Fic: The Night After (The Avengers)
Title: The Night After
Genre: Urban fantasy
Word Count: ~842
Rating: Gen
Pairings: Tony Stark/James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff
“What the hell, Stark?”
Clint jerked his head out of his fridge and turned around to glower at the bored look on Stark’s face.
“What?” Stark drawled.
Clint spread his arms. “Dude, 12 cases of beer, 5 bottles of whiskey, and 3 bottles of vodka all appear in my kitchen?”
“I like my blood to be like, 3/4ths alcohol,” Stark grumbled.
“I eat here too! That stuff messes with my metabolism!” Clint yelled.
The door opened behind them to James’ bedroom and he stumbled out, eyes closed and grumbling under his breath.
Immediately, Stark hopped off the couch and bounced over. “Hey, hey, James, how you doing?”
James blinked a couple of times and then frowned. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Uhh…” Stark froze and then looked over at Clint’s kitchen clock. “Ten… in the morning?”
Clint folded his arms and glared. “He wouldn’t leave until he made sure you were okay. I was thinking about calling Pepper, but then it hit five-thirty and I didn’t want to deal with the hassle.”
“Your sleeping schedule’s gonna be all fucked up. Again,” James muttered, absently pulling the tiny man close to his body and dropping his nose against Tony’s neck. “You smell good.”
“Last night was really hard on you, babe,” Stark said, and Stark wouldn’t ever admit to it, but Clint could hear the worry in his voice. He understood - James had had a really bad transformation last night. Thankfully, James was a one-nighter, not a three-nighter, so tonight would be rough but not transformation-rough. Stark had been seeing James for about three months now, and while Clint wasn’t exactly happy that this bloodsucker was in his apartment all the time now, he understood that James actually liked Stark. He didn’t know why - Stark was a colossal jerk, entirely pretentious and far too good with this century’s technology for someone over four hundred years old.
(No, Clint was not bitter that he still fought with the DVR every time he wanted to record Masterchef, even though he was only eighty years old. Stark was just that horrible.)
Tiredly, James pulled his face from Stark’s neck and stumbled towards the kitchen table. “Does Rhodes at least know where you are?”
“He can guess. You want something, babe? A steak? Some whiskey?”
“Don’t tell me you’re thirsty, Tones,” James groaned. “Shit. Last night was your feeding, wasn’t it?”
Stark shook his head, patting James’ broad back. “Nah, babe, don’t fret your fluffy ass about it. I’m cool. You need sustenance, though. I… may have removed all your juice and milk from the fridge for beer, but there’s still Gatorade! You want some? And there’s some steaks in the freezer, completely raw. I can throw it on the stove if you want it seared a bit-”
“No, Tony, I’m good,” James said, yawning. “Just something to drink. Water. Thank you, though.” Slumping forward onto the table, he leaned his head on folded arms and smiled sleepily at Tony.
With a huff, Clint stalked over to the living room and picked up the remote, rolling his eyes and trying to ignore the sappy idiots behind him. So of course, the minute he found something he didn’t mind watching, there was a knock at the door. Fortunately, whoever it was didn’t wait for him to answer before opening the door.
“That was locked,” Clint remarked dryly, and Natasha raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Was it?” she asked, grinning her wolf-grin. “How odd. Perhaps you and Barnes should get that lock looked at.”
James mumbled a greeting, and Stark ignored her entirely.
Muttering under his breath, Clint turned back to the television, and she peered into the kitchen where Stark was hovering over James. “So this is where Stark is,” she murmured, coming over to the couch and curling up on it to put her head in his lap. Absently, he reached down and ran fingers through her hair. She, like James, was a shifter and the full moon had pulled her other form to the forefront. However, her transformation had been much easier than James’. She poked Clint in the stomach. “I feel like you should call Rhodes or Potts or something. So they stop worrying he’s out burning in a cave.”
Clint scowled at her. “It’s bad enough he’s in my apartment, now I have to play minder for him too?”
She met his gaze placidly.
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Kissing his fingertips, she murmured, “That’s my good pixie.”
“You owe me.”
“Mmm.”
“Stark owes me.”
“Shut up, fairy,” Stark snarked.
“Pixie,” Clint emphasized, then looked down at Natasha. “See what I have to put up with?”
“Pixies are a type of fairy,” she responded lazily, and stretched in his lap. “But if you’re going to fight, I’m going to make myself comfortable somewhere else-”
Sighing, he shut his mouth and began rubbing a hand against her shoulders. With a purr, she subsided, and Clint figured he could ignore Stark fluttering about James for now.
Still was going to make Stark restock his kitchen, though.
Genre: Urban fantasy
Word Count: ~842
Rating: Gen
Pairings: Tony Stark/James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff
“What the hell, Stark?”
Clint jerked his head out of his fridge and turned around to glower at the bored look on Stark’s face.
“What?” Stark drawled.
Clint spread his arms. “Dude, 12 cases of beer, 5 bottles of whiskey, and 3 bottles of vodka all appear in my kitchen?”
“I like my blood to be like, 3/4ths alcohol,” Stark grumbled.
“I eat here too! That stuff messes with my metabolism!” Clint yelled.
The door opened behind them to James’ bedroom and he stumbled out, eyes closed and grumbling under his breath.
Immediately, Stark hopped off the couch and bounced over. “Hey, hey, James, how you doing?”
James blinked a couple of times and then frowned. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Uhh…” Stark froze and then looked over at Clint’s kitchen clock. “Ten… in the morning?”
Clint folded his arms and glared. “He wouldn’t leave until he made sure you were okay. I was thinking about calling Pepper, but then it hit five-thirty and I didn’t want to deal with the hassle.”
“Your sleeping schedule’s gonna be all fucked up. Again,” James muttered, absently pulling the tiny man close to his body and dropping his nose against Tony’s neck. “You smell good.”
“Last night was really hard on you, babe,” Stark said, and Stark wouldn’t ever admit to it, but Clint could hear the worry in his voice. He understood - James had had a really bad transformation last night. Thankfully, James was a one-nighter, not a three-nighter, so tonight would be rough but not transformation-rough. Stark had been seeing James for about three months now, and while Clint wasn’t exactly happy that this bloodsucker was in his apartment all the time now, he understood that James actually liked Stark. He didn’t know why - Stark was a colossal jerk, entirely pretentious and far too good with this century’s technology for someone over four hundred years old.
(No, Clint was not bitter that he still fought with the DVR every time he wanted to record Masterchef, even though he was only eighty years old. Stark was just that horrible.)
Tiredly, James pulled his face from Stark’s neck and stumbled towards the kitchen table. “Does Rhodes at least know where you are?”
“He can guess. You want something, babe? A steak? Some whiskey?”
“Don’t tell me you’re thirsty, Tones,” James groaned. “Shit. Last night was your feeding, wasn’t it?”
Stark shook his head, patting James’ broad back. “Nah, babe, don’t fret your fluffy ass about it. I’m cool. You need sustenance, though. I… may have removed all your juice and milk from the fridge for beer, but there’s still Gatorade! You want some? And there’s some steaks in the freezer, completely raw. I can throw it on the stove if you want it seared a bit-”
“No, Tony, I’m good,” James said, yawning. “Just something to drink. Water. Thank you, though.” Slumping forward onto the table, he leaned his head on folded arms and smiled sleepily at Tony.
With a huff, Clint stalked over to the living room and picked up the remote, rolling his eyes and trying to ignore the sappy idiots behind him. So of course, the minute he found something he didn’t mind watching, there was a knock at the door. Fortunately, whoever it was didn’t wait for him to answer before opening the door.
“That was locked,” Clint remarked dryly, and Natasha raised an eyebrow, amused.
“Was it?” she asked, grinning her wolf-grin. “How odd. Perhaps you and Barnes should get that lock looked at.”
James mumbled a greeting, and Stark ignored her entirely.
Muttering under his breath, Clint turned back to the television, and she peered into the kitchen where Stark was hovering over James. “So this is where Stark is,” she murmured, coming over to the couch and curling up on it to put her head in his lap. Absently, he reached down and ran fingers through her hair. She, like James, was a shifter and the full moon had pulled her other form to the forefront. However, her transformation had been much easier than James’. She poked Clint in the stomach. “I feel like you should call Rhodes or Potts or something. So they stop worrying he’s out burning in a cave.”
Clint scowled at her. “It’s bad enough he’s in my apartment, now I have to play minder for him too?”
She met his gaze placidly.
“Fine,” he grumbled.
Kissing his fingertips, she murmured, “That’s my good pixie.”
“You owe me.”
“Mmm.”
“Stark owes me.”
“Shut up, fairy,” Stark snarked.
“Pixie,” Clint emphasized, then looked down at Natasha. “See what I have to put up with?”
“Pixies are a type of fairy,” she responded lazily, and stretched in his lap. “But if you’re going to fight, I’m going to make myself comfortable somewhere else-”
Sighing, he shut his mouth and began rubbing a hand against her shoulders. With a purr, she subsided, and Clint figured he could ignore Stark fluttering about James for now.
Still was going to make Stark restock his kitchen, though.