Chapter Text
Ever since Carol got Clint arrested, and then apparently felt guilty about it, and then gave Clint a handjob to go with his traumatic experience, Clint's been trying to be chill about the whole thing. He doesn't seek Carol out. He's not going to be the creepy guy who calls fifty times after the first date. In fact, he's going to be the socially awkward, nervous guy, who never calls and instead spends all his time checking his cell phone in case someone's trying to call him.
"Stop telling me about this," says Kate. "One, it makes you sound like a dweeb. Two, I'm messaging America and you're distracting me."
"You're messaging America?" asks Clint. "Like, the whole country?"
"Miss America." Kate sighs in a way that's probably supposed to sound annoyed, but actually just sounds happy. "Turns out her first name actually is America."
"So much for a secret identity," says Clint. "I guess she'd be hard to google. You'd be surprised at how few Carol Danvers there are in the world. I only had to break into three VA offices before I—"
He stops, because Kate started ignoring him as soon as her computer made the new message beep.
The thing is, Clint still lives in New York. And this is the weird thing about New York: it's a big city, a humongous city, it has the population of a reasonably-sized country. On the other hand, sometimes New York seems like a really small place. Like when Clint reaches for a jar of honey at the Ridgewood farmer's market, and Carol's already got her hand on it.
"Hey," says Clint, cautiously. He has no idea where they are in their antagonism/acquaintance/relationship. There was supposed to be a next time. Is that still going to happen? Is it time for the next time yet?
"Hey." Carol looks Clint up and down. "You were wearing those jeans the last time I saw you in civvies."
Clint shrugs. "They're my favorite pair."
"Mine too," says Carol, and pays for the honey.
So, yeah, apparently that's where they are. Clint takes it as permission to smile at Carol and look approvingly at her new short hair (fauxhawk, very sharp), long legs (short, dark-blue skirt with gold hem), and bare shoulders (cream halter top, Clint loves summer). Carol smiles back.
They get coffee and kolachies, size each other up. Clint's bruises are fading. Carol's eyes look tired.
"Did you get in trouble over the escape?" asks Clint.
"No," says Carol. "I got in trouble over threatening to go to the press over SHIELD's violation of human rights and use of illegal torture techniques."
Clint sips his coffee. He has no idea how to respond to that.
"SHIELD doesn't own the Avengers." Carol leans back in her chair. "They can't really do anything to me. But the threat's more effective than actually going public. There's not a lot of sympathy for supervillains, you know?"
"I should start an advocacy organization," says Clint. "Villains United, something like that. Fighting for people's fundamental right to steal shit, wear spandex, and try to blow up the world."
"Pretty sure none of those are in the constitution," says Carol.
"Yeah, well." Clint shrugs. "If I just wanted to fight for my right not to be beaten up by jackbooted thugs, I'd donate to the ACLU. Or quit my job."
Carol nods. She looks, shit, what's the word—pensive, like she's trying to decide whether to jump off a cliff or just give up and go home. Clint takes another sip of coffee.
"You remember when we were, uh," says Carol.
"Yeah," says Clint. "The 'uh' definitely stuck in my mind."
"Right," says Carol. "And you asked if you could, um, help me out, and I said next time?"
Clint nods and drinks the rest of his coffee.
"What I'm trying to say is," Carol shoves the last of her kolachi in her mouth and mumbles around it, "you want to go back to my place and fuck?"
Clint tries not to choke, while nodding frantically and also pulling money out of his wallet for the tip. It's a miracle that he survives.
---
When Carol shoves Clint back against the closed door of her apartment and starts molesting his neck, Clint remembers that this time they should probably have a serious discussion before getting very far. Then he forgets again, because Carol is molesting his neck. And his pants. And, and, Jesus—
"Give a dude a second to breathe," manages Clint.
Carol backs off just a little, still close and solid enough that Clint's happy. "What's up?" she says.
"What are we doing here?" asks Clint. Carol freezes, and her eyes go hard. "Not, shit," says Clint. "Not like a philosophical or angsty question. Not 'why are we here, man, why are people,' okay? I'm just looking for a quick, practical game plan."
Carol takes another step back, and Clint slides down the wall a couple inches. He hadn't even noticed that Carol was holding him up.
"What are you interested in?" Carol picks up a foot and starts unbuckling her platform sandal. Clint follows every movement as she frees one foot, and then the other. It's surprisingly erotic.
"You want a list?" Clint shrugs. "I'm pretty easy. I just like knowing what I'm in for."
Carol fiddles with the hem of her top, and Clint realizes that she's as nervous about this as he is. That this thing between them is messed up and is going to fuck with their work lives and she's going to have to arrest him again and Clint is going to have to bust out again and then they'll probably be bitter mortal enemies and have to make do with hate sex instead of frenemy sex. Hate sex is hot, though. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
"Earth to Clint," says Carol.
"I'm paying attention," says Clint.
Carol pulls her shirt off. She's wearing a Captain Marvel-themed bra. Where do you even get one of those?
"Okay," says Clint. "Now I'm definitely paying attention."
"I'm going to push you down onto my bed and ride you," says Carol. "Until you're screaming. And I'm screaming. Everyone will be screaming. Sound good?"
"Sounds terrifying," says Clint. "I'm into that."
"Yeah, I figured you would be." Carol smirks. "What else are you into? I actually do want a list."
"Uh." Clint starts ticking off fingers. "Manhandling, kissing, rough sex—like, face-slapping, hair-pulling, all that shit. Light and unexpected touches make me kind of nervous. Nothing that I'd have to take my hearing aids out for unless you've suddenly learned ASL."
"I asked Echo some questions," says Carol. "I'm not any good yet, but it seemed like I should learn."
"You going to bust my hearing aids again?" Clint tilts his head. "Or do you have sexy plans?"
"I'm prepared for any eventuality." Carol leans in. "The touching thing. This isn't okay?" She brushes the back of her hand across Clint's cheek. Clint doesn't try to suppress his flinch.
"Not really."
"But slapping is?" Carol raises her hand and Clint gives her a nod.
The palm of Carol's hand makes a lot of noise, and it doesn't hurt at all. Carol's not using even a tenth of her strength (a tenth of her strength would probably break Clint's jaw, so, good). It's absolutely perfect. Clint's face tingles and his heart stutters and his dick starts getting really interested.
"Slapping," says Clint, "is completely okay."
Carol actually picks Clint up and puts him over her shoulder to take him to bed. She's great at this whole manhandling thing. Clint pinches her butt since he's in the right place for it, and gets slapped on the ass.
"That's not really a disincentive," he says.
Carol snorts. She's not even breathing hard, carrying Clint around. Superpowers are super (ha) hot.
"Hey," says Clint, as they pass through the living room. "You fixed your window."
"My landlord fixed my window," says Carol. "And asked some uncomfortable questions about why a highly-paid assassin was out to get me."
"This whole place is run by the Chilean mob," says Clint. He has no idea, really, but he's gotten used to the idea that every landlord is part of some mob. "They should be used to that kind of shit."
Carol kicks open her bedroom door and tosses Clint on the bed. Clint bounces a little on the mattress, and then Carol's on top of him. She strips him out of his jeans, he unclasps her bra, she pulls off his shirt, he unbuttons her skirt, she rolls the condom on, he closes his eyes and savors the moment.
"Yay, teamwork," says Clint, shakily, as Carol sinks down on him. They're both mostly naked, both still wearing socks. Clint doesn't give a shit. The only thing he cares about is his hands on Carol's hips, and Carol moving around and over him, and Carol's smile as she holds up a hand and raises her eyebrows.
"Go for it," says Clint.
Carol slaps him, and Clint jerks up into her, which makes them both moan. So of course Carol does it again.
It really doesn't take very long before they're both screaming. Clint hopes Carol has understanding neighbors. Then Clint decides he doesn't give a shit about Carol's neighbors, he's a supercriminal, this is part of his evil plan. Suck it, Carol's neighbors. Vengeance!
"Fuck," moans Carol. "Did you just say 'vengeance?'"
"Uh," says Clint. "No?" God, he's terrible at keeping his internal monologue strictly internal. Especially with Carol grinning at him, doing that thing with her hips.
"You are so weird," says Carol, and slaps Clint before he can reply. That's cool, because Clint is shit at witty retorts when he's getting sexed up. His face is pleasantly sore, and Carol is holding hard onto his shoulders as she works through an orgasm, and Clint feels like his world is narrowing down to the fine hair on Carol's arms and her melting fauxhawk and the glitter of her teeth as she bares them. He thrusts once, pinned down by Carol, surrounded by Carol, and comes.
"Christ," says Carol, and rolls off of him.
After a second, Clint pulls himself together enough to tie off the condom and toss it into a trash can a good fifty feet away. Best marksman in the world strikes again. Carol has her fingers inside of herself, chasing aftershocks or something. Clint props himself up on his side to watch.
"Okay," says Carol, when she's done. "That was good. Was that good?"
"Yeah." Clint stretches, popping one shoulder. "That was great."
"Okay." Carol looks over at him, and then at the ceiling. There's sweat glistening between her breasts, it's kind of mesmerizing. "Nobody can know about this. Nobody."
"Um," says Clint.
Carol's lips thin and her eyes narrow. "'Um' is not a good response, here."
"Okay." Clint runs a hand through his hair. "How do you feel about 'whoops?'"
"Who did you tell?" God, Carol looks hot when she's annoyed. That's probably a shitty thing to think. Clint can't help it, though—Carol's still flushed from sex, and Clint kind of has a thing for her cold, serious, heroic face—"Clint!" Carol snaps her fingers. "This is important, come on."
"My best friend and my partner." Clint chews on his lip, thinking. "My partner's best friend probably knows too, because he knows everything. I think I mentioned something to my brother when I was drunk last week, but I don't remember that very well. I didn't go into detail. Miss America might know? She's been messaging with the other Hawkeye a lot, and Hawkeyes are pretty bad at keeping secrets."
"Yeah, I noticed." Carol rubs the bridge of her nose. "My whole secret affair plan didn't account for you being a gossipy little shit."
"Sorry," says Clint. "I didn't know it was supposed to be secret?"
"We need a new plan," says Carol. "If we're going to keep fucking—"
"Are we going to keep fucking?" asks Clint. It seems like that's where they're going with this, but he wants to be sure.
"If you want to," says Carol, abruptly uncertain. "I want to. It was pretty hot."
Clint gives her a thumbs-up. "Cool, keep talking."
"Right. Damage control." Carol waves a hand. "The most important thing is to keep this from getting in the way of work. I'll ask Cap or somebody to wrangle you instead of me in the future, okay?"
"Cap as in Captain America?" Clint grins. "He can wrangle me any time."
Carol raises an eyebrow. "You don't want to fuck Captain America."
"Do I have to have this conversation with everyone?" asks Clint. "I'm a red-blooded United States citizen. Of course I want to fuck Captain America. I have done a survey. Everyone wants to fuck Captain America."
"No, seriously," says Carol. "I'm trying to warn you. Cap's a great guy, almost too great. If you asked him to slap you, he'd take you aside and ask why you feel like you deserve to be hurt. Then he'd recommend caring and self-affirming missionary sex."
"I think you'd be surprised." Clint taps the side of his nose. "I bet Cap gives great spankings."
Carol laughs at him, and then stops and frowns.
"What?" asks Clint. "Too far?"
"I like you," says Carol. "You're smart, and funny, and you're actually a pretty good lay."
"Thank you?" Clint waits for the other shoe to drop.
"It's just—" Carol sighs. "This would be so much easier if you would try being a good guy."
"I am a good guy," says Clint. "I'm respectful, I listen to you, and I definitely just apologized for telling my friends about the prison handjob thing."
"No, I mean," Carol shoves him, hard enough that it makes Clint's skin buzz instead of itch, "stop shooting people and stealing shit."
"Yeah, and what would I do instead?" Clint mimes shooting an arrow. "We've talked about transferable skills before."
"I don't know." Carol hesitates, then says, "The Avengers could use a marksman."
Clint raises his eyebrows. "You're trying to seduce me to the side of good."
"I'm not."
"Damn right you're not." Clint pushes himself up until he's sitting on the bed instead of being sprawled on it. "I've seen a lot of movies, and I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be seducing you. To, like, evil."
Carol eyes him. "You're supposed to be evil?"
"Moderately villainous?" suggests Clint. "Morally challenged. Antiheroic!"
"You're definitely not an antihero." Carol smirks. "And if you're going to be a seductive villain, you should wear more leather."
"Uh." Clint's brain stopped working as soon as Carol said 'leather,' because her tongue slid around it in a way that made Clint remember that she's still naked. Clint tries to drag his eyes up from Carol's chest. "What?"
"Fingerless leather gloves," says Carol. "Big leather jacket, with a tank-top underneath that's about two sizes too small. Tight leather pants." She drags a finger down Clint's thigh. Clint isn't really ready to go again, but Jesus.
"Maybe I should look into changing my costume," manages Clint. "Will you bring back the thigh-highs if I do?"
"Get back to me on that when you've tried fighting in heels," says Carol. She's shifting on the bed, spreading her legs, Christ.
"Can I eat you out?" asks Clint. God, he can't control his mouth when he's horny. "I know we're doing the serious talk thing, and that's totally cool, I'm a very serious person, but maybe if we took another sex break—"
"Yeah, serious talk postponed, do it." Carol shoves him down.
No one gets seduced to either side, but they spend a lot of time working on it.
---
Clint: Can u walk Lucky??
Kate: I guess. Why can't you?
Clint: Busy B)
Kate: Wtf
Kate: Is that a euphemism?
Kate: Your dumb sunglasses guy makes it look like a euphemism
Kate: Who are you fucking?
Clint: u have a durty mind
Kate: Whatever. Say hi to Carol for me
Clint: she says hi back
Kate: OMG I WAS JOKING