man (till Clint?) had gasped and swayed back against the boxes, knees weakening. There had been laughter and thrusting and nothing mattered as his own orgasm built until he was sliding down the boxes with a stupid grin on his face. The panic when the young man (Clint) had realized the stain (”Shut up, stop laughing” wide eyes and a hint of fear “I have to go on, there will be a spotlight and-“ hands batted at the stain and more laughter “Quit it! You don’t understand.” Abrupt silence and a sinking feeling and “I-oh, will this work? It’s purple-“ “It’s purple? That’s what you have to- no, I mean, thank you. I… yes, your scarf will- thanks- oh Jesus I have to go. Does it work? It has to, and” a kiss and he’s left collapsed against the crate). He had missed the show and the circus was gone, packing up and moving to a new location. His friends had teased for missing the star of the show but Bruce hadn’t cared.
He had never done that with anyone else. It wasn’t really in his nature for random hookups.
His fingers caught on the belt and reflectively he jerked back fingers to his chest.
“Why are you molesting my clothes?” Clint asked from the doorway, voice hard.
“It’s not a belt,” Bruce said, voice catching, “it’s a scarf.” He couldn’t turn around, face flushed and half lost in the memories.
“There a problem with that?” Clint asked, coming closer. “What are you doing in here?”
It wasn’t anger in Clint’s voice, Bruce was more than familiar with anger. Strange, fear wasn’t something Bruce associated with Clint. If Hulk couldn’t scare him, then what could Bruce possibly do?
“What, you gone deaf or something? Playing the monkey that can’t hear?” Clint was directly behind him now and Bruce really should turn around and acknowledge him, but it didn’t make any sense.
He had been head over heels for that boy. Had lusted after him for a good month after the circus. Even considered chasing him down on the weak excuse of his scarf. And now the boy is Clint. A man who, without even trying, was currently all Bruce could think about? A man who unknowingly controlled Bruce’s entire schedule?
Bruce tried to speak and choked on air, coughing and flushing as Clint grabbed his arm and forced him to turn. “I-uh, I missed your show after, I mean,” Bruce could feel the heat radiating off his face as he tried to explain, anger and frustration simmering underneath everything. “It took me long enough to recover that by the time I found my friends in the big tent you had done your show and gone.”
Clint said nothing, face blank but hand betraying his emotions as it clutched tight. There was definitely going to be a bruise there.
“I- you- It was, I don’t know what to say,” Bruce finally settled on. Just because Clint has dallied with him once years ago didn’t mean anything now. Being found in the extremely private archer’s room searching through the closet likely wasn’t helping either.
“You…” Clint whispered, voice barely audible. “How do you do this?”
Bruce frowned, emotions clearing. The frustration, anger, fear all fading as he looked at Clint in confusion.
Clint laughed, a hollow broken sound that made Bruce flinch, “Bruce, every time I finally build up a wall you knock it down without trying.” As Clint speaks, all he can see is the fear in the young man’s eyes when he realizes he stained his costume (eyes widening, cheeks paling, a hitch in breathing). Memories of youth are replaced with the deeper tones of right now, “I shadow you for a chance to catch you in your element. The way you lose the tenseness in your back, how Tony can surprise a laugh out of you.” Clint’s shoulders are slightly hunched, his voice rough and Bruce thinks back to his assumption of confidence. On the field, there is no doubt. But here at home? It was almost like Clint was stuck in a limbo of not-work nor-home.
“I don’t think I have ever seen you relaxed,” Bruce mused, speaking as he started pulling the clues together. He wasn’t as bad as Tony, or perhaps Tony would claim he was not as brilliant.
Clint paused, cut off in the middle of what was working up to be a rant. “I- are you even listening to me?”
“Kind of,” Bruce said, “As in, yes, but I was busy thinking.”
“You were busy thinking?” Clint asked, a tinge of humor in his tone. Bruce dared to think that he was calming down a bit.
“Yes, I am not as loud as Stark in my thinking I’ll admit, but it still happens all the same,” Bruce chuckled. The same lack of thought that made him follow the purple glint motivated him now as he asked, “What do you think about dinner? Tonight before any villains have a chance to catch on to our plans and ruin them?”
The chuckle spread, and soon Clint was laughing, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath. Bruce rose an eyebrow, the hurt and anger leaping forward, “Well, I suppose that’s my answer. If you don’t mind, I’ll just leave you alone.”
He didn’t get a chance to head for the door as Clint finally regained his breath, “As long as you understand I don’t do dark alleys anymore. And I’m not as cheap as I used to be.” Clint smiled, “Think you could deal with that?”
As quick as it had risen, the hurt and anger left, “As long as you understand I’m a bit more possessive these days and I won’t just let you run off after we finish.” A pause, “Well, unless the entire city is under attack. But nothing less than that.”
Clint grinned, “So bank being robbed…?”
Bruce returned the grin, “Stark can handle it.”