By popular favoriting/following, a sequel to Facade. Prompt inspired by Pat McCrotch's comment about Tony's voluptuous bedsheets.
No beta this time.
Prompts for future slash parodies are welcome! And reviews too, those are very welcome.
Pretenses to shock a (super) soldier
The ripple of satin as it floated on generated currents coupled with the therapeutic measures of lavender and citrus lulled him into a passivity, his present cares feathers on a breeze of...well, that would be difficult to fold if he needed both ends held up at once. Plus the wrinkles. Man, he hated being unable to do a simple thing like folding some bedsheets himself.
The door to the laundry room bangs open and Clint slams it behind himself, barring it with his weight. A can of silly string in one hand and whipped cream in the other.
And Tony can't resist the urge to roll his eyes even before he asks Barton what delinquent s**t he's gone and racked himself into. It's like living with an overgrown two-year-old, he decides. Except a two-year-old you could stick in a corner for ten minutes without giving yourself a death-wish. "What"
Clint gives the silly string can a good rattle before he groans. "Dammit, I'm out of ammo." He chucks the can into a trash bin across the room then gives Tony that how dare you invade my personal space stare that Tony supposes is meant to be frightening, not annoying. "How was I s'pposed to know it was Banner's last bag of chocolate-covered cherries?"
"Maybe if you actually read the label."
"Now he's trying to drag me down to his lab. Heaven knows what goes on down there, and there's no way I'm letting him do weird-ass experiments on me."
Tony flicked the bedsheet. "Grab that end and help me fold this thing or I'll tell J to broadcast your whereabouts to Banner."
"You're almost as evil as he is."
"Now. Or I'm counting to five. One…two…"
Clint squirts the last of the whip cream in his mouth before tossing it in the garbage. "Seriously, Stark. You screw Pepper on Iron Man bedsheets?" he grabs the other end, smirking at the little Iron Mans that dot the red satin. Iron Man with an American flag, Iron Man surrounded by a small crowd, Iron Man flying, Iron Man saving Pepper… "Tone down on the ego, why don't you."
"Custom made. Besides, Pepper loves them." Tony gives the sheets another shake, pleased when Barton follows his motions instead of the other end dragging on the floor.
Steve strolls in with a basket of laundry, cheerily whistling "Yankee Doodle" while he starts to load his clothes into the wash.
Clint catches Tony's eye and flashes him a sinister grin with a nod at Steve. And it's a look the billionaire understands all too well after spending this much time around the assassin: Being at the bunt end of "insert-name-here's" –in this instance, Banner's— vengeance had him itching to pull one on Steve which was always guaranteed for a laugh. And he, as cruel as it might be, wouldn't say no to the assassin. The incident where he and Clint'd played the gay card on Steve still had him cracking up in board meetings and public places where it wasn't at all appropriate. (Even Pepper was at a loss to explain.) Steve, for his part, refused to sit beside Clint at any of their public events after a number of similar prank had been pulled. Tony would be sorry, after he'd finished laughing about it. If he ever did.
The soldier pulled out a few soggy pairs of pants which he tossed into the dryer. When he came upon some of Pepper's personal articles, he blushed and threw them in as fast as possible.
"Bet these sheets feel really good, Stark." Clint rubbed his cheek against the sheet before tucking the two ends together and bringing them to Tony's.
"You know the problem of needing something cool in the summer and something warm in the winter, well these are specially designed to comfort despite the season."
"Specific individuals?" Clint's tone is cloyingly innocent as he takes up his end of the topsheet to fold.
Tony raises an eyebrow.
"Sort of like 'yeah I'll invite you over for a few shots of Smirnoff and you want to give it a whirl, but don't get drunk cos I don't want you puking after you roll naked in the sheets' deal. And I would."
The dryer door slams harder than it needs to.
"You? You think I'd go through all this trouble just to give you the best five-minute special of your life? You don't deserve the first romp in freshly washed sheets," says Tony with a snort. "Unless" he gives the sheet another shake to make it billow in the air "you'd be willing to make it worth my while."
"Are we talking a date now? Cos there's no way I'm rolling on the bottom."
"I could pay you a thousand dollars to ride top." Tony stifles a chuckle as he watches Steve fumbling to load his laundry; the solder repeatedly dropping articles on the floor in his haste to get them in the machine. "Or a year's worth of chocolate-covered cherries so Banner won't be on your ass for swiping his."
Clint gives a dark smirk. "Yeah, I'd rather have you on my ass than him. You strike me as having more coordination."
"Ha. You said it: On."
"You think I want to be under your sweaty body? Hey Steve…" he turns to the soldier who tries (vainly) to mask his growing embarrassment with irritation. "Don't you think I should be on top?"
"Come on, I've got way more experience on you."
Steve waves a hand carelessly, knocking his basket to the floor. "How about you both talk about something normal for once. I know you're only trying to make me uncomfortable anyway."
"Think he's trying to throw his own hint?" Tony faux stage-whispers to Clint. "Then again, I suppose anyone would be more uncomfortable having to watch than actually being…" he catches the glare Steve is giving him and ends the thought while he's still standing.
Clint scowls, disappointed his ruse isn't working as well this time. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't do it."
"Do that and Natasha and Pepper would have your heads." He looks from one to the other, stifling his own laughter.
Stevie Wonder's finally getting the hang of the game. Tony can't help being just a little impressed, aside from his own disappointment. (Even if Steve's laughter did sound a bit forced.)
"Fine. You win." Clint snatches up the folded sheets and shoves them into Steve's arms. "Give us a hand then at getting these one. Tony's got a king so it's a bitch for two to get the sheets on, nevermind one."
Steve shrugs. "Alright."
They set to work on the bed in an amiable (amnestic, in Barton's case) silence that close friends are comfortable with. When the bed is done and waiting, Tony admires it for a minute. Clint tosses Steve the pillows to have the slipcovers put on and then the only warning Tony gets is that glint in the assassin's eye before he's burrowing under the fresh sheets. He squirms a bit and Tony detects a faint rustling of denim under the sheets before Clint deposits his pants out one side. The shirt follows in turn.
Oh hell, Clint… you wouldn't.
"That was an invitation, wasn't it?" Clint's sass is contagious. With a glance at Steve still fiddling with one pillow, Tony sees he's got time.
"Are you playing chicken or are you going to roll naked in my sheets?" Tony folds his arms, self-assuredly. "Bet you're a chicken-hawk. If you're not naked, it doesn't count." Before Steve looks up, Tony passes Clint a pair of boxers (clean) that he concealed in his pocket with a conspiratory grin.
Clint grins.
Steve finishes getting the second slipcover on just in time to get wacked in the face with the boxers. He pulls them off. "Watch where you're…" he sees Clint rolling all over the fresh sheets, back at the garment in his hand, and his face flushes red.
Tony's standing at the bedside smirking before Clint reaches out to grab him by the wrist. "Nothing like a twosome to end with a bang. I'll let you top—"
"Ha. I knew you couldn't resist being under this. Hey, Stevie, want…" Tony glances over but Steve is already gone.
"THREESOME, ROGERS."
"We got him, Clint. We got him." And then Tony lets himself surrender to insane laughter. By this point, he thinks it's possible to list it as a potential C.O.D. "You are going to wash those sheets again, you know,"
"Yeah?" Clint flips the covers off and is out of bed, fully clothed. He smirks at Tony's surprise and picks up the shirt and pants off the floor to hand them over. (He recognizes them as his. Barton must've swiped them from the folded pile.) "Oh, c'mon, did you really think I'd defile this perfect ass by a romp in your sheets?"