Chapter: 2/?
Word Count: 3041
Pairings: Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff
Characters: Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff
Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fear of heights, Acrophobia, Panic Attack, Slow Burn, Clint's a little drunk, Pietro's a flight risk always, Spoilers, Canon Events Discussed, Fix-It Fic, Pietro's Not Dead, Suicidal Ideation Mention
Chapter Summary: Pietro was flighty and nervous, but Clint was nothing if not patient.
AN: Wow, so, I know this one hasn't been waiting SUPER long, but it's still a little longer than I'd like. I finally feel like I can write again, so I want to take advantage of that while I can. I'm going to try and edit/post things as much as possible today, as well.
Translations can be found at the end of the chapter. For the record, I'm using Google Translate for some of Pietro's lines. I do not speak Romanian at all, though the language is beautiful to me, and if you would like to correct any mistakes, please let me know!
Another note, I know I write Pietro's broken English as worse than in the movie, but I happen to like the idea of him having a harder time with English than Wanda, who can glean things from people's minds. It's a personal headcanon of mine.
On to the story!
Chapter Two: This Is For Real ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Whatever sound he'd made was forgotten as the pair rounded out onto the rooftop. A narrow spiral swirled up what looked to be a steep incline with just enough space for the two of them on the partially tilted platform, and Pietro was slack-jawed, speechless. Naturally, a human bird would want to be up as high as possible with his fallen new beginning, but the quick little rabbit in his talons was honestly ready to scream. The biggest trouble with that seemed to be the sudden lack of air in his lungs, fear paralyzing him mid-gasp.
Quivering in the elder's arms, he buried his nose in the crook of Clint's neck, eyes screwed shut until his head throbbed. A tiny, cracked word in Sokovian left him before he was able to correct himself. Clint didn't understand a lick of Sokovian, according to Natasha. Romanian and Russian were easier for him. He didn't quite manage English even if he wanted to, but that wasn't the biggest concern.
"Nu aici."
There was a whimper entangled in those words that stopped Clint in his tracks. Breath punched from his gut, he glanced down at the precious seventeen-year-old in his arms, clinging to him like it would make a difference in his status as alive or deceased. Had he already messed up? Even he wasn't so socially awkward as to think he'd done everything right. If the kid was shaking like that, it meant he had mere seconds to rectify whatever slight he'd managed in a few minutes' time. A comfortable silence had fallen over them while he carried the other off like a prize, a stingy bird wanting this shiny treat all to himself on the highest peak-
Oh. He could have kicked himself. It was the damn heights! It was only natural for heights to worry the Sokovian. He'd practically died some hundreds of feet up in the air on a tiny spit of land barely held together by spite and malice. Had Pietro not shoved that car in the way of Clint and that small boy- he'd learned his name had been Radek -he probably would have feared heights just the same. Well, maybe not to such an extent, but he wasn't about to give Pietro any more reasons to leave so soon. The Sokovian in his arms was flighty at best, and he wasn't ready to return to cradling a ghost to his chest.
Backpedaling for the door he'd all but left without a second thought, they climbed back down the spiral staircase until they reached something a little more neutral; a spare room, sparsely decorated and evidently meant for occupants that didn't mind entertaining each other. Maybe that was a little more to ask for than was polite after just finding out that Pietro was alive (He was breathing and shaking and his smile was fire in Clint's veins), but Clint knew that, at the very least, there was going to be no space between them for the next six eternities if he could help it.
Already, Pietro was capable of sliding his nose against Clint's collarbone and neck, peeking one impossibly blue eye over the rise of his shoulder to survey their surroundings. The quiet thrum of the bass in whatever song was playing some ten floors down barely reached them, but it was as loud as any other feeling throbbing through Clint's feet. Rubbing out the rhythm in the small of the other's back, he drug his feet as each weary step brought them that much closer to the crisp, modern white couch.
In what felt like an eternity and a blink, Pietro was on his back with the full weight of Clint's body held just above his heaving chest. The seventeen-year-old stared up at him, lips parted and eyes wide, as the elder male offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. If the way he felt his face moving (and the uncertain glimmer in Pietro's eyes) said anything, it was that he'd missed his mark entirely, for once.
"You look like a cornered rabbit." The look on his face told Pietro that Clint hadn't intended on saying such a thing out loud, and as he gazed up at the elder man, hands by his head and fingers slightly curled inward, his whole body gave a minute twitch. A cornered rabbit? He supposed he was fast and jumpy, even on the best of days. Quick to anger, quick to fear, quick to run with his tail tucked and teeth bared like he might do something about what had bothered him.
It was no surprise to him that he wasn't really much of a fighter. He could do whatever he could to help in a battle, as his wits were as nimble as his feet, but just because he was a champion improviser didn't mean he was always invaluable. Wanda was the one with talent, and he was always dispensable. Except that he wasn't. Wanda, and now Clint, had proven to him that he had a purpose, and his life wasn't just a speck of dust, or barely a blip on the map. Not anymore; He had a reason to hold on and keep trying. That wasn't to say he'd ever been suicidal per se, but he had certainly thought himself to be lesser than his sister on multiple occasions.
While it was true that he would defend his sister and himself until he was blue in the face, the thought dwelled in the shadows of his mind that he wasn't as important as Wanda. Or, rather, he was important because of Wanda. It had always felt like that, though, even before they had become lab rats for Strucker. It was always his number one priority to make sure Wanda was always okay.
And, now, she was.
But was he? Without worrying about Wanda, there was a new, open-ended wound in his chest that nobody saw. He'd spent so long making sure she was safe, she was taken care of, she was fed and had what she really needed, that he wasn't sure he could offer himself the same kindness.
It must have been taking him too long to respond, which he could have given a breathless chuckle about had Clint not shifted above him awkwardly. Eyes drawing back up to him, he had to fight not to scowl. He hated the uncertain look on the elder man's face, the equal balance of his swaying body, all asking the same question: Should I stay, or should I go?
"A rabbit?" He tried on that cocky smirk, the usual mask he put on when he was feeling anything but self-assured. "You think I am rabbit, now?"
"And why not? You'd be cute with big floppy ears." Clint muttered, having already dug his hole and decided he'd lie in it. Whether it be a makeshift bed or a shallow grave, had yet to be seen.
"Ești bătrân sentimental, credeam că vrei să mă dai, să nu te ții și să mă petreci." The snort that left Pietro almost made Clint smile of his own volition, but it fell when that distant look returned to his hopeful partner's eyes.
"We don't have to do anything-" Before that whole train could start, Pietro derailed it by snatching both of Clint's cheeks in his hands hard enough to force a hollow sound from his opened lips, kissing him suddenly.
"I need it, as do you." Pietro began, softly, when he finally pulled away, the tingling in his lips making him take pause to try and just relish in the feeling. "But maybe embers are better than roaring fire, da?" For now, at least.
After a moment's thought, Clint dropped down to line their bodies up perfectly, holding himself against the other with just enough pressure to be reassuring. Well, he hoped it didn't feel stifling, but he had to admit that it honestly was the most relaxed he'd felt in over a month, despite the tense line of his shoulders. Lips together, he pressed each word into the younger's mouth like a promise, sealed with a kiss at the apex of every one.
"I think I'll be burning for you for a long time." He informed, voice quiet yet impactful in the silence around them, "You lit a fire in me I didn't think could be rekindled."
The thought only made the younger man blush, looking away shyly as the elder man shifted to the side, closer to the back of the couch. Pietro shook his head.
"No, no, you. I want the inside." A barely concealed peal of laughter belied the scolding tone to the other's voice and he winked, "I will feel safe walled in by soft and hard." His hand passed over the couch as he said 'soft', and the stiff muscles of Clint's back as 'hard' rolled off of his tongue. It was Clint's turn to grow hot in the face, and he chuckled a little, letting the booze in his system guide him instead of his asocial behavior.
"Very well, princess. Whatever you want." He muttered, rolling to put his body between Pietro and the outside world. In a strange twist of fate, he found himself enjoying the feeling of caging him in, keeping him safe and free of the world's cold, grimy hands. If he had anything to say about it, what had happened in Sokovia would never happen again.
"Princess?" Scoffing, Pietro settled in with his nose tucked against Clint's collarbone, uncaring that he looked so small and frail in the other's strong arms. Maybe he'd been flagging on his health when he had been trying not to be dead, but he didn't seem truly bothered by the whole ordeal. Still, feeling like he was constantly starved was probably a small warning sign. That, and the addition that Clint apparently saw him as small, frail and fluffy, well, it all made him wonder just what he was doing here. The resounding, unanimous answer from every fiber of his being was that he didn't want to leave. "I am no princess."
"You're beautiful and fair-skinned, you do what you can for your people, and you would do better than most people would in that role, I think," Clint muttered into the crown of his head, and the younger man felt his cheeks warming again. Hiding his face in the elder Avenger's chest, he huffed a little. "Even better than your sister."
"You make me sound so... Fancy." And it made his chest hurt with how quickly his heart was beating.
"Maybe you are." The look of adoration in Clint's eyes could have burned him, and he half wanted to reach out and extinguish the flames trying to choke him out. Instead, the lazy, drunken, genuine smile on the elder's face just made him laugh gently, shaking his head.
"You must think I am fragile, like doll."
"I think you're mine… If you want to be, and everything that is mine could be snatched away without a second's notice." Clint tried calmly, his smile curling up just a bit more to add sincerity. While there was an underlying anxiety to his words, it came off more silly to him than anything. Pietro was thankful for it despite placing his hand over the other's face, trying to hide his own embarrassment.
"Old man, you are too... Ah, what is word..." His brows knit together and Clint pressed a kiss to his palm, which only made him frown more, concentration waning, "You are like moon. Made entirely of cheese." At the very least, Clint let out a rumble of a laugh that only sunk Pietro's feelings of independence further.
"That isn't exactly an answer." He informed dryly, grinning from ear to ear as he kissed his way from one ear to the other. They could discuss what the mood was made with the other another time. As much as a silly reprieve would have been nice, his feelings were out there, on the line, and he couldn't deny his curiosity to have his question sated.
"You did not ask question." Smart ass. Clint gently knocked his chin into the younger's forehead before shaking his head and clucking his tongue.
"Do you want to be mine?" He breathed, bringing their mouths back together again, just enough pressure behind the movement to never be enough. "You said you thought it would be just tonight... And if that's what you want, then I will keep it to just this one time." He couldn't keep it to just this one time. All of this contact, the jokes and teasing, it would live on in his mind in perfect harmony for the rest of his life, playing back to him when he needed comfort and warmth. But, for Pietro, he would do anything, even if he didn't understand the sudden intensity of the desire for the teen he hadn't noticed before. The lyrics from earlier popped back into his head.
I'm lost in admiration
Could I need you this much?
"I will... Think about it." Pietro replied, that flighty, queasy smile finding his lips that made Clint wonder just what was going on behind those stormy eyes. "But for tonight, I am your princess. Your princess... Rabbit?" He tipped his head cutely and Clint's lips found his again like heat-seeking missiles.
"The most beautiful of rabbits... Half a winter coat and a smile that could melt the polar ice caps." Usually, Clint wasn't this smooth. Some part of him figured it was because Pietro needed reassurance just as much as he did. It helped that neither of them were well-versed in a lot of social aspects and situations. Their upbringings had been good to them in that regard, for each other's purposes. One hand skated through Pietro's hair, and while the younger flinched at first, he seemed appreciative after a second, melting into it like he had an eternity for it.
"And what does that make you?" He questioned softly, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as he smoothed Clint's shirt over his chest in a few places. Mostly, it was an excuse to get away with touching him some more, but neither of them was willing to say anything.
"Whatever you want me to be." Came the easy response. "If I must be your bed, your protector, your old man," He shot the other a teasing smirk, "Whatever you need... I'll be it."
The genuine tone and oddly sentimental words struck Pietro like a blow to the chest, and he went stock still for a moment before relaxing once more. Love had been something he didn't have a lot of growing up, and for people to truly care about him still perplexed him. Wanda didn't count, because she was all he had. She had always been the only one to care for him, because even he didn't know how to handle himself. Or, at least, that was how it had been, once. Now, everything seemed so… Up in the air. But that was not a thought for such intimate moments. No, he didn't need to be thinking about Sokovia, and how his life had felt like a coin tossed into a tornado's vortex.
"Then be my blanket. It is... Cold." Pietro wasn't cold. More often than not, the chill of the world didn't get through to him, but the excuse was one he couldn't pass up. He was enjoying cuddling with Clint, holding onto him and staying as close as possible. Maybe he would never admit to it, but this was the best he'd ever felt, being touched by another man. For the first time, he didn't feel an underlying fear of what pain would befall him. It felt a little more like he was scared to lose this incredible heat in his chest.
"A blanket it is," Clint replied, curling up around the speedster, tangling their legs and making sure they were both comfortable as he could manage. A long, comfortable silence stretched out between them, the loudest thing in the room being Clint's thumb slowly working a gentle back and forth motion into the younger's hip. The fabric of his shirt was soft, breathable and probably aerodynamic, for all he knew, but those things didn't matter right now. What mattered was that he had the other in his arms, and they were safe. They were comfortable. He kept reminding himself that Pietro was still alive.
Neither man knew exactly when they had fallen asleep, their bodies ready to bond in ways that even sex couldn't accomplish. A dreamless, pleasant sleep washed over both of them like a summer shower over a drought-stricken land, and Clint felt the restlessness leech from his bones for the first time since the last time he'd held Pietro in his arms.
However, when Clint woke up, he was alone.
Jerking from his dreamlessness with a silent, choked cry, his eyes were wide and wild when he realized his arms were empty. Was last night some alcohol-induced fever dream? God above, he hoped not. There was a soft, lingering scent of sea salt and spice that had him relaxing back into the couch, burying his nose in the cushions. Chasing it until he pressed his face into the crease of the cushions at the back corner of the couch, he sighed softly through his nose, a smile quirking his lips up just slightly. He wouldn't forget that smell, even if the strongest memory of it was also the harshest to remember. The kid was alive and well, if not as much of, or even more of, a flight risk as he'd ever been.
But Clint was patient. One could only sit back and watch so many times without acting if they had the patience of a man that knew he had more stamina than his prey. Eventually, the rabbit would slow, and the hawk would make his move.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN:
For the record, I have writing commissions open! Prices are below the translation, and anyone that wants one may DM me on Twitter ( Sunshinecackle )!
Translations:
Nu aici. - Romanian - Not here.
Ești bătrân sentimental, credeam că vrei să mă dai, să nu te ții și să mă petreci. - Romanian - You sentimental old man, I thought you wanted to fuck me, not hold and pet me.
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