This is part three of the Off the Grid series of Hulkeye Drabbles
Part 1 "Off the Grid, or What the Hawk is Good at" (M)
Part 2 "Keep Calm and Kiss the Hawk" (M)
He leaned in the archway, watching Bruce putter around the room and look through Asgardian clothing options. Clint had already been through that process, settling for the ease of black leather pants and a black silk shirt that laced up. Very pirate king, and he looked pretty good in the outfit, even if he did say so himself. The whole setting was surreal; gold-gilt room with a huge bed, open air views of the city, all of it supersized. Tony swore the rooms were bug proof, no eavesdropping, but Clint could easily imagine perching on the roof just outside the balcony. Magic, Thor had said; science, Tony argued. Clint didn't care as long as no one could overhear them.
"Tony thinks that's how they're tracking us." Bruce seemed overwhelmed by the choices and kept moving them around on the bed. "We can rig up some personal dampeners, but the Einstein-Rosen Bridge will set off all their alarms when we use it. Steve thinks they can come up with a stealth plan to get us clear of the bridge quickly and back in touch with Fury and the others." Give Bruce a science problem, and he'd happily work until it was finished, as he and Tony had done all afternoon. But clothes? Clint smiled as Bruce tossed the various choices into piles.
"Of course, I'd pick the purple shirt, but that's just my personal fetish," he said. "And those brown pants would look good with it. Lacing them up takes a certain amount of skill; I'd be glad to help out on that account." He wiggled his eyebrows, the mellow feeling of his alcohol buzz making him half-aroused just watching the man move.
"Ties and laces?" Bruce laughed, pulling the shirt in question out of the pile. "They really dress like this?"
Clint moved into the room and picked up a silk sash. "Yep. Just spent a couple hours playing hobbit from Middle Earth at the cocktail hour. This is tame compared to what they had on, and I imagine dinner is even more formal." He wound the long length of red material a couple of times around his waist. "What do you think?"
"I think you should take those pants home with you. I like you in leather." Bruce openly eyed Clint's tightly encased ass. Pulling Bruce's hands down from his collar, Clint unbuttoned the shirt himself. Hands on Bruce's belt, Clint leaned in to kiss him.
"It is an effective, but alarming costume," he said, singing the line, sliding his hand up to Bruce's shoulders and slipping the shirt off his lean frame.
"Gilbert and Sullivan? You've been drinking, "Bruce stated, catching Clint's face and holding his chin in his hand.
"Cocktail party. Lovely Asgardian wine. Boring company." His hands stroked Bruce's chest. "I only had four … no, wait, I think there were five glasses." He pulled Bruce's hand away from his face and went back in. "Don't worry, I'm in the sweet spot. Drunk enough to shut off the filters for a while but not falling down. This would be a great time to spring any strange or unusual requests you might have, doc. I'm pretty sure I'd say yes. Of course, I'd probably say yes if I was sober too." Taking his time, he kissed Bruce's lips thoroughly before his tongue slipped inside to sample and taste. He decided to start wearing more silk; his shirt slithered between their skins, heating up as they created friction and tension.
Bruce gave a low chuckle. "Let's just blow the whole thing off and stay here in bed." Clint moaned into Bruce's mouth when hands clenched around his ass, rocking their hips together.
"Damn job or I would," he mumbled, wishing he didn't have a part in the little theater of the evening. "After. I promise. All night, any way you want."
Bruce broke the kiss to look at Clint. "Job? I thought this was just a welcoming party."
"Nothing, really. Just a little cheese for the mousetrap." Clint shrugged and kissed Bruce's neck, working his way up to the sensitive spot he'd discovered, the one that made Bruce groan when he licked it.
"Cheese?" Bruce pushed back on Clint's shoulders. "Who are you setting a trap for?" Understanding dawned. "Damn it, you're bait for him aren't you? He's here."
"House arrest of some sort. He's playing prince of the castle, all regret and remorse. Tony thinks he's involved in what's happening back home somehow, and he's probably right." Clint shrugged and feigned indifference. "So I'm going to get him to talk."
"They have no right to ask you to do that. Natasha can handle it."
"He knows she played him. He'll be on his guard with her, so she's going to be busy for the evening, leaving me alone." Clint stepped back from Bruce, sensing the anger building in the man. "Look, he won't be able to resist goading me, rubbing it in. He thinks he has one up on me, and his ego won't let it go."
Bruce clenched his fists, and Clint reached for him, hand outstretched to calm him down. In a quick move, Bruce caught his wrist and held him fast. "That's why you were drinking. He was there."
"I can handle it." Clint tamped down on his own emotions. Being in the same room as the son-of-a-bitch hadn't been easy, but he'd managed. The angry green of Bruce's eyes glared as he shoved Clint backwards, causing him to fall onto the bed, but then Bruce took a deep breath, calming himself.
"I know you can, but I don't have to like it." He straddled Clint and slipped the red silk off Clint's waist. He wound the material around one wrist then the other, twining Clint's hands together before he leaned up and tied the ends around the ornate metal corner post. "Now, what was that about saying yes to anything?"
Clint tensed at the feel of the bindings, and then forced himself to relax; Bruce had left plenty of play, enough to pull his elbows down or to rest them out to the sides, so he let the feel of Bruce's hard cock rubbing against his own, the heat spreading languidly throughout his body, lulling away any memories. "We have to go. Besides, you'll be there too. You know he'll want to needle you."
Bruce smiled at that, and Clint could see the shift from anger to passion in the brown eyes. "We'll just have to be quick then," he said, bending over to plant his lips on Clint's chest. "And I'll make sure you drink enough to find the sweet spot later." Taking Clint's nipple in his mouth, he sucked it through the fabric, teasing it with his tongue to hardness. Unlacing the leather pants, Bruce freed Clint's already slick cock, laughing at his own fumbling with the unfamiliar clothes. "Okay, maybe we'll just get you a pair of leather pants in New York. One with a zipper," he said as he untangled the laces. Moving off the bed, he shimmied out of the rest of his clothes before he climbed back on.
Wrapping his hand around the base, Bruce flicked his tongue over the head of Clint's erection, circling it lightly, licking off the pearly drops there. Clint moaned and pulled at the sash, frustrated by the forced inaction. Tongue glided down the sensitive vein, back up, followed by parted open lips sliding over, wetting and easily sucking him in, alternating between hard and soft pulls.
"Let me, I want …"Clint gasped, yanking now against his bonds, hips jerking in motion to the pressure. His hand continuing the motion, Bruce shifted, placing his knees on either side of Clint's head; Clint wasted no time taking Bruce deep into his mouth, pleasure sounding in his throat at the fullness of it. He felt Bruce's mouth back on him, mirroring the rhythm Clint was setting with a moan of his own. Closing his eyes tight, Clint thrust upward, grimacing as the wave washed through him, coming fast, Bruce swallowing around him. He gasped and sucked hard until Bruce pulled out, spilling all over his chest.
"For the record, quick blow jobs work pretty damn well too," Clint offered with a grin.
Bruce untied the silk before he rolled off the bed to clean up. Pulling his pants off the floor, he shook them out and stepped into them. Clint looked at the stains on his black shirt and started untying it.
"No leather pants?" Clint stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout to get a smile from Bruce.
"No give in leather," Bruce growled in return and changed from one second to the next. The Hulk filled the room, and thank the Asgardians for tall ceilings, bouncing on his heels, looking at Clint. "Purple shirt nice," the big guy suggested.
"Seriously? You'll give Loki a heart attack, and I'll get nothing from him if you go like that."
"Hulk there. Like parties. Plenty of food. Smash puny god if he bothers Cupid. All good."
"Right," Clint looked at the big green guy and knew he'd lost this argument. He'd never seen Bruce change so easily, and the Hulk seemed almost docile at the moment. "You have to let me talk to him, okay?"
"No touch." Hulk stared at Clint with brown eyes, Bruce's eyes. Clint blinked and could still see concern, and something else, on his face.
"You got it, big guy. No touch."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Ah, Hawk, I am glad to see that you are doing well," Loki said when he finally made his move, gliding up behind Clint in a position chosen specifically to make him uncomfortable. "I have many regrets, and you are one of them."
Like hell. Smarmy apologies? Like he was another toy the spoiled child had trashed. If this was the opening gambit, Loki was off his game
"I see they've put you on a leash." Clint sipped at his drink, casually watching the crowd and not turning. "Must be odd, being the one tied down for a change."
"My family is very forgiving." Loki came around to his side. "And I seem to remember you like being restrained." He stood in faked quiet companionship for a moment. "You look good in purple." He sounded surprised.
"Actually, the color's growing on me." Clint's eye was drawn by the flash of red silk that the big guy had insisted on using as a belt to look fancy, he'd said.
Following Clint's focus, Loki nodded towards the Hulk, who was currently engaged in a drinking game with Volstagg. "I see the doctor is angry this evening."
"Angry?" Clint laughed, aware of the eyes on them around the room: Tasha from her seat by Fandral, Steve casually talking to Sif, Tony and Thor eating together, and, of course, the Hulk's rumble of displeasure evident above the din of voices. "That's happy Hulk. You've met angry Hulk. I imagine you remember what he's like." He let himself show a wolfish smile at that image.
Casually, Loki laid a light hand on Clint's shoulder, one of his favorite places to leave bruises. "I have missed your humor, Clint." And, damn if that didn't sound vaguely sincere, or as much as Loki was capable of. It would have been more successful if Loki hadn't touched him first, of course.
"You should really deal with all that pent-up shit you've got floating around in there," Clint offered as a silence fell in the room. "And you should probably get your hand off of me. There's a no touching rule in effect this evening." The Hulk's growl was loud and clearly aimed their way. Loki only hesitated a second before he let his hand slide off Clint, acting as if it was his idea and not fear of the big green giant glaring at him. Looking back and forth between the two, he raised an eyebrow in question to Clint.
"He's a little jealous," Clint said, a satisfied smile on his face. "I kind of like it." And he winked boldly at Loki, walking away, leaving the would-be king sputtering in his wake. Bait dangled, trap set … it wouldn't be long before Loki walked right in.