The Avengers - You Won't Need To Read Between The Lines - Clint Barton/Tony Stark - PG-13
Title: You Won't Need To Read Between The Lines
Author: dametokillfor
Fandom: The Avengers
Characters: Clint Barton [Hawkeye]/Tony Stark [Iron Man]
Summary: Written for sharpiesgal for avengers_xchng. Tony Stark's 'non-denominational holiday hootenannnys' are always a good gas. Of course, actual gas at one of Tony's parties can only cause trouble.
Spoilers: None.
POV: Third
Clint would like it known that Natasha Romanoff is no longer his best friend.
She is in fact an evil, flame haired harpy who lives to destroy his life. (He wouldn't dare say this to her face, but he will damn well think it inside his own head and really hope she's not developed those telepathic powers she keeps threatening him with).
If Natasha had any love for him, she would be the one in the ridiculous maroon dinner jacket at Tony Stark's side as he throws his considerable wealth at the roulette wheel. Instead Clint is stuck as Stark's secret bodyguard for the evening, while Tasha is off on a drugs bust in Oslo which is likely to result in a lackey kicking.
She knows how much Clint likes lackey kicking.
Instead of fighting corrupt criminals, Clint is stuck watching rich, obnoxious jerks throwing away their fortunes on clearly rigged games at Stark Industries Casino Royale themed 'non-denominational holiday hootenanny'. All the profits go to charity and Clint isn’t sure if that’s actually better or worse.
So yeah, she is no longer Clint's BFF. He'd take the little hot dog BFF charm he has off his keys if he could find the damn things. Everything in Avengers tower is JARVIS activated, so his knowledge of where they actually are is worse than usual.
He’s not even entirely sure why he’s here. There are actual visible bodyguards placed around the large ballroom, more than enough security to ensure Stark is kept safe. He’s not allowed to carry any weapons - though he’ll admit, his bow might be a little conspicuous. There’s been no whisperings of any attacks on Tony or the party, no need to ante up the security. Something is definitely going on.
Tony pulls him to his side, “Cheer up, Katniss. It’s a party!”
“This is my happy face.” Clint insists.
“Well, it looks a lot like your ‘Tony Stark is a dick’ face.”
Tony makes an elaborate move, twirling in a circle to grab a champagne glass off a passing waiter’s tray before turning back and thrusting it into Clint’s hands.
“Have a drink.” Tony tells him, “Relax!”
“I’m supposed to be working.”
“One drink won’t hurt. You’ll blend in better.” Tony says. He rolls his eyes, “I can’t believe I’m telling a spy how to do his job.”
Clint twirls the stem between his fingers, smiles up at Tony, “I know fifty different ways to kill you with this. Oh… fifty-one.”
Tony stares at him for a moment.
“Well… at least you’re smiling.”
Clint claps him on the back, downs the drink.
It’s not that he dislikes Tony. They’ve become something resembling friends since Clint moved into the Avengers tower. They spend long hours together in Tony’s large home theater, talking and having movie marathons. Their week long Bond marathon had led to the theme of the Stark Industries party, along with a heated argument over whether George Lazenby was really that bad, and whether Tasha had learned her signature move from Xenia Onatopp. (Yes, he was. No, she didn’t. For some reason, after watching From Russia With Love, Tasha found herself hating everything Bond stood for).
Clint likes private Tony, the Tony he knows. The movie marathon, the cheap beer, the trick arrows making Tony. That Tony just sat by his side without a word when he heard about Coulson, not offering hollow platitudes or revenge strategies. He didn’t even really know Clint then, but seemed to know just how much he was hurting.
This Tony isn’t the same. This Tony is an arrogant, attention grabbing, media slut. He’s loud and brash, he’s got a snappy remark for everything and a constant need to be loved and appreciated. Clint really doesn’t like public Tony.
Clint takes a drink from the glass in his hand, surveying the room as Tony taunts interchangeable billionaire #3 next to him. He’s not seen anything particularly out of the ordinary tonight, barring the very famous British actor’s accent becoming more and more Texan as the night went on.
(“He’s also not quite the womaniser they paint him out to be either.” Tony had told him with a knowing smirk.)
Clint can’t help if his eyes drift to the air vents scattered around the room. He’s pretty certain he could use one of them to sneak out of the party. Tony would never even know he wasn’t around, too preoccupied with throwing money at the roulette wheel.
He’s about to sneak across to the other side of the room when he notices it. There’s a slow, steady stream of gas starting to seep through the vents. There’s a greenish tinge to it and there’s no way anything good can come of it.
Clint’s eyes flick around the room, checking the other vents. It’s slow moving, but it’s coming from everywhere. Whatever it is - and Clint hasn’t ruled out ‘festive happy gas’ from Tony - they’ve got to get everyone out of the party.
Clint turns to Tony, who’s arguing with the croupier about the $10,000 limit on the bets, and grabs his arm.
“Stark.” He hisses, tugging at his arm.
“All I’m saying is, why don’t we make this more interesting? $100,000 red or black, winner takes all.” Tony says, “I mean, it’s still pocket change but…”
Clint rolls his eyes and pulls the arrogant asshole away from the table, again remembering why he hates public Tony.
“Not that I don’t appreciate some manhandling, Barton, but now isn’t the time.” Tony says, brushing his hands off.
Clint’s looking over at the vents again, the gas is getting thicker and really, how is nobody else noticing this? This isn’t superhuman sight, this is just being aware of your surroundings.
“Legolas, what do your elf eyes see?” Tony asks, following Clint’s line of sight.
Clint punches him in the arm. Elf jokes at a Christmas party are just tacky.
He nods over to the vents, “That gas is coming in from all the vents. We need to get everyone out of -“
Clint doesn’t even have chance to finish his sentence before there’s a loud hiss and several loud pops, as the gas forces its way through the vents with more force than before, filling the entire room with a huge cloud of green.
There’s a cacophony of screams, Clint can feel himself being pushed and jostled by terrified guests. He’s fighting every instinct in his body telling him to fight back against the attacks. He can’t see a thing and it’s freaking him out.
There’s a firm hand on his shoulder and without thinking, he spins round and blindly punches out in the direction of his attacker.
“Ow!” Tony’s voice comes through the haze, “Not the first time it’s happened, I’ll grant you but fucking ow, Clint.”
The fog is starting to clear now, Clint can see Tony stood in front of him, hands holding his nose.
“That’s for Legolas.” He says.
Clint scans the room. The fog is still too thick for most eyes, but Clint can just make out the shapes of the few guests left in the room, the tables and the exits.
He grabs Tony’s wrist and pulls him through the fog, trying to get him out of the room. If he ensures that Tony walks into a craps table once or twice, well, he’ll blame the fog.
Clint’s not entirely sure how they’re the last people to make it outside, but when they join up with the crowds from the party, the blame is being placed squarely on them.
“Should have known better than to go to a party held by an Avenger!”
“What if we turn into The Hulk?”
“I bet Stark did it to steal our money!”
That one gets Tony to speak up, “Oh please, the games were rigged anyway.”
Clint wishes Tony hadn’t decided to speak up. The man who accused Tony of stealing is on his feet in a second, pushing away the worried wife who’s been clinging to his side. He strides across to Tony and, Clint is taken aback by quite how huge he is. He’s glaring down at Tony, his massive shoulders shaking in rage.
“So you’re stealing from us?” The man starts.
“I wouldn’t call it stealing, more creatively acquiring donations for a better cause.” Tony says, looking slightly surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.
Clint suddenly wants Tony to stop talking. He tells him so.
“Relax, Clint.” Tony assures him, “Grant here might look like he could snap my neck, but it’s all for show. He doesn’t even know how to make a fist.”
“Tony, please stop talking.” Clint says again.
In front of him, Grant’s making some pretty impressive fists, but Clint can’t help but notice how his thumb is under instead of over.
“Besides he’s been trying to sleep with me for years.” Tony adds, “I’m pretty certain punching me in the face would really put a damper on that ever happening. For him, at least.”
Shock and rage flash across Grant’s features and there’s a loud cry from the middle of the crowd from his wife. Grant spins round to face her and suddenly the crowds eyes are all on the bust-up about to take place on the side of the road.
Clint wraps an arm around Tony’s shoulder, covers his mouth with his hand. He needs to stop Tony talking, because Tony is going to get himself killed. He keeps his hand firmly clamped over Tony’s mouth, despite the fact his friend is now licking at his palm.
“I can snap your neck, Tony.” Clint reminds him, just putting the tiniest bit of pressure on his friends still sore nose. Tony makes a pained noise, before shutting up.
“I can’t help the way I feel about him, Sandra.” is screamed across the crowd.
“You don’t even deny it!”
Clint drags him away from the large crowd on the sidewalk, only dropping his hand from Tony’s mouth when they’re out of earshot of the angry guests. He pulls him down a small alleyway, away from prying eyes where he can yell at him without worry of being interrupted. Because he really wants to yell.
“What the hell was that?” Clint asks him.
“Truth gas.” Tony replies.
“What?”
“Truth gas, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Clint rolls his eyes.
He’s not denying the plausibility. SHIELD training had included training against the effects of various biological agents, from sodium pentothal, to pheromone sprays, to that one really weird one which made them speak backwards. He’s not really feeling anything from this though, although he’s not tried to lie yet.
“But why would they release truth gas into your party?” Clint asks, “What’s that going to achieve?”
“A few hundred of the top business minds in the country, forced to tell the truth about all their dealings?” Tony offers.
Clint’s got to admit he has a point, but not to Tony.
“So what do we do?”
“We get out of here, so I don’t compromise myself.” Tony says, “Then we get your SHIELD buddies to look after this and stick me with an antidote that they doubtlessly already have because they probably invented this.”
“You have no trust in our security systems, do you?”
“I’ve broken through your security systems.” Tony points out, “I didn’t even break a sweat, few days and a couple of super nerds and most people could.”
“SHIELD aren’t as inept as you keep making us out to be.” Clint insists.
“You aren’t.” Tony tells him.
“That why you chose me to be your bodyguard?” Clint asks.
“No, that was a thinly disguised plot to get you to come as my date.” Tony replies, “Only you spent most of the night pissed at me for some reason and that’s not really conducive to romance, unless we’re talking hate sex, which was not what I had planned for tonight.”
Clint just stares at him.
“Please just hit me again, Clint.” Tony says.
“I’m tempted.” Clint says, smiling.
“Maybe avoid the nose.”
Clint shrugs, “Can’t promise anything.”
He jokes, but he’s not entirely sure how to take this Tony’s admission.
He does like Tony and okay, maybe he’s entertained the rare fantasy about the guy, but hasn’t everyone?
Okay. Maybe not his friends, but his best friends are Tasha and Coulson and they know Tony too well. They’ve probably not fantasised about shutting Tony up by kissing him until he can’t remember what words are.
Bruce probably enjoys any chance he gets not to be around Tony, the way the man drapes himself across him all the time. He’s probably not into the idea of how else Tony could be draped across him.
Steve and Tony might have developed a more civil relationship, but Steve’s still trying to cope with the loss of Peggy and Bucky and deal with the challenges of the 21st century. He’s pretty certain there’s no stray thoughts of how Tony would look on his knees, that smart mouth being put to better use.
And Thor’s so caught up with his love for the lovely lady Jane, he’s pretty certain there’s no room in his head for wondering whether the stamina of one of earth’s most notorious playboys could match up to that of a Norse God.
Okay, so maybe not everyone has spent their time thinking about Tony, maybe there is more to those rare fantasies than Clint was ready to acknowledge and huh, maybe the truth gas is getting to him.
Clint looks over at him again. Tony is trying not to look as if he’s just laid his feelings out on the line, as if he’s not terrified about what Clint’s thinking. He’s trying to pull public Tony over his features, make it out as if it’s a joke, truth gas be damned.
“Is that why I’m in this fucking ridiculous maroon dinner jacket?” Clint asks, moving closer to Tony, backing him against the wall in the alley. It’s dirty, disgusting and it’s probably ruined the expensive tux Tony’s wearing, which makes Clint smile even more. His hands settle at Tony’s hips and okay, apparently they’re doing this.
“No, that was just because I knew you’d hate it.” Tony admits, resting his hands lightly against Clint’s chest, ready to push him away or grip the lapels of the jacket, depending how this goes.
“God, you’re an asshole.” Clint tells him.
Before Tony can speak, Clint swoops forward and catches his mouth in a kiss. He pushes Tony back against the wall, pressing him there with his hips as his hands come up to cup Tony’s face. He can’t believe they’ve not done this til now, that he didn’t know how much he wanted this til now.
Tony’s hands are fisted in his jacket, pulling him ever closer as he kisses Clint back harder, and Clint kind of wishes that he’d tear it off him, because it really is fucking hideous and he kind of thinks they should be naked right now.
Tony’s kisses are hot and desperate and fuck, Clint needs to break away from this or he’s going to take Tony in this alley right now and that’s exactly what they don’t need. It takes some effort, but he manages to push Tony back, to keep him back.
“Clint, fuck, I’m so-.”
“Not here.” Clint tells him, “We don’t need an Avengers sex scandal.”
Tony raises an eyebrow.
“We don’t need another Avengers sex scandal.”
Clint still doesn’t know how those videos got into the hands of the media.
“Also we’ve both still been gassed, kind of think we should get that checked out.” Clint reminds him, “You’re not dropping dead, not after that.”
“Fine, but it doesn’t seem to have affected you anyway. You called me an asshole with no problem.”
“That’s because I’m a SHIELD agent.” Clint tells him, “We’ve been trained to overcome the effects of biological agents like this.”
Tony nods, “Okay. Well. Now I feel better.”
“Or, maybe you’re just an asshole.”
*****
Notes: This fic did originally go in a very different direction, in which there was an attack on the party by a crazed gunman. However due to recent events, I made the decision that it wouldn't have been appropriate to post, so it underwent a lot of editing and turned into this.
Author: dametokillfor
Fandom: The Avengers
Characters: Clint Barton [Hawkeye]/Tony Stark [Iron Man]
Summary: Written for sharpiesgal for avengers_xchng. Tony Stark's 'non-denominational holiday hootenannnys' are always a good gas. Of course, actual gas at one of Tony's parties can only cause trouble.
Spoilers: None.
POV: Third
Clint would like it known that Natasha Romanoff is no longer his best friend.
She is in fact an evil, flame haired harpy who lives to destroy his life. (He wouldn't dare say this to her face, but he will damn well think it inside his own head and really hope she's not developed those telepathic powers she keeps threatening him with).
If Natasha had any love for him, she would be the one in the ridiculous maroon dinner jacket at Tony Stark's side as he throws his considerable wealth at the roulette wheel. Instead Clint is stuck as Stark's secret bodyguard for the evening, while Tasha is off on a drugs bust in Oslo which is likely to result in a lackey kicking.
She knows how much Clint likes lackey kicking.
Instead of fighting corrupt criminals, Clint is stuck watching rich, obnoxious jerks throwing away their fortunes on clearly rigged games at Stark Industries Casino Royale themed 'non-denominational holiday hootenanny'. All the profits go to charity and Clint isn’t sure if that’s actually better or worse.
So yeah, she is no longer Clint's BFF. He'd take the little hot dog BFF charm he has off his keys if he could find the damn things. Everything in Avengers tower is JARVIS activated, so his knowledge of where they actually are is worse than usual.
He’s not even entirely sure why he’s here. There are actual visible bodyguards placed around the large ballroom, more than enough security to ensure Stark is kept safe. He’s not allowed to carry any weapons - though he’ll admit, his bow might be a little conspicuous. There’s been no whisperings of any attacks on Tony or the party, no need to ante up the security. Something is definitely going on.
Tony pulls him to his side, “Cheer up, Katniss. It’s a party!”
“This is my happy face.” Clint insists.
“Well, it looks a lot like your ‘Tony Stark is a dick’ face.”
Tony makes an elaborate move, twirling in a circle to grab a champagne glass off a passing waiter’s tray before turning back and thrusting it into Clint’s hands.
“Have a drink.” Tony tells him, “Relax!”
“I’m supposed to be working.”
“One drink won’t hurt. You’ll blend in better.” Tony says. He rolls his eyes, “I can’t believe I’m telling a spy how to do his job.”
Clint twirls the stem between his fingers, smiles up at Tony, “I know fifty different ways to kill you with this. Oh… fifty-one.”
Tony stares at him for a moment.
“Well… at least you’re smiling.”
Clint claps him on the back, downs the drink.
It’s not that he dislikes Tony. They’ve become something resembling friends since Clint moved into the Avengers tower. They spend long hours together in Tony’s large home theater, talking and having movie marathons. Their week long Bond marathon had led to the theme of the Stark Industries party, along with a heated argument over whether George Lazenby was really that bad, and whether Tasha had learned her signature move from Xenia Onatopp. (Yes, he was. No, she didn’t. For some reason, after watching From Russia With Love, Tasha found herself hating everything Bond stood for).
Clint likes private Tony, the Tony he knows. The movie marathon, the cheap beer, the trick arrows making Tony. That Tony just sat by his side without a word when he heard about Coulson, not offering hollow platitudes or revenge strategies. He didn’t even really know Clint then, but seemed to know just how much he was hurting.
This Tony isn’t the same. This Tony is an arrogant, attention grabbing, media slut. He’s loud and brash, he’s got a snappy remark for everything and a constant need to be loved and appreciated. Clint really doesn’t like public Tony.
Clint takes a drink from the glass in his hand, surveying the room as Tony taunts interchangeable billionaire #3 next to him. He’s not seen anything particularly out of the ordinary tonight, barring the very famous British actor’s accent becoming more and more Texan as the night went on.
(“He’s also not quite the womaniser they paint him out to be either.” Tony had told him with a knowing smirk.)
Clint can’t help if his eyes drift to the air vents scattered around the room. He’s pretty certain he could use one of them to sneak out of the party. Tony would never even know he wasn’t around, too preoccupied with throwing money at the roulette wheel.
He’s about to sneak across to the other side of the room when he notices it. There’s a slow, steady stream of gas starting to seep through the vents. There’s a greenish tinge to it and there’s no way anything good can come of it.
Clint’s eyes flick around the room, checking the other vents. It’s slow moving, but it’s coming from everywhere. Whatever it is - and Clint hasn’t ruled out ‘festive happy gas’ from Tony - they’ve got to get everyone out of the party.
Clint turns to Tony, who’s arguing with the croupier about the $10,000 limit on the bets, and grabs his arm.
“Stark.” He hisses, tugging at his arm.
“All I’m saying is, why don’t we make this more interesting? $100,000 red or black, winner takes all.” Tony says, “I mean, it’s still pocket change but…”
Clint rolls his eyes and pulls the arrogant asshole away from the table, again remembering why he hates public Tony.
“Not that I don’t appreciate some manhandling, Barton, but now isn’t the time.” Tony says, brushing his hands off.
Clint’s looking over at the vents again, the gas is getting thicker and really, how is nobody else noticing this? This isn’t superhuman sight, this is just being aware of your surroundings.
“Legolas, what do your elf eyes see?” Tony asks, following Clint’s line of sight.
Clint punches him in the arm. Elf jokes at a Christmas party are just tacky.
He nods over to the vents, “That gas is coming in from all the vents. We need to get everyone out of -“
Clint doesn’t even have chance to finish his sentence before there’s a loud hiss and several loud pops, as the gas forces its way through the vents with more force than before, filling the entire room with a huge cloud of green.
There’s a cacophony of screams, Clint can feel himself being pushed and jostled by terrified guests. He’s fighting every instinct in his body telling him to fight back against the attacks. He can’t see a thing and it’s freaking him out.
There’s a firm hand on his shoulder and without thinking, he spins round and blindly punches out in the direction of his attacker.
“Ow!” Tony’s voice comes through the haze, “Not the first time it’s happened, I’ll grant you but fucking ow, Clint.”
The fog is starting to clear now, Clint can see Tony stood in front of him, hands holding his nose.
“That’s for Legolas.” He says.
Clint scans the room. The fog is still too thick for most eyes, but Clint can just make out the shapes of the few guests left in the room, the tables and the exits.
He grabs Tony’s wrist and pulls him through the fog, trying to get him out of the room. If he ensures that Tony walks into a craps table once or twice, well, he’ll blame the fog.
Clint’s not entirely sure how they’re the last people to make it outside, but when they join up with the crowds from the party, the blame is being placed squarely on them.
“Should have known better than to go to a party held by an Avenger!”
“What if we turn into The Hulk?”
“I bet Stark did it to steal our money!”
That one gets Tony to speak up, “Oh please, the games were rigged anyway.”
Clint wishes Tony hadn’t decided to speak up. The man who accused Tony of stealing is on his feet in a second, pushing away the worried wife who’s been clinging to his side. He strides across to Tony and, Clint is taken aback by quite how huge he is. He’s glaring down at Tony, his massive shoulders shaking in rage.
“So you’re stealing from us?” The man starts.
“I wouldn’t call it stealing, more creatively acquiring donations for a better cause.” Tony says, looking slightly surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.
Clint suddenly wants Tony to stop talking. He tells him so.
“Relax, Clint.” Tony assures him, “Grant here might look like he could snap my neck, but it’s all for show. He doesn’t even know how to make a fist.”
“Tony, please stop talking.” Clint says again.
In front of him, Grant’s making some pretty impressive fists, but Clint can’t help but notice how his thumb is under instead of over.
“Besides he’s been trying to sleep with me for years.” Tony adds, “I’m pretty certain punching me in the face would really put a damper on that ever happening. For him, at least.”
Shock and rage flash across Grant’s features and there’s a loud cry from the middle of the crowd from his wife. Grant spins round to face her and suddenly the crowds eyes are all on the bust-up about to take place on the side of the road.
Clint wraps an arm around Tony’s shoulder, covers his mouth with his hand. He needs to stop Tony talking, because Tony is going to get himself killed. He keeps his hand firmly clamped over Tony’s mouth, despite the fact his friend is now licking at his palm.
“I can snap your neck, Tony.” Clint reminds him, just putting the tiniest bit of pressure on his friends still sore nose. Tony makes a pained noise, before shutting up.
“I can’t help the way I feel about him, Sandra.” is screamed across the crowd.
“You don’t even deny it!”
Clint drags him away from the large crowd on the sidewalk, only dropping his hand from Tony’s mouth when they’re out of earshot of the angry guests. He pulls him down a small alleyway, away from prying eyes where he can yell at him without worry of being interrupted. Because he really wants to yell.
“What the hell was that?” Clint asks him.
“Truth gas.” Tony replies.
“What?”
“Truth gas, obviously.”
“Obviously.” Clint rolls his eyes.
He’s not denying the plausibility. SHIELD training had included training against the effects of various biological agents, from sodium pentothal, to pheromone sprays, to that one really weird one which made them speak backwards. He’s not really feeling anything from this though, although he’s not tried to lie yet.
“But why would they release truth gas into your party?” Clint asks, “What’s that going to achieve?”
“A few hundred of the top business minds in the country, forced to tell the truth about all their dealings?” Tony offers.
Clint’s got to admit he has a point, but not to Tony.
“So what do we do?”
“We get out of here, so I don’t compromise myself.” Tony says, “Then we get your SHIELD buddies to look after this and stick me with an antidote that they doubtlessly already have because they probably invented this.”
“You have no trust in our security systems, do you?”
“I’ve broken through your security systems.” Tony points out, “I didn’t even break a sweat, few days and a couple of super nerds and most people could.”
“SHIELD aren’t as inept as you keep making us out to be.” Clint insists.
“You aren’t.” Tony tells him.
“That why you chose me to be your bodyguard?” Clint asks.
“No, that was a thinly disguised plot to get you to come as my date.” Tony replies, “Only you spent most of the night pissed at me for some reason and that’s not really conducive to romance, unless we’re talking hate sex, which was not what I had planned for tonight.”
Clint just stares at him.
“Please just hit me again, Clint.” Tony says.
“I’m tempted.” Clint says, smiling.
“Maybe avoid the nose.”
Clint shrugs, “Can’t promise anything.”
He jokes, but he’s not entirely sure how to take this Tony’s admission.
He does like Tony and okay, maybe he’s entertained the rare fantasy about the guy, but hasn’t everyone?
Okay. Maybe not his friends, but his best friends are Tasha and Coulson and they know Tony too well. They’ve probably not fantasised about shutting Tony up by kissing him until he can’t remember what words are.
Bruce probably enjoys any chance he gets not to be around Tony, the way the man drapes himself across him all the time. He’s probably not into the idea of how else Tony could be draped across him.
Steve and Tony might have developed a more civil relationship, but Steve’s still trying to cope with the loss of Peggy and Bucky and deal with the challenges of the 21st century. He’s pretty certain there’s no stray thoughts of how Tony would look on his knees, that smart mouth being put to better use.
And Thor’s so caught up with his love for the lovely lady Jane, he’s pretty certain there’s no room in his head for wondering whether the stamina of one of earth’s most notorious playboys could match up to that of a Norse God.
Okay, so maybe not everyone has spent their time thinking about Tony, maybe there is more to those rare fantasies than Clint was ready to acknowledge and huh, maybe the truth gas is getting to him.
Clint looks over at him again. Tony is trying not to look as if he’s just laid his feelings out on the line, as if he’s not terrified about what Clint’s thinking. He’s trying to pull public Tony over his features, make it out as if it’s a joke, truth gas be damned.
“Is that why I’m in this fucking ridiculous maroon dinner jacket?” Clint asks, moving closer to Tony, backing him against the wall in the alley. It’s dirty, disgusting and it’s probably ruined the expensive tux Tony’s wearing, which makes Clint smile even more. His hands settle at Tony’s hips and okay, apparently they’re doing this.
“No, that was just because I knew you’d hate it.” Tony admits, resting his hands lightly against Clint’s chest, ready to push him away or grip the lapels of the jacket, depending how this goes.
“God, you’re an asshole.” Clint tells him.
Before Tony can speak, Clint swoops forward and catches his mouth in a kiss. He pushes Tony back against the wall, pressing him there with his hips as his hands come up to cup Tony’s face. He can’t believe they’ve not done this til now, that he didn’t know how much he wanted this til now.
Tony’s hands are fisted in his jacket, pulling him ever closer as he kisses Clint back harder, and Clint kind of wishes that he’d tear it off him, because it really is fucking hideous and he kind of thinks they should be naked right now.
Tony’s kisses are hot and desperate and fuck, Clint needs to break away from this or he’s going to take Tony in this alley right now and that’s exactly what they don’t need. It takes some effort, but he manages to push Tony back, to keep him back.
“Clint, fuck, I’m so-.”
“Not here.” Clint tells him, “We don’t need an Avengers sex scandal.”
Tony raises an eyebrow.
“We don’t need another Avengers sex scandal.”
Clint still doesn’t know how those videos got into the hands of the media.
“Also we’ve both still been gassed, kind of think we should get that checked out.” Clint reminds him, “You’re not dropping dead, not after that.”
“Fine, but it doesn’t seem to have affected you anyway. You called me an asshole with no problem.”
“That’s because I’m a SHIELD agent.” Clint tells him, “We’ve been trained to overcome the effects of biological agents like this.”
Tony nods, “Okay. Well. Now I feel better.”
“Or, maybe you’re just an asshole.”
*****
Notes: This fic did originally go in a very different direction, in which there was an attack on the party by a crazed gunman. However due to recent events, I made the decision that it wouldn't have been appropriate to post, so it underwent a lot of editing and turned into this.