Work Text:
In his most private moments, Bruce had to admit that he was jealous.
As a rule, the Avengers were a touchy-feely bunch. There were cuddle sessions after every workout, hugs while getting coffee, and a giant superhero puppy pile while watching movies.
Bruce didn't do any of those things. He was too afraid that if he did, if he got too comfortable with the casual touches and easy affection, he'd lose his mind if it stopped. And of course it would stop - he was a monster who just managed to wear the skin of a person most of the time. They should all be terrified of him.
He didn't notice that while he was watching the team with a longing he worked hard to disguise, he was being watched just as intently. That is, until the day that Clint sat down right next to him on a movie night and offered to share his bowl of popcorn.
Bruce didn't know what to make of this. He always sat - alone - on the loveseat. But Clint had not only flopped down next to him, but he was taking up more than his share of the seating, pressing against Bruce from shoulder to knee.
He knew that if he objected, Clint would move. Hell, it probably wouldn't even need to be an out loud objection - all he'd need to do is move so that they weren't touching, and he was sure that Clint would understand his need for space. Well, fairly sure at any rate.
But he didn't. He let Clint press firmly against him, and hesitantly took a handful of popcorn out of Clint's bowl.
He couldn't tell you what movie they watched that evening, because he was so lost in the warmth of another body against his own that that seemed to be the only thing he could focus on. They sat together through the end of the credits and as the rest of the team wandered off to bed. Bruce noticed that Natasha and Clint seemed to have a conversation conducted completely in eye blinks and tilts of their heads, and then it was just Clint and Bruce left in the media room.
"You okay, doc?" Clint asked. He twisted so that he could look at Bruce instead of the TV screen, but he didn't move away.
Bruce didn't know how to answer that question. He had so many of his own rushing through his head. Why had Clint sat with him? Was there an ulterior motive, or did he just decide that Bruce's loveseat looked more comfortable than sharing with Natasha and Sam? What was going on?
What came out of his mouth was "Why?"
Clint's mouth quirked up one side. "I realized something today," he said. "I realized that you were missing all of my flirting because you weren't used to having people who knew who you are trying to get your attention. So, I was going to have to go for something a little bit bolder."
"You were trying to get my attention?" Bruce felt like he was missing some sort of big picture, like he just had the edges of the puzzle, but no box to look at and no middle.
"Well, duh," Clint said. "How else was I going to be able to get you to go on a date with me?"
"A date?" That did not compute. Bruce didn't date. It wasn't safe for anyone to go on a date with him.
"Yes, a date." Clint reached out, his hand moving so slowly that Bruce realized that he was giving Bruce a chance to duck away or say no.
His brain was racing a million miles an hour. Clint more than almost anyone knew that he was dangerous - he carried the sedative arrows that had been developed if they needed to stop the Hulk. And yet he was here, pressed up against Bruce, and it felt so good.
Clint's hand came to rest on Bruce's cheek, and without thinking about it, Bruce tipped his head to deepen the contact. "I'm dangerous," he whispered, but he didn't pull away.
"Didn't you know? I like danger," Clint said. "And I think you're underestimating the control you have over yourself anyway. I've never had to use a single one of those arrows you were so insistent that Tony design to use on you."
Clint's thumb stroked across Bruce's lower lip, and in response, Bruce opened his mouth, just enough for Clint to slide the tip inside. "You're beautiful," Clint said. "I'm not good with words usually, but you make me want to learn to be."
Bruce couldn't stop the soft moan that escaped, or the way that he sucked on Clint's thumb. It had been so long since he'd had more than a cursory touch that it was overwhelming him.
Clint left his thumb in Bruce's mouth, and fanned his other fingers out to stroke Bruce's jaw. His other hand came up and started rubbing his arm, from shoulder to elbow. "You don't have to say anything, Bruce," Clint said. "Just nod if this is good."
Bruce nodded, sucking a little harder on the thumb pressing down. Leaning forward, he took all of Clint's thumb into his mouth, tracing the knuckles with his tongue, and that got a moan from Clint.
"We can take this as slow as you want," Clint said, but he sounded a little breathless, and Bruce couldn't help but think that he'd done that. He'd made Clint sound like that.
Slow. He wanted to shout "Screw slow" and take Clint back to his apartment. But after years of denial, he didn't know what was safe and what was... not. So slow was good.
In the spirit of going slow, he pulled back, letting Clint's thumb slip away. He missed it as soon as it was gone, though. "How do you define slow?" he asked.
"I was thinking coffee, maybe a movie with just the two of us," Clint said, fingers still stroking Bruce's face. "Once you're a little more relaxed with that, we can see where it leads us. Does that sound good to you?"
Bruce had to be honest. "It sounds terrifying, because if I hurt you - "
"You let me worry about that," Clint said. "Take that out of the equation. Do you want this, yes or no?"
"God, yes," Bruce breathed out.
"Okay. Are you tired?" Clint asked, and when Bruce shook his head, Clint asked, "Another movie? Only this time, you'll realize that I'm touching you because I mean to be."
Bruce nodded, and went along with it as Clint urged him to lie down so that his head was in Clint's lap. He couldn't tell you what movie they watched. But he knew that Clint never stopped touching him the whole time.
He was looking forward to taking it further in time. Thank god Clint had decided to be obvious.