In just a short time, it had become a kind of tradition. Bruce would find himself bored and restless, and then he'd contact Clint to ask if he wanted to watch a movie. They always picked classics, generally black and white films, and it was soothing, having someone to watch them with when his mind would go too fast, or he would start thinking about all of the things he'd done wrong in his life or how much peril he could put the people he cared for into. Clint, for all of his sometimes crazy energy, was a soothing presence to Bruce, and it hadn't taken long for Bruce to start listening to people in the tower. Nat, especially, seemed tied to the idea that he and Clint might become something more than friends, and she was awfully convincing. Especially when Bruce really looked at his life and realized just how lonely he really was, and further examined his feeling for Clint and discovered that they already ran much deeper than he'd expected them to. And even if all they became was guys who hung out and watched movies together on nights neither of them had anything better to do, he'd be perfectly happy with that, too.

Bruce had really started enjoying the whole thing. Not only had he confessed to Tony that he was quickly going from friends to oh-shit-I-think-I-actually-like-him, but then he'd sent a coded message to Clint through flowers that he figured someone in the tower would get the point of, if Clint started asking around about them. And of course it has been Nat. After all, she was Clint's best friend and lover, his confidante, and Bruce had chosen a Russian courting ritual to put his intent out into the open. Of course, he'd figured she would at some point go into Clint's rooms, see the flowers, and make the connection, but he hadn't expected Clint to send her pictures of it and for her to get it quite that fast. The message was simple. Thinking of you with gratitude and tenderness. Bashfulness (because he was still terribly shy about things). Please notice my feelings for you. And, finally Hope.

That hope had been well-placed, because the tradition (and several others) continued. They would kick back, watching their movies, small touches between them turning more intense every time they were together. And then they had the tower almost to themselves, and that was the kind of rare, delicious treat that Bruce certainly hadn't expected (like so many things with Clint had gone so far). They went to the communal living area to watch movies, knowing they wouldn't be interrupted, and the freedom of the night had led to other things, with ground rules laid out by Bruce that he was deadly serious about. Things had to be slow enough not to trigger his blood pressure to go too high, there would be "is this okay" checks frequently, and if--by some terrible twist of the night--the Other Guy started to make a showing, Clint was to get up and into the vents as quick as possible.

All of which ended up not being something they needed to worry so much about (okay, HE had worried. He was always going to worry. Clint shrugged it off like it was no big deal, which made Bruce worry even more, but it was still mostly silly to have worried quite that much in the end), because things went... shockingly well. Add it to the list of the unexpected.

He had said he was stopping by his room to get some things for their night, and on a whim, he grabbed the bottle of lube that Nat had tossed at him the morning after the first night he and Clint had been hanging out in the lab. He'd rolled his eyes at her, but now he was grateful. There was also a super soft blanket that he liked to rub between his fingers when he was feeling off (it was like a meditation, it soothed him in a way few other things did) and several pillows. He knew there were pillows in the living area, but he wanted his pillows. It was another comfort thing, and comfortable was important. Especially when he was going to try things that could turn out badly.

Bruce tossed his blanket and the pillows at the huge sofa bed that dominated the living room space. It was technically a U-shaped sofa, but the extra sections in the middle made it a bed-like structure instead. Most of the time, they left it that way, because watching movies with the entire group of them tended to be more comfortable that way so people could sprawl out together or cuddle close to anyone they wanted to. If people were feeling stand-offish, or needed to not be touched, the center sections could easily be moved to become backless chairs. It didn't happen often, but it was nice to know it was available. Bruce had certainly used it as an option once or twice. Tonight, though, he was seeking the whole closeness thing, so it worked out especially well.

Clint came up behind him, intentionally making noise to not startle him, and Bruce turned, smiling softly at his... boyfriend? That word held a lot of connotations that he wasn't sure either of them were wanting this thing between them to be. They were going out on dates and there had been several intense make out sessions that Bruce though about constantly, so he supposed the word worked well enough. He immediately stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Clint, kissing him long and slow. When he finally drew back just a little, his heart was pounding, but he didn't feel like there was any risk of the Other Guy at the moment. That was a relief. "So, I thought of a few movies we could watch," he said, stroking his hands over Clint's back, simply because he didn't want to stop touching him. Which had grown to be an increasingly distracting problem in the last few days.

"Oh yeah?" Clint asked, "Do I get to pick from a list, or are you going to surprise me?"

"I'm going to surprise you," he said, nuzzling into his jaw. "I'll give you hints, if you want them."

"No, don't give hints. I like being surprised."

Which just made Bruce drop his hands down to his ass to drag him a little closer. And, of course, to... you know, touch his ass. It also had the effect of getting their bodies pressed tight against each other, and he was sure it was obvious that his dick was already quite interested in the whole kissing/being close/touching Clint thing.

"That's a good start," Clint said, his voice sounding a little strained but with a laugh in it, too.

-----

They were halfway through Roman Holiday, curled up close to each other on the sofa, kissing whenever the mood struck (which was often), the pillows and blankets (they'd grabbed three more, just to have them close by, and then they told Jarvis to bring the temperature down so they could stay wrapped up) all tucked in around them when Bruce told Clint what he wanted to do. How he wanted to watch him fall apart from being touched, and how they'd probably have to still take things slow, but that he wanted to try, at the very least. He trusted Clint, on so many levels. Including the one where he was certain that the other man could and would get away if he needed to.

Clint didn't even smirk about it, which surprised Bruce a little. He was used to Clint smirking when he got his way, but this time he smiled softly and pressed kisses against Bruce's mouth, and that led to them moving from their partially-sitting-up positions to laying down fully and then Clint dragging Bruce closer, until he was practically completely on top of him, not quite pinning him down (could you pin someone down who dragged you there?), but close. He pressed his hips more firmly against the man underneath him, and was rewarded with a small sound of pleasure. Oh, he was very fond of that sound, and he was very driven to hear it again. Repeatedly.

It started the same way their other times kissing and touching did, the familiar lending a kind of security to the whole thing. It was just... more direct than he'd let it get in the past. And with a lot more skin involved. It didn't take long for him to get Clint to strip his shirt off, and he spent what had to feel like forever to the other man stroking his hands reverently over every long line of muscle, and then followed behind with his mouth, kissing and nipping at Clint's skin until he was weak with the sheer amount of need he had for this man. His cock was aching with it, but that wasn't so different from every other time before now either, if he was being honest. He'd spent a few nights now marveling at how his own body reacted to the mere hint that something physical could take place between them.

He had shifted down while he kept kissing and touching Clint's body, and at some point his boyfriend (he was using that term now, he had decided. If they were doing this... well, they were something. And that word worked for now) had slipped his hand into Bruce's hair, gently tangling in the curls as he let out small sounds of encouragement. Bruce looked up, and he knew his face was flushed and his eyes were bright with so many feelings that he couldn't even begin to put them into words. "Is this okay?" he asked, his voice a little rough with need and all of the other things that came along with this.

"It's perfect," Clint said softy, "you're perfect." His breath caught a little as Bruce bit gently at a spot just above his hip joint. "Are you okay?" When Bruce didn't stop mouthing that particular bit of skin, he tugged lightly at his hair to make him look up. "Are you okay?" he asked again, "you don't have to do this. It can stop at any point, and I'm not going to be disappointed."

Bruce let out a small huff of laughter. "I'd be disappointed," he said, raising his eyebrows up and then letting his look change into a tender smile. "I'm great. This is..." He trailed off, then shook his head a tiny bit. "You're so gorgeous it's intimidating."

Clint gave him a look. "Stop that," he said, shifting so he was half-up on one elbow, his fingers going from Bruce's hair to his cheek, then down to his lips. "How can you possibly think that I don't feel exactly the same way about you? I'm not here with you because we're friends and I think you need to get laid. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not quite that selfless. I want you. You're sexy and funny and so smart it freaks me out sometimes. So don't act like I'm doing you some kind of favor. Please."

Bruce kissed Clint's palm, them pressed his cheek into it. "Okay," he said, "I'll try."

-----

It certainly didn't stop things, their little talk. In fact, it led to more kissing and a shift so they were laying face-to-face, and both of Clint's hands in his hair, holding him in place so he wouldn't move away too fast. Then his shirt was tugged off and Clint's hands were on his body with the same kind of reverence he'd shown not so long ago. It took Bruce far too long to realize that the low sounds of almost desperate need that kept falling in the space between their bodies were coming from his own throat. He wasn't quite touch-starved, but he was very tactile, and always had been, responding to touch more eagerly than nearly anything else, and it was even more intense now that he'd been in his own form of self-imposed isolation for so long.

That was going to change.

Not the visceral reaction to touch, but the self-imposed isolation. That was going to change.

"This is not me making you fall apart, Clint," Bruce said, laughing just a little, though he was sure his face was red.

"Yeah, well, tough shit," Clint said, moving to press kisses along his throat, and Bruce could hear the smirk.

"You are so lucky I'm trying to keep my blood pressure down right now," he said, squirming just a little. "And stop smirking."

"Now why would I ever do such a thing?" Clint drew back, (and Bruce had been right, he was smirking, of course) and his look turned into a full-out grin. "Are you going to try to pretend you don't kinda get off on it?"

"I have no idea what you-" His voice was cut off by the feeling of Clint's hand stroking over his dick through his pants.

"I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Nothing, dear."

-----

"I want to try something."

By now, they've been kissing and touching and well, one might say experimenting, through the rest of Roman Holiday, and three-quarters of the way through An American in Paris. Their pants came off sometime in between the two, which had been its own kind of adventure, since once again it had started with Bruce bound and determined he was going to do things to his boyfriend (because it was safer), but Clint flipping the whole thing around before he could. Which would have been way more frustrating if it hadn't been so much fun. Just, overall, not just because there were handjobs and more kissing and murmured words and way more touching between them. Not that that part wasn't fun... because, obviously. But it was also fun because it was the two of them, and Bruce legitimately enjoyed spending time with Clint. Dicks involved or not. Though, he had to admit, he was getting awfully fond of dicks being involved.

"I'm scared to ask," Bruce said, but his tone was light and teasing, "but go ahead."

"Are you going to trust me?" Clint narrowed his eyes a little, but that smirky little grin was back.

"I don't know, you are pretty devious." Which earned him a light pinch to his hip. "Yes, I'm going to trust you. What is it?"

Clint kissed him, hard, then pulled back, grinning. "You're just going to have to trust me." He put one hand on Bruce's chest to push him to lay flat on his back, then he grabbed the bottle of lube that they'd already opened and used some of. He poured some into his hand, holding it to be sure it was warm before he wrapped his hand around Bruce's cock.

"Th...that's not trying anything," Bruce groaned, pressing his head back into couch cushion a little.

"Oh my god," Clint said, shaking his head with a laugh, "give me a second, impatient one, and I'll get around to the trying aspect." He shifted to kiss Bruce again, and it was somewhere in the middle of that kiss and his hand moving in long slow strokes that Bruce lost track of what exactly was happening.

That is, until Clint started actively pressing his ass down onto his dick. Then everything came into sharp focus. "That..." he started, but then he stopped. He was terrified to breathe too fast right now.

"You just-" Clint's eyelids fluttered, and his next words were said a little breathlessly, "-relax. I'll do the work."

"It's still dangerous," he said, and he was sure his voice was laced with fear.

"Don't care." Clint lifted himself up just a little, then pressed down again with a low moan. "I trust you."

Bruce couldn't even form the words to say "you shouldn't", which was probably for the best. Getting scolded while his boyfriend was actively fucking himself by riding his dick didn't sound like it would be of great benefit to either of them.

-----

And that was, for better or worse, exactly how it happened the first time. Clint took charge of the entire thing, and Bruce was terrified, and when it was over, and nothing bad had happened and Clint was laying against his chest and looking far too smug for his own good, Bruce felt the knot of fear he'd been living with for far too long start to ease. Not entirely, but enough that he could enjoy the afterglow and wrap his arms around his boyfriend and just be.

The next movie was on, the sound down low and the screen flickering a little in the now dimmed lights of the living room. Bruce's eyes felt heavy, but he didn't want to sleep. Not yet, when there were so many things that could be said. That should be said. "Clint?" he said softly.

"Hmm?" He tilted his head with a small smile. "What's up?"

"I just..." He stopped, trying to be sure to say what he actually felt. "Tha-"

"I swear to god," Clint said, interrupting him, "if you thank me I am going to hit you. Legitimately. I will hit you."

"I'm not allowed to be grateful?" Bruce half-laughed, shaking his head. "What kind of weird rule is that?"

"The one that also says 'stop thinking you're not amazing' and 'people actually like you'," he said, lightly thumping him in the chest. "Like I said before, this wasn't just for you. Yes, it was partially for you, obviously, but it was for me, too. Or did you miss the part where I was getting off? Because I'm pretty sure you noticed, considering the way your eyes rolled back in your head when it happened." He raised his eyebrows a little.

"I... don't think that actually happened." Bruce was blushing again, which was probably amusing considering the fact that they'd spent over a full movie naked together.

"Oh, but it did," Clint said, his voice going soft and almost tender. "I wish you could see yourself through other people's eyes. I wish you could understand how people see you. You've spent so long thinking of yourself as a monster, and you're not."

Bruce looked toward the ceiling, afraid that if he focused on Clint he was going to start tearing up. "Ah, but sometimes I am."

"Oh, yeah, such a monster. Wanting to hang out and watch classic movies, watching out for people you care about, sending coded messages through flowers, always being there to talk when people need to or to talk your best friend down when he's going a thousand miles an hour... If that's a monster, then the world needs more monsters."

"But that's me," he said, almost desperately, trying to make Clint understand. "That's not him."

"So, you admit there's a difference." Clint gave him a long, steady look.

"Of course."

"Then why do you punish yourself for something that's not you?"

Oh. Oh, that was unfair. Logic wasn't a fair tactic. Bruce thought about it, thought about how to say things like I'm scared the second I relax he'll hurt people I love and Sometimes, I'm so exhausted of fighting being what he wants me to be and I don't believe I deserve anything good. Those words wouldn't come, not because he didn't trust Clint to hear them, but because saying them made them real. "I don't know," he finally said.

"Okay. Then how about you trust people around you to know what they want and need, and if you're a part of that, you stop arguing with them about it?" Christ, how did Clint think Bruce was the smart one?

"I'm trying." And he was, or at least trying to try, and it was a start.

"Good. Then trust that when I say that I want you as a part of my life, and I want you, full stop, and that I know what that entails."

Clint was adorable when he scowled. Even if he was scolding Bruce when he did it.

"You still want me?" he asked, but he was teasing, his voice light. "I wasn't aware you were going to get addicted that quickly."

Clint pressed his hips down, grinding their bodies together just enough that the friction was maddening. "Yeah, well, I didn't know what you had hiding in your pants," he said, shifting so he could nip at Bruce's throat to make him squirm. "You can't give a person a taste and not expect to have them swooning over you."

"It's just a dick, Clint!" He flung his hands over his face, trying to cover the blush that was never going to leave if this kept up.

"'Just a dick', he says," Clint said, tugging his hands away from his face. "Having not-so-long-ago ridden the dick in question, and really hoping to do it again sometime soon, I think I'm a better judge of that than you are."

"Hmm. Maybe," Bruce (partially) conceded.

The two of them laid together, lazily touching, kissing again and again. Clint kept up the grinding movements between them, and it didn't take overly long for Bruce's dick to point out that it was touch-starved, thank you so much, and it would really like to solve that problem right this second. Clint shifted to more directly grind his ass right against it, and Bruce let out a low sound that was still tinged with wonder. How was this his life?

"Tease," Bruce said, but there was absolutely no heat behind the word.

"Yeah, well, somebody was very dedicated to rules," Clint started, though he was very shortly cut off by the fact that Bruce pushed him off of his chest, only to follow him, pinning his wrists to the soft cushions underneath them.

"I'm willing to loosen up on the rules," he said, starting at Clint's shoulder and grazing his teeth lightly over his skin, across his collarbone, to the hollow of his throat, where he pressed an almost-delicate kiss as he aligned their bodies and pressed his hips forward, them moved away from his throat so he could watch his face.

Clint's eyes closed for a long moment, but he was smiling the softest little smile and when he did open his eyes, the smile went softer somehow. "You don't have to be careful with me," he said, reaching up to run his fingertips over Bruce's cheek and then his thumb across his bottom lip. "You're not going to hurt me."

He said it with such conviction that Bruce actually believed it. Maybe just for now, maybe just for a few minutes, but he did believe it. And then Clint was wrapping his legs around his waist and pulling him closer, and the world narrowed down to the two of them, and Bruce forgot to be afraid. There wasn't room for it there between them.

-----

This time their legs were entangled, and they were both sweaty and laughing, laying on their sides facing each other, and Bruce was chasing gooseflesh over Clint's hip and down his leg, but then he got distracted by his ass, since it was right there, and Jesus Christ, he could die right here and be okay with it. It was enough. More than enough. Clint kissed him again. Never enough.

"I'm too old for this," he teased.

Clint forced his eyes open to look at him through his eyelashes, though Bruce was fairly sure that was just tiredness, not him actively trying to be cute. Though, he was. "Shhh," he said, then laughed again, burying his face in Bruce's neck. "Brain... gone. But shhh anyway." He yawned, nuzzling further into his neck.

"Don't fall asleep yet," Bruce said, "we need to clean up, at least a little."

"Don't care." And he wasn't moving much, so that was probably true.

"Baby..." Bruce laughed softly, gently extricating himself from the clutches of the snuggle demon. Since he was the one still alert enough to do more than grump that he didn't care, he went to the bathroom and got out washcloths and got them into hot water so the warmth would stay long enough to leave them at least marginally less sticky when they woke up. Even with the warmth, Clint shivered a little when he started, but then he settled back in and just made happy little noises in his chest that Bruce was particularly fond of.

It didn't take long to deem the clean up good enough, and he looked around for a spot to put the wet cloths and the towels he'd used to dry them both.

"Hey, uh, Jarvis?" he called quietly.

"Good evening, Doctor Banner, how can I assist you?"

"You're really never going to call me Bruce, are you?" he asked, sighing a little. "I have some wet things that need to be taken to the laundry, but I really don't want to get back up if I can help it."

"Just leave them somewhere on the floor behind the couch, Doctor Banner. I assure you I'll have it taken care of by morning."

"You're sure?" It felt weird having a servant, even if was computer-based, picking up after them.

"Of course." Jarvis sounded dry, "it is, after all, quite literally what I'm here for."

"Well... thanks?"

"You're quite welcome, Doctor Banner. Enjoy your night."

He was about to answer, but Clint, without moving, said "Way ahead of you, J." Then he opened his eyes just a little slit. "C'mon, old man. Lay down with me."

Bruce huffed a laugh. "Way ahead of you," he teased, but he was already moving to do as he was told, and once he was settled back in, he tugged Clint up against his chest, where he made a happy little grumble, and Bruce smiled, letting his eyes slide closed in one blink, then a slower second, an even slower third, and then he was out.

This was the start of it. This was his life, here and now.