The Control of Tension
Chapter 7: Fletched
Clint plays with Bruce's hair as Bruce attempts to get through a level of Little Big Planet without dying. Normally Bruce avoids video games because he sees how frustrating they can be for other people. But Clint has talked Bruce and Steve into trying this game, and it is pretty fun when Bruce can manage not to run out of lives.
"I like that there are so many cooperative games nowadays," says Steve. "There's enough fighting and competition in the real world."
"He's just saying that because he dies even more than you do," Clint tells Bruce, and then whispers loudly in the direction of Bruce's ear, "Every game is a competition." Then he puts his hands over Bruce's on the controller, and on the screen the little green sack smacks the little red white and blue sack, sending it flying.
Steve makes an annoyed noise but keeps his focus on the game. Bruce is about to complain at Clint, but then a memory from the Chitauri battle comes back to him suddenly and vividly. It's of Thor, going flying pretty much the same way the little cloth Cap just had on the screen.
Bruce had already turned to speak to Clint, so Clint sees the flickers of anger, amusement and confusion go past in Bruce's eyes. "What just happened?" the archer asks, real concern in his eyes for once, and Bruce is reassured to know that Clint doesn't take the Hulk lightly.
But that had been communication, not an attempted takeover. The dark water lay low and relatively still. Bruce smiles slightly as he replies to Clint.
"Hulk wants you to know that he thinks you're hilarious."
"Really?" Clint throws an arm across Bruce's shoulders. "I like the Hulk more and more."
Bruce shakes his head. "And he likes smacking smug blond allies in the middle of battle. So watch yourself."
Clint laughs.
"Don't worry," he says. "I'll always do my best to be polite to the Big Guy when he's in a smashy mood."
The words may be flippant and it's not a promise to stay away, but the tone is sincere, and Bruce is finally getting comfortable with the fact that Clint has good instincts, knows where to draw the line, and there's no use trying to tell him to back away from it. His nature is to walk the line and push the limits.
Bruce leans back against Clint's chest and continues to guide the little green ragdoll across the screen. Things go all right for a bit, and then he gets squashed by some kind of heavy falling object. Bruce sighs, and Clint squeezes his shoulder.
Everything is going well. For Bruce Banner. That can't be right.
Everything is too good to be true, and they still haven't talked about the thing that's worrying Bruce the most.
Clint tries not to learn new things too often.
This is because once he knows how to do something, he feels a need to be the best at it. Life has taught him that if you say you can do something, you damn well better be able to perform.
He likes the bow because there is a small enough number of elite archers in the world that he can be fairly certain he's the best. When he says he can shoot something, if he can't, then no one can.
So he's good at sex. But he's never really tried his hand at romance.
Anyone can be mediocre to fair at romance. Most people are. It's not a rare thing to have in your repertoire. Clint has had no interest in having an average relationship, a normal life. He always sort of thought he'd live out his life without romance. That no relationship could catch his interest as rare enough, unusual enough, challenging enough that making it happen would mean something.
And now there's Bruce.
It hadn't been a plan or anything. He'd just seen how alone the guy looked, and how impossible it seemed to help him.
Impossible tasks have always felt like a challenge to Clint. Everything from trick shots to turning the Black Widow. Someone wants to tell Clint Barton it's impossible, Clint wants to prove them wrong.
Now he has the Hulk nearly eating out of his hand and Bruce trusting him to try it. This is romance and this is the challenge of his life and when exactly had this become a thing he wanted?
Clint isn't sure what's going to happen but he knows that he's going to learn how to make this work.
Bruce invites Clint into his room that evening and makes them both tea in his kitchen because there is no more avoiding this particular conversation.
Clint smiles and doesn't drink his tea and uses his spoon to fling grapes across the room and into an empty cup because it doesn't matter what Bruce says, he knows all the arguments and he isn't giving up.
Bruce has to start somewhere.
"There are a lot of things that I feel responsible for, and the phrase 'I couldn't stand it if such-and-such happened' became meaningless a long time ago. Things happen, because of me, and I have to move on because I can't die and I can't live under the weight of all of it. At this point every decision I make in my life is about reducing the chance of accumulating more regrets." Bruce's hand clenches a bit around his mug as he thinks of all the times he's shut a possibility out just for this reason.
"Somehow, and I don't understand how, you've convinced me to make an exception for...whatever this is. But that doesn't mean I can just forget how dangerous I am. And there are some things that I just can't risk trying. Push me too far, and I'm done. You understand that, right?"
Clint has stopped flinging grapes across the room and now he's just got one sitting in his spoon, and occasionally he tosses it into the air and catches it again.
"I've got it," he says.
"You do? And that's okay with you? Never having sex? Just being...I don't know, middle school boyfriends for however long we both decide to... God, Clint, it can't last forever. What are we even playing at here?"
Clint puts down his spoon, the grape still wobbling inside. He leans forward across the table and looks Bruce in the eye.
"Will you trust me not to push you too far? Because I'm going to push. I want to see where your limits are - not for me, for you." Clint sighs and leans into one hand, elbow propped on the table and fingers hiding one eye. "That way if this doesn't work, at least you'll know. If I get too annoying, maybe you can work out how to be with someone else." He looks up at Bruce with his uncovered eye. "This is just something I feel like I can do, you know? Just let me try. Let me do this for you."
Bruce gapes. Then he shakes his head.
"You have to know the only reason I'm even considering this is that it's you. It's not like you're the first person to know about the Hulk...know the worst...and still want to risk it. If it was as simple as informed consent it would have happened long ago. It's not that I'm ready to try this, because I'm not. I am unequivocally not ready to let someone be around me when I'm in that place. It's you."
Bruce looks down at his tea, and he rotates his mug with his fingertips. Then he smiles to himself.
"It's ironic how I'm afraid of scaring you off."
Then he looks up at Clint again, with eyes that are full of fear, pain, amusement, gentleness, and the ever-present anger and frustration at the universe, and he says, "It's ridiculous how much I trust you, after how many days? But you're...you've got a way of sidestepping the Other Guy, fighting him without fighting..." Bruce sighs. "When you're around, I almost believe...that I could have something good without destroying it."
Bruce chews on his lip.
"Shit," Clint says, and he's got some of the same pain-and-amusement thing going on in his eyes. "I figured maybe you just thought I was pretty."
He smiles and stands up, retrieving the cup of grapes from the counter and bringing it to the table. He sets it down near where Bruce is sitting.
"Well, now that that's settled," Clint says, and he sets himself down on Bruce's lap, straddling but not quite pushed against him. Bruce is too startled, or perhaps a better word would be entranced, to argue. "Let's start finding out what we can do."
He puts his hands on the back of Bruce's neck, forearms resting on his shoulders, and for a long moment he doesn't do anything more, just watches Bruce's eyes.
Bruce hesitates, assessing, then relaxes enough to rest his hands on Clint's thighs. This is intimate, yes, and something deep inside of Bruce has wanted this, is howling at him that more is necessary. But it's not sexual, not yet, and his pulse is steady, and the dark water, although active, isn't threatening to rise and overwhelm him.
Clint is watching still, and his eyes relax a little now. The next thing he does is simply to lower his head so that his forehead is resting against Bruce's.
Bruce closes his eyes. He's just drinking in the touch. The water has risen a little, but it's also calmed slightly. As he gets comfortable with the feel of Clint against him, there's less desperation and more - well, satisfaction, or contentment. At this point he's hesitant to call it love.
Well, maybe it is love. Love like a child should be given. Love that is simply the desire to be close, to help, to calm.
Bruce moves one of his hands to Clint's neck, just resting it there, hoping to convey the same feeling. Through half-closed eyes, he sees a smile appear on Clint's mouth, and thinks he has.
Bruce feels very calm.
Clint takes a breath and lifts his head, sharp eyes again assessing. Then his fingers begin to wander up Bruce's neck and through his hair. In return, Bruce brushes his thumb along Clint's jaw. There's just the slightest increase in breathing rate, for them both.
Clint very, very slowly lowers his head again, bringing his lips to meet Bruce's, and they're hot and so sweet against the scientist's mouth. Like before it's neither teasing nor demanding, just a slow, light pressure as lips move against each other.
Bruce is profoundly happy.
But he also wants more, and now he's gotten curious about how much he can take. He raises his chin, pushing up further into the kiss, tongue tasting Clint's mouth. Clint allows it, but he waits for a few seconds before returning the enthusiasm, pushing his tongue into Bruce's mouth with a slow, soft, steady pressure that almost manages not to start a wildfire.
Bruce is slipping. He wants more and he's pressing into Clint's mouth, hand inching up Clint's thigh before he realizes what's happening.
Clint pulls away then, both of them gasping. Clint smiles broadly and puts his forehead against Bruce's again, and their breathing slows together.
"Enough for tonight?" he asks, when he can again.
Bruce nods slightly. When he speaks, he says, "Thank you."
Clint stands up, shaking his head. "Thank me later, when we see what we can really get up to." And grinning, Clint leaves for his own rooms.
"That's more than anyone else has ever done for me," Bruce murmurs at the empty kitchen.