Work Text:
“Movie?”
You stopped halfway between the elevator and the bar, caught off-guard. You were currently on the hunt for something cheesy and potentially fried, and while the dining hall was closed, you always had a backup hidden here on the third floor of the Stark Tower’s Recreation and Leisure center. In a vain attempt to dissuade yourself from eating terribly after working out, you kept a stockpile of snack foods under the over-stocked bar in the corner. You’d figured having the dining hall and a couple of residential floors between you and it would be enough to keep you from snacking but right now, even with your muscles aching from weight training and hair damp from the shower, a short walk to the elevator wasn’t going to stop you from snacking.
On first glance, you’d thought that this room – which contained one of the most impressive home theatre systems you’d ever seen, as well as pretty much every gaming console you knew of – was empty, and you hadn’t expected it to be otherwise. It was Friday night, and most of the members of the team had plans. But now, you realized you had company.
Clint was sprawled on the main couch, lifting his head awkwardly to peer sleepily at you over the arm of it. His hair was mussed on one side and his eyes were half-closed, but the smile he gave you was genuine.
“Hey, buddy. How long have you been lying there?”
He sat up, running a hand through his hair and stifling a yawn. “Was waiting for you.”
“Long enough to fall asleep?” you asked with slight amusement, continuing on to the fridge to help yourself to a couple of beers. You dug the bottle opener out of the drawer, leaving the caps on the counter as you grabbed a bag of Cheetos out of your stash under the bar. “It’s barely dark out.”
Clint shrugged, tucking his chin on the back of the couch to watch you approach. “I was tired.”
“You’re always tired, sweetie.”
He grinned blearily at you as you handed him a bottle, rubbing sleep out of his eye with the heel of his other hand. You smiled down at him; the action was so disarmingly innocent, like he was a sleepy kid and not one of Earth’s mightiest heroes. Neither of you thought anything of the pet name; you had been friends for so long now that you used words like ‘asshole’ and ‘babe’ as equal terms of endearment without much thought.
“Yeah? Well, who was the one who slept for twenty-six hours after that mission in Madrid?”
You popped a Cheeto into your mouth and offered him the bag. He helped himself to a couple of puffs and dropped the packet on the coffee table in front of him. “That was you, Clint.”
“Oh.” Clint pouted, brow furrowing. “Right.”
You chuckled, shaking your head and swallow a mouthful of beer. “Would have been nice of you to do it in your own bed.”
Clint shrugged; you’d teased him about this before. You’d come back from the medical bay with a broken wrist, a bruised rib and a serious migraine from ability overuse after the team had been sent to Madrid to take out a bomb-happy Hydra split-off group. You’d come into your room to find Hawkeye passed out in your bed, with dried blood in his hair and still dressed in his mission gear. He’d been cleared by the medical team pretty quickly – for once he’d actually gotten away with just a few cuts and bruises – and had been ushered out while they looked after those of you with more prevalent injuries.
Clint had been lying face down on top of your sheets and hugging a pillow to his chest, and you’d found the image so ridiculously adorable you’d decided to let him keep sleeping. You’d rolled your eyes, cleared the blood out of his hair with your good hand without waking him up and let him be. You’d slept of the couch instead, but had made sure to take a picture of the super spy spooning your pillow – it was currently set as his Caller I.D. photo on your phone.
He’d woken up over a full day later, and you’d never seen him so sheepish before. He’d gone up to check on you and had decided to wait when he’d realized he’d beaten you there. It really didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, and in this case it had been understandable; it was one hell of a long day.
“Your bed is comfier than mine.” Clint said, yawning as if to prove some kind of point.
“Hard to believe Tony Stark would have bought a shitty mattress,” you pointed out teasingly. “Must be all those fluffy pillows and soft blankets you make fun of me for.”
“All I said was you could build a nest in there.”
“You would know, Feather-Head.”
Clint flipped you off and your grinned childishly at him in response. In truth, you knew he loved all the extra bedding you had; more than once he’d poached a blanket and a pillow or two on colder nights rather than just asking JARVIS to turn up the heat in his room, and he always hogged the quilt if you brought one down during movie night.
His expression turned to a hopeful, lop-sided smile. “So… movie?”
You ruffled his hair affectionately as you moved around to the front of the couch, flopping into the seat next to him. Beer sloshed out of the bottle in your hand as you did, and Clint snorted as you hastily sucked it off the back of your fingers.
“You’re so classy.”
“Shut up or I’ll change my mind.”
“You’re in?”
“What else are going to do? Go out, get drunk and hook up like normal people our age?” you joked. “Of course, I’m in. It’s Friday, isn’t it?”
He chuckled as you tucked your legs up under yourself. The two of you had been doing movie nights together for a couple of months now; it wasn’t ever intended to be a tradition, but it had kind of become that. Almost every Friday night, barrin a few missions, the two of you would find something on Netflix, order in dinner and spend the night just hanging out like normal people instead of two assholes who occasionally helped save the world. All this was much to Natasha’s chagrin – she insisted you needed to go out and actually meet people, but you were more than happy to spend your Friday nights with her best friend instead. Occasionally she or one of the other Avengers would join you – you always watched them in communal areas – but most often it was just the two of you.
“Action movie?”
“Dude, we basically live in an action movie,” you pointed out, stretching languidly. Your overworked muscles ached pleasantly as you did. “How about a horror?”
You looked over at him when he didn’t reply; he was looking at you with unfocused eyes, his hand clutching his beer. You snapped your fingers in front of his face. “You in there, buddy?”
Clint shook himself slightly, as if bringing himself back to the present. “Sorry, what?”
You smiled, mildly confused by his lack of focus. “Horror movie?”
“Right… meet in the middle and watch a thriller?”
“Deal.” You leaned forward to snatch the remote off the table and tossed it into his sweatpants-covered lap. “Pick a good one, Bird Man.”
“Aye, Aye, Cap’n.” he replied, saluting. Clint settled back into the cushions and opened Netflix. You watched him scroll through movies, sipping at your beer and helping yourself to more Cheetos.
“How’d you know I was going to come down here, anyway?” you asked after a minute or so. “I mean, we have a perfectly good TV in the common room on our floor.”
He shrugged a shoulder, his eyes still on the screen. “Fury had you on weight training with Sam today. You always hit up the snack bar after that.”
“Am I really that predictable?” you joked as your phone buzzed in the pocket of your hoodie. You were in peak comfort clothing; cotton sleep shorts, a tank top, ridiculously thick socks and a mauve hoodie you’d stolen from Clint weeks ago during another movie night. You were surprised he hadn’t asked for it back yet. You dug your phone out of your pocket; you had a message from ‘Carmen Sandiego’.
“Nah, I just pay attention.” Clint replied causally. “Oh, and I ate your Red Vines.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Yeah? Call the cops, hoodie-thief.” Clint laughed, tugging pointedly at your sleeve.
“You have enough to last you through the apocalypse, Barton.” You shot back. “Didn’t think you’d miss one.”
“Who’s texting you?”
“It’s my secret lover.” You quipped, snickering as he raised a brow, stiffening beside you ever so slightly. “Chill, man. You’re not losing your movie night. It’s just Nat.”
Clint relaxed beside you, giving you a cheeky smirk. “Well, I ain’t about to complain about that mental image.”
You scoffed and he laughed again, shying away from your prodding elbow.
You could practically see Nat rolling her eyes at that; she clearly had intended to get you out of the tower for the night. Instead, you were spending another night on the couch with Clint instead of out on the town with her and whoever else she was luring out of their rooms for the evening.
“This is the one.” The archer beside you proclaimed proudly, pointing to the movie title highlighted on the screen. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly; the two of you had watched this one at least twice already.
“Bring on the suspense,” you agreed.
“JARVIS, hit the lights?” Clint asked the room as he hit play, and the lights dimmed immediately. You moved to settle back against the couch, but Clint crooked a finger at you, smiling. “What are you doing? Get over here.”
You grinned back at him, scooting closer to his side until your knees rested on his thigh. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against the warmth of his side. You settled in comfortably, giggling when he grumbled in your ear as the opening credits began. “Your hair’s wet.”
“Oh, grow up, you big baby.” You teased as your phone buzzed again. “Better damp hair than being all gross and sweaty, right?”
Clint shrugged, pinching your knee jokingly. “Depends on the context.”
You poked him in the side, snickering.
You caught Clint trying to read over your shoulder, and you stuck your tongue out at him as you shoved it back into your pocket. He shook his head at you. “You’re such a dork.”
“Oh, you love it.”
***
“Well, aren’t you two cozy?” Tony’s voice cut through your movie-induced bubble just as a phone rang onscreen, and you jumped. Clint grumbled something under his breath as he paused the movie, his warm hand squeezing your shoulder in a reflexive, comforting gesture. Tony Stark strolled out of the elevator, Nat by his side and Sam in tow. He dropped into one of the recliners, cocky smirk on his lips. “We’re not interrupting anything are we?”
“Just the movie,” Clint groused petulantly, and Tony’s smile widened mischievously as he gave your position a pointed look. You pulled away from Clint’s side, straightening. Clint spared you a glance as his arm slid off of your shoulders. You felt Nat’s breath on your neck as she leaned over the back of the couch to speak in your ear.
“You sure it’s not a date? You two look pretty cozy.” She laughed as she stepped away again, avoiding the half-hearted swipe you sent her way.
“Didn’t know you were bringing guests, Nat.”
She shrugged, perching on the arm of the couch. “Just Sam. Tony invited himself.”
“I do own the place.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be off at some benefit with Pepper tonight?” you asked, accepting the beer Sam offered you. Clint and Nat took one as well.
“So, we’ll be late.”
“Fashionably so?”
“When will you learn, Y/N? Everything I do is fashionable.” Tony replied with a wink, and Clint snorted. Nat rolled her eyes. “You’ve just spent too much time with Legolas here to remember what fashion is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Clint asked, affronted, his beer paused at his lips.
“When was the last time you wore anything other than sweatpants?”
“They’re comfortable. Sue me.” Clint shot back, slumping further down in his seat. You patted his knee comfortingly, giving him a teasing pout.
“Sam and I are dragging Steve out tonight.” Nat said, tucking fiery hair behind her ear. “Thought we might take him to a club. Want to come?”
“As funny as it would be to watch Steve experience EDM for the first time,” you said. “I’m good here.”
“Clint?”
He raised a brow at his best friend. “When have I ever enjoyed clubbing?”
“You two are no damn fun,” Sam told you, shaking his head.
“Mr. Barton, Ms. Y/L/N, your delivery has arrived.” JARVIS informed you from overhead. “Shall I send them up?”
“Nah, I’ll go get it, JARVIS, thanks.” Clint replied, standing. He touched a hand to your shoulder and squeezed it gently as he left.
Tony spoke as soon as the elevator doors closed behind him. “When are you two just going to admit you like each other?”
Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Sam laughed. “Oh, come on, Y/N. We all know you and Clint—”
“We’re friends, Sam.” You shot back, rolling your eyes. Still, you could feel the warmth of a lush rising in your neck.
“Friends don’t spend their Friday nights cuddling on the couch in their pajamas.” Tony pointed out snidely. “Or if they do, Nat, I’m going to need you to find your fuzzy bunny slippers and a negligee.”
“We’re friends, Tony?” She joked back, smirking when he gasped in offence. “Y/N, you’re literally wearing his sweater right now.”
“It’s comfy,” you said lamely, folding your arms over your chest. “Doesn’t mean we’re sleeping together.”
Tony scoffed, and you rolled your eyes.
“You should be.” Sam muttered, and you shot him a look. “What? You two have like some Ross-and-Rachel-sitcom-romance-will-they-won’t-they-thing going on and you need to either throw my boy a bone and admit you like him back or cut him loose so he can move on.”
“So, you both can.” Nat said meaningfully, pointing at you with her beer.
“You guys are giving me too much credit, here.” You responded, holding up your hands. “Clint doesn’t have feelings for me.”
“Yes, he does.” Nat and Tony said in unison.
“He totally does.” Sam agreed.
“Yes, I do.”
Your head jerked towards the elevator so fast that you almost gave yourself whiplash, eyes wide. Clint was standing in front of the closing elevator doors, three pizza boxes and a couple of garlic breads in his arms. There was the whisper of a shy smile on his lips and his eyes held your gaze, weighted with earnest. The look lasted a few long moments before he cleared his throat and continued into the room, dropping the takeout on the table and handing Nat her pizza as he sat back down beside you. You shook yourself to stop yourself staring, turning your eyes to stare at the paused image on the TV screen. You saw Nat wink at Clint out of the corner of your eye as she accepted the box from him.
“So…” Clint began, and you swallowed. “Are we watching this movie or not?”
“Yup!” you said, a little too loudly, and Tony laughed as he stood.
“I think I’ll leave you kids to it.” He said, waggling his eyebrows at you. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do, Stark.” Sam pointed out.
Tony caught your eye and winked, patting Clint on the shoulder as he passed him. “Exactly.”
***
You kept your eyes on the screen, managing to eat a slice and a half of pizza before giving up on it, your stomach and head swirling. You were too focused on the man sitting beside you; on how close he was to you, on how relaxed he was. You could feel Nat’s eyes on you, and occasionally Sam’s as well, and you could easily imagine the amused expressions on their faces. You weren’t sure whether you were grateful to them or ready to curse them out for staying; Nat was letting you stew on this revelation before discussing it. She knew you had a tendency to react instinctively to new information, to act before thinking it through. This was her forcing you to think it through. To figure out exactly how you felt about Clint.
Clint’s hand brushed over your knee as he reached for garlic bread, drawing you out of your thoughts, and your breath caught. You cleared your throat when it drew his eyes to you, swallowing down a mouthful of beer to cover your nerves.
“Well,” Nat said loudly, standing and making a show of stretching. The movie only had another twenty minutes or so left, but Clint didn’t bother pausing it this time. “We better be going. Steve’s got a date with the dance halls of the twenty-first century.”
Sam grinned broadly as he joined her. “Have fun, you two.”
You had to stop yourself from burying your face in your hands at that comment, but you did roll your eyes at Nat as she left. The score built in the movie you still paid no attention to for a few moments before you summoned enough courage to take the remote and press pause.
“Clint…”
“You don’t have to say anything, Y/N.” he said, surprisingly casual. He turned to look at you, his expression soft. “I said what I said. I said it because I don’t feel like I should hide it anymore. You know how I feel now, we can just leave it at that. You don’t have to give me some big speech about how you just wanna be friends.”
“How do you know that’s what I’m going to say?”
He shrugged, leaning back against the cushions again. He scratched the back of his head, almost sheepishly. “Didn’t think you’d spent the last half hour sitting like you’ve got a rod up your spine because you were happy about it.”
“Clint.” You said, ducking your head. “I…”
“Y/N, it’s okay.” There was an almost remorseful… self-depreciating note to his tone. “Like I said, you don’t have to try and let me down easy. I didn’t say anything before because I’m happy just being your friend. You’re—”
“Clint,” you said again, your voice soft. “Shut up.”
You closed the distance between the two of you, pressing your lips to his. Your hand brushed against his cheekbone before moving down to twist in the front of his tee-shirt, tugging him closer. He doesn’t react at first, caught off-guard, but at the feeling of the pull at his chest he began kissing you back, his lips warm and soft against yours. His hand ghosted up your arm to cup your cheek and then tangle in your still-damp hair, urging you closer.
Kissing Clint was wonderful, like something you didn’t know was missing was falling into place. It was familiar and brand-new all at once, a fire that felt both comforting and consuming. His teeth grazed your lower lip, a groan vibrating in his chest. He broke away to breathe, his nose brushing against yours. His breath warmed your cheek.
“Clint…”
“I should have told you months ago,” he chuckled, breathily, kissing you again. Your fingers slid through his hair and you tugged at it, your tongue mingling with his. Clint pulled you into his lap and you straddled it, your arms wrapping around his neck. His lips left yours to press kisses to your jaw and your neck, his hands tightening on your waist as you let out a tiny moan as he found a sensitive spot under your ear. “Should have kissed you months ago…”
You brought his lips back to yours as his hands slipped over your hips, and he gripped them tightly, turning to lay you out on the couch, his body covering yours. Your knees bent to rest on either side of his hips, your hands running over his shoulders to take hold of the hard muscles of his biceps.
As soon as your back hit the cushions, something exploded, and Clint’s body covered yours protectively, pulling your face to his chest, his own tucked into your shoulder as Wham!’s Careless Whisper began blaring overhead. Confetti rained down on the two of you, coating Clint in glittery, rainbow paper. He pulled away from you, a battle-ready expression on his face for the split-second it took him to realize what was happening. He sat back on his haunches, one hand braced on the back of the couch and shook confetti out of his hair.
“JARVIS?! What the actual fuck?” you shouted over the music, and it lowered to a more reasonable decibel immediately.
“My apologies to the both of you,” came the reply, and the AI actually managed to sound contrite. “I was following instructions left by Mr. Stark earlier this evening.”
You groaned and sat up, tossing your legs over Clint’s lap as he returned to a sitting position, your back against the arm rest. He picked confetti out of your hair and tossed it on the floor as he spoke. “And what was that exactly?”
“I was asked to initiate the protocol you just experienced when the two of you ‘got horizontal’. His words, Mr. Barton.”
You shook your head in disbelief, and Clint ran a hand over his face.
“I’m going to kill Tony.”