Chapter Text
Clint leant over the counter, the rush hour not enough to stop him from leering at the young man who'd just entered the store. The face struck a vaguely familiar chord in the back of his mind, but more important was the way he was achingly beautiful, vibrating with energy, and his laugh was enough to light up the whole shop as he read one of the cartoons on the wall.
Mine, Clint decided.
Even at busy times, the shop was quiet enough, being tucked away close to the MIT campus so that only the most fortunate and dedicated coffee lovers and explorers would stumble across it. It was a geeky little place, run by himself, Steve, Bucky and Natasha, none of which had cared much for traditional schooling and decided 'fuck it'. The top floor became a place to the four of them. Natasha was all business, Steve's art made a home on the walls and provided an extra income when he felt like it, and Bucky had the dark charm that had customers coming back over and over. Speaking of the man, Clint glanced around to make sure he wasn't around.
Like he said, this one was all his.
Now, all he had to do was think of an original and funny pick-up line that would have this guy falling at his feet and begging for his number. That should be easy, right? After all, that's what Clint brought to the table. His legendary comedic talent, his gorgeous looks, and his high intelligence.
Well, and he was the only one of them who had extensive knowledge and love for coffee before this whole thing started, but that probably wasn't it.
The guy had finally looked his fill at the superhero comic on the wall near the doorway, a painted version of one of Steve's favourite works featuring Captain America (which was totally just Steve, the patriotic bastard). Slowly, over time, he had developed a team, too.
Gee, Clint sure did wonder where he got the ideas for that one. His superhero persona was Hawkeye, talented marksman and lazy shitbag. Well, that did about sum him up. Appropriately, Natasha was the deadly super spy, Bucky was the dark assassin, and some of their other friends had made an appearance, too. Their quiet Bruce Banner, who Steve had turned into the Hulk to make them laugh since the real thing couldn't be more passive aggressive if he tried. Thor, their booming next-door-neighbour, who worked as a personal trainer, was instantly deemed a God because of the name.
There was another member of the team, though. Iron Man. The genius with the showy suit and smart mouth, who's identity had yet to be revealed. There was a pile of Steve's comics on the counter for sale, right now, and they had been getting increasingly popular lately, which was awesome. They all knew that Steve loved the cafe, but art was his passion, and now that he was making a real income from it? He was over the moon. The smug dick wouldn't even tell them who it was either, no matter how they'd begged. Steve was a little too good at his job, Clint thought as he flicked the pile of comics; he was dying to know what happened next along with basically anyone who walked through the door.
He stood up straighter when the man had finally circled the whole room, admiring all the pop-art and fine brush work, and had sauntered over to the counter.
His honey eyes sparkled with amusement at having found this place, and he offered Clint a grin. "So, you have art with a character so relatable that I almost died, free wifi, and cute staff. What d'you recommend I have to drink?" He asked, his head tilting slightly like a puppy dog.
This guy was fucking adorable.
Now was the time for his pick-up line... Cute and funny. Simple.
"I think I'm going to marry you." A pause, "Yes. I think I will."
Silence.
"What the fuck?"
Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no. Cute guy now had a slightly offended, confused crinkle between his eyebrows, and looked much more guarded than he did a second ago. "Listen -" Oh God, his voice was like melted chocolate.
"Coffee!" Clint interrupted, beginning to panic, "You look like a sweet guy. I- I mean, a guy who likes sweet things! Not that... not that you're not probably a sweet guy... and, uh, y'know..."
Jesus Christ, sure he wasn't always Mr Sauve, but never had he been such a stuttering fucking mess. He had already fucked it up, and now Honey Eyes was looking at him with that half-concerned, unsure look like he was wondering if Clint was mentally challenged. This was so not what Hawkeye would do. He managed to compose himself.
"Hey, why don't you take a seat? I'll make you my speciality." Thank God, the other looked slightly more relaxed now that he'd seen Clint could actually formulate sentences, and nodded wearily, taking a seat in the farthest corner of the shop and pulling out a laptop that was so beautiful and sleek it was little more than faintly glowing screens, and a thin, blue keyboard.
Okay.
He was a fucking idiot.
But it was okay! It would be okay. Time for plan B: impress him so much with the coffee that he would dare to come back, even though the creepy barista had tried to marry him.
Clint flew around behind the counter. Nothing on the menu was good enough, not for the first time he ever came here. Clint needed something new. Within a few minutes, he was finished. He sure hoped the world was ready for a toasted marshmallow latte. It was creamy, with gooey marshmallow melting into the froth, chocolate syrup and mini marshmallows in the bottom of the cup. It kind of sounded gross but when he tasted it? Heaven.
Taking a few breaths so that he didn't mess it up for good, Clint brought the drink over to the guy's table. Those eyes flickered up to meet his own and regarded him with caution. "What is it?"
"Toasted marshmallow latte. Just trust me." He hovered, rocking on his heels while the guy tried his handiwork.
"Fine, as long as you promise not to pop the question after." The guy teased him, a smirk on his face. As soon as he raised the cup to his mouth, though, his face relaxed into pure bliss.
"How does it taste?"
"Like..." The Cutie's face scrunched up while he gathered the words. He didn't just say, 'good' or 'nice. He was totally the one, "Like, one time I went camping with my butler Jarvis while my parents were away. And we ate smores around the fire, and you could see all the stars, clear as day. He told me that he didn't care whether I become a great man, but he would always make sure I became a good one." Clint could feel his heartbreak at the desperately sad, reminiscent look in the brunet's eyes.
"Aww, cute guy, no." The barista whined, sitting down across from him, "I made you coffee to impress you and all I did was make you sad." He watched the other shake himself and scrape up a smile.
"You sure don't hold back, do you? So what, you proclaim your love to every attractive guy that walks through the door?" He asked sceptically.
"Nope, just the one."
"Why?"
"No clue."
Huffing, the customer drank some more, allowing Clint to sit there and admire him, even though he kept throwing him 'you're insane' glances every now and then. Unfortunately, fate tore them apart in the form of Bucky yelling at him to, "Get your ass back here and do your job, jackass!"
"Asshole."
At least it made Honey Eyes laugh. Sighing, he pushed his chair back. "Just for the record, my name is Clint." He stated.
"Sure you don't wanna tell me your last name instead?" The guy teased him again, and Clint flushed, "I'm Tony. But I'm not telling you anything else about me because I don't want you breaking into my house at three am."
"I agree that I do need to work on my flirting."
Tony's voice dripped with sarcasm, "You don't say." He was a sassy little fuck, then.
"Hey, I'd like to see you do better, short-stack."
In an instant, Tony was pressed against his side, his lips close to Clint's ear and his eyes full of mischief. "Why bother? You're already hooked." He murmured, and Clint thought he was going to pass out. His future-husband burst out into loud, brilliant laughter, amused by the stunned look on the shop owner's face.
"See you around, Clint." The shorter man picked up his fancy laptop and left, without looking back.
Clint was fucked.