Too many people. The mark rabbits, weaving in and out of the traffic flow, the Hulk smashing his way after him into increasingly narrower streets. Broken roof tiles slip, scrambling for purchase, taking aim on the run.
Clint became aware of the ache at the base of his skull, dull but persistent, the coolness of his hand, resting on the pillow above his head. His body hurt – left side, right elbow and both knees – but the hand on his hip was warm, and the silk felt good against his skin. Shifting his legs, he turned his head to get more comfortable, moving towards the heat of the body next to him.
Guns. Lots of bullets, smoke clouding his vision of the street, obscuring targets. The roar and movement of the Hulk, men flying into walls. Screams below mixed with voices in his ear, Hill shouting for a status report. Damn it, big guy, hold up. It could be a ….
His eyes shot open. Hand? Skin? Body? His sleep befuddled brain spun slowly, no ready answers. Slashes of lights from behind the closed blinds. Large bed, end tables, sounds of the street below. Graphically erotic pictures, the black silk sheets, bars from the ceiling, and hooks in the wall. Damn it all to hell and back, he didn't have a hangover; he distinctly remembered the last drink he had was in Bruce's room just before all the shit went down with the robbery and the ensuing chase halfway across the world. To Kuala Lumpur. Splitting up to track down as much information as possible about this new threat. Cap and Natasha to Murmansk, Tony and Thor to the Falklands.
Flashes of the city – shops, houses, streets laden with cars and trucks – a dizzying game of cat and mouse. Destruction in their wake, get out of populated areas. Tasha? Tony? A sudden silence, comms gone dead, keep moving.
What he didn't remember was why Bruce was lying next to him naked, sprawled on his stomach, face turned away, in what was obviously a brothel. Giving off enough warmth to heat the room. The silk sheet was tangled low on Clint's hips, but he'd thrown most of the covers off, too warm himself. He lifted up on his elbows and saw the scrapes and red patches covering his arms, the almost artistic purple bruise growing on his stomach; explosion of some kind then (and, yeah, he had lots of experience with being blown up … and falling … and getting shot).
Stupid slow computer, come on, come on. Who is the café owner on the phone to? Got to get out. Can't leave the Hulk alone too long, too easy to find him. Keep low, act normal ….
Not remembering didn't stop him from getting a good long look at Bruce. Damn. He'd known the man was lean, but he didn't realize how taunt and trim he was, muscles like a runner. As far as Clint knew, Bruce avoided the gym like the plague, but somehow he was, well, the only word Clint could come up with was fine. And that did not begin to do justice to Bruce's ass, a curve that Clint's fingers itched to skate over a few times before …
Huffing out a breath, Clint stopped the line of thought. He was already in a pretty embarrassing state of arousal and thinking about what he'd like to do wasn't helpful. Not in the least. Entertaining. Hot. Pretty damn appealing. But not helpful.
Running and shooting, just a step ahead of the pursuit. With no warning, a flash, a deafening crash, pain, spinning ass over heels into something hard, unyielding.
He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the lump; they'd gotten the jump on him somehow, like they knew his every move before he made it. He groaned quietly at the memory - god, hitting that wall had really hurt – and Bruce stirred beside him. Lifting his head, Bruce turned to squint at him, only half-awake.
"Clint?" He mumbled. "You okay?" His dark eyes cleared as he focused. "Headache? Nausea?" He lifted up on his elbows, dragging his hand across Clint's stomach as he pulled it back, and Clint sucked in a breath; do not look at how the muscles bunched across Bruce's back, he ordered himself. His brain, however, had ideas of its own and shutting down the images that popped up wasn't easy, but he managed it. What he couldn't change was the raging hard on currently tenting the sheet.
"Aches and some scrapes. A goose egg, but, thankfully, I have a hard head, so I'm okay."
A slow, sleepy smile spread across Bruce's face. "Well, good thing you have a, ahem, hard head." He gave a purposeful glance down Clint's body. Clint felt himself blush, blush damn it, like a horny teenager caught staring. Which was sort of how he felt, but with experience to add into the equation. A school boy crush with a porno mind.
"Yeah," he said, trying not to focus on the trail of fire that Bruce's hand had left, even if it felt really good. "Look, is there something I should apologize for? Last thing I remember clearly was being buried under a ton of cement blocks."
Head down, green skin beneath his cheek, bouncing as they moved. The spray of salt water cool as his head exploded out of his ears. Shit. Throwing up, stomach cramping, blessed darkness.
"You mean you don't remember? Fireworks? Rockets? A thousand voice hallelujah chorus?" Bruce teased before he shook his head. "You couldn't walk much less do anything else. They were tracking the other guy somehow, but they haven't been able to find us since we went to ground. After you went down, I got us on a fishing trawler bound for Singapore and brought you here."
Clint tried to tug the sheet up, much to Bruce's amusement. The movement made his head thump mildly in time to his pulse, and his stomach stayed even and still, all good signs. "To a brothel?"
"Madame Mia's Massage Mecca, or something like that in translation. I worked in a free clinic not far from here for a few years, so I called in some favors. No one knows where we are. We're off the grid."
"Any contact from the others?"
"Communication is dead. Nothing since you sent that email."
Clint's unruly brain kept supplying random thoughts like how kissing Bruce from here would be easy. Just put a hand under his chin and tug him over. One of those sleepy, slow kisses, like a late Sunday morning in bed, with time to explore every inch, so much skin to taste. Especially that little hollow in the small of Bruce's back. Or, God help him, roll Bruce over and use his mouth to …
'You should probably quit thinking about it," Bruce said, voice husky and low. "Or, concussion or not, I'm going to lean over there and kiss you until you beg for more."
Clint cleared his throat. He didn't really give a damn about all the reasons why he shouldn't. Never been much of a rule guy anyway. Truth was, he wanted this and now was as good a time as ever, considering their crazy life. Threading his fingers into Bruce's hair, Clint pulled him down and sealed their lips together, claiming the moment with his mouth and tongue, saying everything without speaking. Bruce opened his mouth to Clint's exploration, agreeing in kind. Resting his weight on one elbow, and skimming his hand down Clint's chest lightly to avoid the bruises, Bruce stopped at the edge of the sheet, slipping his fingers under it. As his first touch, Clint ran his hand down Bruce's back to the curve of his ass; he sighed as his fingers curled around the taunt muscles.
"God," Clint said, "I've wanted to do that for a while. Been playing on the nightly things-I-want-to-do-to-Bruce extended feature."
"Yeah, I've got a few ideas of my own." Chuckling, Bruce caught the edge of the sheet and wound it around Clint's cock, pulling fabric snug against the hardness, eliciting a groan as the smooth material shifted and slid. With deliberate slowness, Bruce ran his thumb up the material, circling the sensitive head; Clint gasped from the touch of silk and fiery path of Bruce's finger. Bringing his mouth down, Bruce flicked his tongue across the straining head, closing his lips over and sliding down, wet material pulling tight as Clint lifted his hips. Bruce tormented Clint with his mouth, his tongue, and, damn, it was hotter than Clint had ever imagined it could be.
"Not going to last long," Clint mumbled, jerking as Bruce curled his hand around Clint's shaft and pulled him deep into his mouth. "God, that's …" His words cut short as he strained upward, thrusting as he came, moaning Bruce's name as the tremors rolled up his spine. "Damn." Definitely a good beginning, but even as Clint rode the wave, he knew he wanted more.
"I had lots of time to imagine while I undressed you and tucked you in bed." Bruce sat up and used the sheet to clean Clint before he pushed it down and off the bed. "Your head okay?"
"Mild headache. Not much else." Not that Clint was above lying to get to touch Bruce more, but he really did feel alright.
"Good." Bruce slid his knee between Clint's legs, planted his hands outside of Clint's shoulders, and hesitated just short of Clint's mouth. "You okay with this? I mean …"
"Don't." Clint's eyes grew serious. "You of all people should know that you never forget. You just learn to live again. To feel. And, damn it all, I want to feel you, Bruce." He deliberately stroked his hand down Bruce's side, over his hip, to make sure the message was clear.
"I can do that. Yeah. I want to do that." Bruce dipped his head and kissed Clint's neck, nipping at it the collarbone. Taking his time, he tasted Clint's skin in slow increments, brushing lightly with his fingers before following with his tongue. Clint explored with his hands, teasing Bruce's nipples until they were hard, laughing when Bruce's breathing hitched. He tormented Bruce, rubbing his thigh against Bruce's hard cock, biting Bruce's earlobe when the opportunity presented itself.
"Are you trying to drive me crazy?" Bruce finally asked, breathy and unsteady.
"Is it working?" Clint grinned. "You've been doing it to me for months now." Bruce's answer was to reach over and open the drawer of the nightstand; he drew a tube out then moved things around, looking for something. One benefit of the location, Clint supposed: supplies readily at hand.
"Um, it looks like there's one thing they don't have." Bruce raised an eyebrow in question. "It's up to you. The gamma rays mean I can't catch anything, so it's okay with me."
For once, the damn rules worked in his favor. "S.H.I.E.L.D. regs. Complete testing every three months. I had a full work up after . . ." he hesitated for a second before he continued, "… so I know I'm clean." He pulled Bruce to him, tangling their mouths together, more frantic now because he was ready. Biting down on Bruce's lip, he sucked it in to his mouth. "Been thinking about this too long," he mumbled as he worked his mouth around Bruce's jawline. "About you, in the practice room, pressed between me and the wall." He licked Bruce's earlobe. "Bent over the table in your lab, purple shirt still on, me buried inside of you." He trailed his tongue down the muscle of Bruce's neck. "You in that chair in the movie room. Me, straddling you." Bruce moaned, low in his throat, fumbling with the tube. "In the jet, in mid-air, flying with your mouth…"
"Be careful," Bruce interrupted as his slick hand slid between Clint's legs. "You might get what you wish for." He pressed a finger in, slowly invading Clint. "Personally," he rotated and slipped it back out, then in again as Clint's eyes drifted closed with a pleasured sigh, "I'm partial to the rooftop scenario, with the danger of fucking you right over the edge."
"God, Bruce" Clint said as the mental picture the words brought to mind almost wrecked him. Bruce added a second finger, stroking now, and Clint had to ask. "Will you wear a purple shirt?" He whimpered when Bruce brushed against his sensitive spot, spreading him further with an added third finger; Clint, wanting and desperate now, thrust up to meet the fingers that were filling him, pulling him apart,.
"Only if you wear your uniform." And wasn't that a hell of an image as Bruce took his fingers away. Clint whimpered at the sudden feeling of emptiness but then Bruce grabbed Clint's hips and positioned them. With a push, Bruce entered the tight passage, easing in; Clint breathed, relaxing as he felt the intrusion, and he buried his head in Bruce's shoulder, stifling his moans in the curve of Bruce's neck.
"Please, please, please …" Clint was muttering as he split apart. He needed this, to remember what it felt like to be with someone who cared; no, that wasn't right. If he was honest, what he wanted was to be with Bruce.
Seating himself all the way in, Bruce bent and whispered in Clint's ear. "See, I told you I'd make you beg." Clint laughed, muscles contracting around Bruce who gasped in return. Easing back out, Bruce moved, in and out, slowly at first, then gaining in rhythm, faster. Clint matched him thrust for thrust, lacing his fingers behind Bruce's head; heart racing, body already on fire, Clint almost sobbed when Bruce's slick hand circled his aching hard cock. Their bodies came together, and Bruce's thrusts grew stronger; a growl escaped Bruce's lips and he paused, cock just barely inside. Clint's eyes opened, and he saw the tint of green in Bruce's brown eyes, felt the shaking of Bruce's fingers on his hips.
"It's okay, big guy," he murmured. The tug to get Bruce's face down to his was gentle, but the kiss wasn't. Lifting his hips, Clint wrapped his legs around Bruce and pulled him back inside, the sensation of sudden completeness making his head spin. It was all too much for both of them; they rushed headlong together to the climax, Bruce coming with a final hard thrust, Clint a few seconds behind. They fell into an exhausted heap, spent.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"I consider myself pretty worldly, but I have no idea what some of those things are in there," Clint said as he exited the bathroom, towel in hand. Bruce sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. "Bruce? Hey?" Kneeling on the floor, Clint put his hands on Bruce's knees.
"That's never happened before," Bruce said, not looking up.
"What? Earth shattering sex complete with a thousand voice hallelujah chorus?" Clint quipped. Bruce looked at him, worry on his face, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. If there was one thing Clint was good at, it was making Bruce smile. Well, that and hitting his target. And sex. Yeah, the sex had been good.
"The other guy. That's new." Bruce's eyes were serious. "I didn't get angry but he still was there. Never happened during sex before."
"Um, are you saying that I'm special? Well, yeah, I knew that." Clint said then he cupped Bruce's chin lightly. "Look, I take it as a compliment, doc. Besides, it was pretty damn hot." He wiggled his eyebrows to emphasize his words.
Bruce did smile then but it didn't completely reach his eyes. "You never cease to amaze me. You're making jokes about it, but he could hurt you, you know."
Clint stroked Bruce's face. "Nah, I don't believe that. The big guy likes me. Of course, to know for sure, we'd have to run tests to see what happens. Lots of tests. That's what sciencey types like to do, right? Experiment?" He brushed Bruce's hair back. "Let's see, there's a big shower in there, and I saw some silk rope in the drawer, but I think we'll start with you on the bottom." He pushed both of them back on the bed, capturing Bruce beneath him. Bruce started to laugh, but Clint's kisses made him moan instead.
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
The café table was in the shadow of the next building; Clint slipped into the seat, dropping the paper beside the cup of tea Bruce had been sipping. He leaned back against the wall, surveying the area.
"Vladivostok," he said. "Tasha and Steve will be there in 48 hours. We just need to find a ship heading the right direction."
Bruce unfolded the paper and stopped as he saw the photo of Tony, lying amid rubble, armor battered and powered down. "Do you know if he's okay? Thor?" Clint rested a hand on Bruce's thigh, a calming weight.
"Nothing in the papers or on the news. They've dropped off the radar. Hell, we all have. Communications are still down, and so is the heliocarrier. Anything in the air, they can track." Clint watched a local policeman move by on a bicycle. He didn't even look their way.
"I know someone at the docks, can call in a favor or two," Bruce shrugged when Clint patted his knee... well, more like stroked because Clint had found he liked touching Bruce. All the time.
"They've made a major mistake, whoever they are." Bruce looked askance at Clint's statement. "They think we're our technology, the names. They forgot that Cap is Steve Rogers, a veteran used to being behind enemy lines. That Nat and I have been doing undercover ops for years. That Bruce Banner lived off the grid and avoided determined military dragnets." He grinned. "They've underestimated us. We'll take 'em down, don't worry, doc. They'll never see us coming."