Bruce wasn't sure exactly how the party got started. They'd made the early show of KÂ; Steve had wanted to see Cirque du Soleil, Tony hadn't seen that one, and the Big Guy had really enjoyed the amazing performance, especially the shadow puppet scene and the big platform that tilted and spun. But things had started to get out of hand even as they went in. Clint insisted they have giant sized peach slushies – alcoholic, of course, and they were so sweet and fruity, Bruce had two before he even realized it – and Tony's presence didn't go unnoticed. Bruce often forgot Tony was a celebrity; working all day with him in the lab, he didn't seem glamorous, just the same old obnoxious and brilliant Tony who never cleaned his workspace. When women screamed, sometimes literally fainting at Tony's feet, and men clamored for his opinion, Bruce wanted to roll his eyes and remind Tony that he'd left a coffee stain on the blueprints for the new communicators he'd been working on.

The evening had somehow morphed into the penthouse full of showgirls, acrobats, and a couple business men from a Delaware company that manufactured parts for Stark Industries who had happened to be at the show. Alcohol was flowing like water, food kept appearing … hell, there was a chef in the kitchen taking orders for individually made omelets… and the hot tub was full of half-naked bodies, Tony right in the middle of them, wearing a swimsuit, thank heavens. There'd be a moment where total nudity was an option, and Bruce had heaved a sigh of relief when Tony's common sense had exerted itself. To be honest, sometimes Bruce thought Tony didn't have any inhibitions at all.

He took a second to locate Clint and found him out by the pool with three of the girls, two of them topless, teaching them the finer art of the cannonball. Bruce half-expected to see him break out his bow at any minute and start giving archery lessons. He'd already been talked down from that ledge once; the bet was he could shoot the head off of a statue in a penthouse three buildings away, but Steve had put the kibosh on the scheme. Seeing Clint with the women, so obviously drunk, reminded Bruce of his earlier behavior; it embarrassed him to think of how easily jealousy had won over reason. Not that he hadn't enjoyed where things had ended up, but still, he liked to believe he was in control. Of course, Clint's assertion that he was committed to the relationship was important to him … and why he was taking the smile and jokes in stride now. So, instead of getting angry, he let himself enjoy watching the muscles in Clint's back shift and move as he jumped, knees pulled up to his chest, rolling slightly forward to hit legs first, causing a spray of water that drenched the people nearby, all of whom were too drunk to care. One of the acrobats decided he could do better and jumped in, executing a spectacular flip. A contest quickly developed, and Clint bowed out gracefully when the Cirque people got involved.

"Here," Steve sat a full plate down in front of Bruce. "Time for those of us with miracle metabolisms to eat again. Olive, manchego cheese, Serrano ham, and asparagus omelet." He took a bite from his own. "Sometimes I feel like the little guys from those movies that Tony and Clint love so much, the ones that eat all the time."

"Hobbits," Bruce nodded, forking up a mouthful. "Second breakfast and nuncheon. I liked them."

"Clint's enjoying himself. Were the purple swim trunks his idea?" Bruce noticed Steve's gaze flit over the gaggle of soaking wet women hanging on Tony.

"I talked him out of the Hulk ones," Bruce laughed, watching as Clint padded over to the hot tub and slipped in. Tony said something to the women, and they moved over to the business man on the other side.

"Here's a Campo Viejo red that should pair nicely with your omelets," Robert sat the two glasses of wine beside them; his tray held two more whiskeys that he carried over to the hot tub. Nothing seemed to faze the butler.

Bruce realized he'd finished his omelet just before Robert sat another one down beside the first. Idly, he started eating the second one, thinking that Clint and Tony looked relaxed, and thought he'd join them when he was finished.

…..

"So, this is your plan? Sit here with boobs pressed all over you? Good thinking, Stark?" Clint sipped the drink Robert had brought them, slowing down a little. He was feeling sort of queasy, a little overheated with just a mild headache, so it was time to cut back. He had some plans for the evening, ones even Bruce didn't know about yet, and no way in hell he was going to get blind stinking drunk instead.

"Um, excuse me? Are you going to give me advice now?" Tony asked; Clint noticed Stark was flushed – he probably needed to get out of the heat for a bit. "I don't remember asking for your opinion."

"You're right, you didn't. You can piss away any chance you have, and that's fine with me." Clint shrugged, feigning indifference. "Not like I care."

"Everyone can just quit trying to help. Really, I'm just …"

"… too fucked up to make it work." Clint finished for him; he'd heard this little speech from Tony before. "Yeah, I know that one. Say it enough myself. Look. We're all fucked up. Hell, we dress up in costumes and run around pretending to be heroes. By definition, we are required to have screwed up childhoods, massive psychic trauma, and psychiatrist bills out the ass, okay? But here's the truth. This thing with Bruce? Odds are one of us is going to fuck it up eventually … so I've decided that the mind-blowingly, damn good shag, regularly occurring sex is worth it, even if it's just for a short time. You might think about that because there's no way the two of you wouldn't make me wish for ear plugs three floors down." Clint punctuated his words by drunkenly poking Tony in the chest.

"Are you done?" Stark had that tolerant look on his face he often got when Clint amused him as he absently scratched his cheek.

"Hey, if you can't say stupid things when you're drunk, when can you, right?"

"For the record, it's really not any of your business …." Tony held up his hand to forestall Clint's argument "… but I'll give you that one since I did bet on when you and Bruce would finally fuck each other senseless."

Clint seemed to sober up for a second. "Either make the move or cut the guy loose. Don't' string him along. He's too good for that." Climbing out of the Jacuzzi, he grabbed a towel to dry off before he dripped his way across the tile floor, past a group of women dancing to music he didn't know, and over to the counter. Reaching around Bruce, he snagged the last bite off the plate as he slid onto the next stool.

"Steve seems right at home. I forget about his show biz experience." Clint bumped his knee against Bruce's as he spun around to look at the room. Steve was swapping stories about life on the road with a gaggle of women and a couple of the Cirque performers.

Robert sat a full-plate on the counter. "I added some patatas bravas for you, Mr. Barton," the butler gave him a set of silverware and a linen napkin along with a glass of red wine. "Would you like some, Dr. Banner? They're going fast."

"No, thank you, Robert. I'm full for the moment. Unless you have some of that wine left?" Bruce asked as Clint started eating.

"Oh, god, these are delicious. Remind me of a place in Cordoba, the old city, down one of those narrow little streets. Had the best potatoes, came with three dipping sauces." Clint shoved another big forkful into his mouth, chewed, and made little noises that sounded suspiciously like moans – and he didn't give a damn. "Nat ordered some eggplant thing – thought I'd hate it – but they were breaded, fried, and drizzled with honey. Honey, Bruce, all sticky and you had to lick your fingers when you were done." Eyes turned a darker blue as he talked, shifting in his seat to rub his thigh along Bruce's leg. "Can't remember the name of it, but, damn, I haven't had food like this since then. Maybe Pepe something."

"Casa Pepe de Juderia. It's near the Cathedral. Excellent food." Robert supplied the answer as he topped off Bruce's glass. "Miquel, the chef, is from the south of Spain. His family has a restaurant in town, little place off the strip, but very authentic. This is their recipe for the patatas."

"We should go tomorrow, just the four of us. Order tapas." Clint kept eating as he talked; the food was amazing and was filling up his stomach, helping ease the nausea that had been growing, pushing back the alcohol headache. Which, if hadn't been quite so drunk, would have registered as weird because he almost never got sick when he drank.

"Sounds good." Bruce agreed. Clint was glad to see Bruce mellow and happy, sipping his wine; he knew Bruce didn't like crowds, and this was not his type of party. "I don't know what's happening with the meetings, but we could do dinner."

"I'll be glad to make you a reservation. The establishment is very popular with the locals." Robert nodded as he moved off to take a tray of drinks to Steve and the ladies.

"I needed that," Clint pushed back the plate. "Something to soak up all the whiskey. Now, are you going to come into the pool or not?" Hand on Bruce's knee, Clint gave him his best come-hither look.

"You just ate."

"That's an old wives tale about waiting an hour, and just the pool. I promise. No diving or splashing or anything. You need to come out to the edge to see the city." Clint wiggled his eyebrows at Bruce, getting a smile at his antics. "Besides, you already have your suit on, just toss the shirt and let's go."

Bruce gave in, picking up his wine and taking it with them as they threaded their way to the pool. The water was just the right temperature; the sun began to set, heat giving way to coolness of desert night, and most of the people were clustered either with Tony in the hot tub or inside with Steve and the food. The water wasn't very deep, so they could walk all the way to the Plexiglas wall where the city stretched out before them, lights glowing as the darkness settled. Bumping up behind Bruce, Clint nuzzled his nose into Bruce's neck, and they floated together, not speaking, just watching the changing sky. Clint kissed Bruce's neck, gentle brush of lips along the muscle, warm breath curling over the skin; hands caressed Bruce's sides, winding around his waist to hug their bodies together.

"There are people everywhere," Bruce protested, but he covered Clint's hands with his own, making no effort to move away.

"Just a kiss, doc. Nothing but a kiss." Bruce's skin was beneath Clint's lips, and he tasted his way up Bruce's neck, behind his ear, scruff of Bruce's jaw prickly under his tongue as he caught Bruce's chin and turned his head towards him so he could reach his mouth. Starting with the bottom lip, he licked the edges then ran the tip of his tongue along the soft middle, parting and dipping into the wetness of Bruce's mouth. Wine and spice mingled, and Clint delved further, skating over teeth, slanting his lips and then sucking on the bottom as he pulled away.

"You're hot," Bruce said, moving Clint's hands, freeing himself to turn around. "I mean warm, like overheated."

"I'm always hot, doc," Clint grinned at the other man. "And I'm going to kiss you again."

"There's no such thing as just a kiss with you," Bruce answered, his eyes shining with pleasure and open invitation.

Keeping their fingers intertwined, Clint rested their hands on the Plexiglas wall and bent towards Bruce's mouth again, slowly, pausing just before lips touched and then sinking into the other man, bodies light and buoyant. He could kiss Bruce like this forever, floating both on the water and on a pleasant buzz, time collapsing until hours could be passing and he wouldn't even care. The sounds of the party faded, and he kept kissing Bruce with the kaleidoscope of lights behind them.

"Hey," Tony's voice intruded. "Hey. Enough of that. We're heading out to find a club. Get some clothes on and let's go."

"Club? What's wrong with here?" Clint complained, headache starting up again. He was entirely too content, and club hopping with Tony and entourage wasn't as appealing as working his way up to that big bedroom upstairs and kissing Bruce all night long.

"Steve's a Vegas virgin. Can't come to town and not do some club hopping, the cheesier the better." Tony had donned a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt at some point, and Clint realized that the room had cleared out, almost all the people gone. Maybe if it was just the four of them, the expedition might not be that bad.

Bruce pushed away from the wall. "Give us ten minutes; we'll be right behind you."

"You want to go?" Clint was surprised at Bruce's agreement.

"Someone has to keep Tony in line, and Steve will need a sober person to talk to." Bruce handed Clint a towel as he got out of the water. "Maybe we can find karaoke while we're out. You know I like to hear you sing."

It did take only five minutes to throw on some pants and shirts; Clint was finished by the time Bruce got directions from Tony for the first stop and came upstairs to change. Waiting downstairs for Bruce – so they'd actually get out of the hotel, Bruce had said - he noticed a gift basket set off to the side in the kitchen.

"Ladybank?" He asked Robert, pulling the bottle from the middle of the basket. "Where did this come from?"

"It arrived this afternoon, a welcome gift from Fabersham Metronics."

Clint cracked the seal; Tony kept fine scotch at the Tower, and Clint knew this was one of his favorites. Pouring just a little into the glass Robert gave him, he sniffed it first, savoring the aroma before sipping, letting it rest on his tongue before it slid like silk down his throat.

"You ready?" Bruce came down the stairs, just as the warmth of the liquor hit Clint's gut.

"Ladybank. Want some?" Clint raised his drink to show Bruce just as his mouth started to itch, the onset of heat flaring on his lips. His breathing hitched as his throat started to swell; glass shattered when it hit the floor, falling out of Clint's hand. Bruce grabbed him as he sagged; his head was on fire and he couldn't get enough air.

"Bruce?" He tried to say, but only a ragged gasp came out of his mouth. Pain exploded, washing down his shoulders and into his hands, fingers clenching, and his vision went red and then the world spun out of control.