For Thor (stopmjolnirtime)

[cognitive_recalibration]

From here

It’s not every day you get someone promising to beat down death’s door to rescue you from it, so please excuse Clint’s shocked, mooneyed face for the next several minutes.

He’s been living his life wrong, he decides, only slowly returning to chewing so that he doesn’t choke on the lump of pizza in his mouth. Why has he never gotten to know Thor outside of Avenging? The guy is beyond sincere and obviously a pretty great guy under the princely visage.

Maybe that’s because Clint Barton is not a good guy. He’s been doing his best to change that for years now but you don’t just clear a slate of evil deeds overnight. He honesty never may. Until a few moments ago, he’d been sure that the only person he honestly matters to was Tasha.

Phil’s gone after all.

Damn.

Damn, he doesn’t like feeling itchy like this. He decides it’s the dried blood and drops any other thought or reason for the sudden tingle.

“Uh. Wow. You know, that’s the coolest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Comments

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Oh.” Clint settles back in as if that explanation had been enough. He’s never known Thor to lie, never known him to be manipulative. If the guy says he cares for Clint and isn’t trying to recruit him to be a lapdog in the most literal sense of the word, he believes him.

The archer turns, setting his calloused hand over Thor’s knee. He’s plucked so many strings, held onto so many high wire swings and ropes, that this hand is all hardened skin and muscle. His eyes close again and he sighs.

“For the record, I do feel comforted. And I’m sorry that I’m not really good with the whole being cared about thing. Weird new concept,” he laughs softly.

[stopmjolnirtime]

"You have not had this kind of care. Most of us don't seem to...know what to do with this. Steve might be familiar, but he's also displaced and distressed by that. Stark is entirely unfamiliar to the point of being allergic. You and Natasha are far more accustomed to gestures of care being used to mask ill intentions. And Doctor Banner? Does not trust himself enough to accept such things easily." He's- not so unobservant as to not notice these details. He doesn't catch as much as Clint, perhaps, but he understands this.

He saw similar shades in Loki as they got older.

Not that he'll mention it but- he understands.

"I'm...learning to be better at showing that I care. It feels simpler in Asgard and I wish to be a better friend to you but- I am not certain how? But if you will accept this- this is how I intend to...show it."

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Knock yourself out,” Clint murmurs. It might be strange to accept this sort of thing when he’s feeling his best, when he’s not bundled up in a blanket and already well plied for affectionate touch. Then again, like an alley cat shown that being touched doesn’t have to hurt, he may very well come to crave Thor’s physical expression of appreciation and friendship.

He snores lightly as he drops deeply to sleep and stays that way for nearly six hours before his head jerks up.

Clint is momentarily unsure of where he is, or who he is with. His fingers walk across Thor’s knee before it dawns on him that he’s had an Asgardian pillow since prior to sunup.

He feels… good. There’s no hang over. No real feeling of aches anywhere either. “Huh,” he says, trying to sit up from under Thor’s heavy arm.

[stopmjolnirtime]

Thor, his hand settled comfortably, companionably on Clint's shoulder, is out cold. Friday will warn him should anyone attempt entry and he is a fairly light sleeper in most instances. But with someone he trusts warm, safe, and curled close? The Prince of the Aesir sleeps and sleeps deeply, limbs slung out loose and easy, head tilted back against the sofa, throat bared in the early morning light.

No tension in his shoulders, no furrow to his brow, only a token flexing of the palm on Clint's shoulder as he moves- languid and leonine before falling aside. He hadn't moved, content to remain and to remain on guard, Mjolnir resting lightly in his opposite palm.

The room's silent save the slow, deep pass of Thor's breathing, the thudding of his heart.

Leonine is the best word ever for Thor

[cognitive_recalibration]

Surprised when his knees don’t even twinge with discomfort for kneeling on them, Clint contorts himself from out of Thor’s grasp and gently tucks the blond back into himself. He is careful with his movements, slow and focused as he is, and presses pillows or the blanket into the spots he’d left.

Clint isn’t going to run away. Thor will find him. But he will be hitting the head.

He glances down at himself in the bathroom. His shirt is undone, blood mostly wiped clean from him. He examines the jagged purple thread sewn into his skin on the side and washes his hands.

He could use a shower but he’d like Thor to be awake before he did.

The assassin creeps back over to the sleeping giant and purchases on the coffee table. For the moment, he’s content to watch him.

Him big lazy cat for all that he's a golden retreiver. Also: Assumed to be regal. Actually a goof.

[stopmjolnirtime]

Deeply dreaming, the usual battles and revels of ages past sweep through his mind in comforting white noise- but it does not always remain so. There is the knowledge of inevitability tied to every moment his friends come into danger, an awareness that no matter how determined or stalwart his defense and protection of them-

One day he will not be fast enough, strong enough, and they will perish.

To bullet or blade, illness or age, and no matter how mighty Thor may be? This- simply must come to pass. There is no preventing it. In these early hours, Clint's blood still under his nails, the knowledge it was terribly close? Perhaps it was selfishness that had him request Clint remain. Reassurance that he wished for when his brow furrows and his dreams turn dark, breath caught in his chest.

Thor startles upright with a jolt, for a moment his blue eyes dark and agonized, brows pinched, hand outstretched to-

Clint.

Who is alive, well, and sitting on his coffee table.

"...Ah. You're- awake."

[cognitive_recalibration]

It’s confusing. For all that Thor has shown himself to be and all he confessed to him last night, Clint finds him oddly vulnerable in his sleep. He won’t dare ask what that dream had been about. They all have their traumas and Thor is allowed his.

“I am,” the archer says, knees up and legs crossed at the ankle in the middle of the table. “And you are too. Finally. I’ve been dying for some coffee but I wanted to ask first.”

He feels great. There’s no denying it. Sleep worked wonders on him. But that doesn’t alleviate the caffeine addiction.

“So one, can I make coffee? Two, do you want some? And three, can I rent you out once a week? You’re literally th best mattress on the market!”

[stopmjolnirtime]

"..." Still slightly haunted- Thor finishes reaching out, hand hooking around the nape of Clint's neck to squeeze gently. Feeling the warmth, the solidity of the archer. Alive and well, not bloodied and too cold, too still. "Ah- help yourself?"

Because he's hosting, so- coffee. Right. He remembers how to work the coffee machine.

Mostly due to the note tacked to the cupboard above it, but Thor takes the moment to rouse and collect himself as he consults the steps. Fill with water. Add filter. Add grounds. Insert. Press power. It's a little like his mother's teas but vastly different all the same. "If you need rest that badly, you can find me whenever you want. My bed is empty of late."

Did that sound forward? He can't quite tell.

[cognitive_recalibration]

It’s not the first time in the last few hours that Clint thought Thor to be making an advance. The feel of that hand on him is less terrifying and more intriguing. It’s a testament, he’s sure, of the recent blood loss.

Still, as Thor leads the couch, the archer slinks into his slot, pulling the blanket up.

“Why is it empty?” What happened to that annoying woman he thought be was when? Clint stops just short about asking about her directly.

[stopmjolnirtime]

Thor is- not sheepish when he speaks next, but a little less cheery. "Jane and I are no longer seeing one another, and have not been for some time."

And he has, perhaps, been a little...shy about going out and meeting new people. For one: Finding similar life experiences is difficult on Midgard for so many reasons, for another-

Jane was truly special. Brilliant, driven, compassionate, so full of life and intense focus- just any person wouldn't do after he was so fortunate as to have earned her favor. Even if he lost it- he doesn't begrudge her their parting. She wanted someone that would be there. That would remain by her side always- and she deserves that.

[cognitive_recalibration]

Aww, no. No. Clint’s face drops. “Damn it, Thor. I’m so sorry man. I didn’t know. She was really nice.” And boring. So bland. Clint keeps that to himself. Thor can do so much better! “You’ve just got to get back in the saddle! You’ve got what? Two whole Realms of ladies to try out?”

That sounds bad. Nat would kill him for being so sexist.

“I’ve been told I’m not a bad wing man if you wanna try an Earth girl again.”

[stopmjolnirtime]

"She was. We remain friendly, if not together." And he will remain forever grateful for that friendship, it could have been much worse. She could have died or they could hate each other and that'd be-

Just.

The worst.

"It's hard to find people with similar life experiences. Or- well. Jane wasn't ever..." He shrugs, gesturing to himself as he returns with two mugs of coffee. "Who and what I was never mattered to her. Anyone on Midgard sees me as Thor first. Well- Susan doesn't, but Susan is married. Anyone on Asgard sees me as a potential political partner rather than life partner."

[cognitive_recalibration]

“You don’t think who you are should matter? It’s sort of…. It’s part of you right? The person has to love all of it. Or they won’t be able to handle you flying off the save the day.”

The drip finishes in the coffee maker and Clint stands rather gracefully all things considered to pour himself, and Thor, a cup.

“Not for nothing though, I get it. You’re giant and cut and are probably a great lay. People want the avenger’s girlfriend tag I guess. How you do you take this? Too much sugar like me or are you a purist?”

[stopmjolnirtime]

"It is, but- I wish to be known and cared for as myself. Not a warrior, a prince, a hero, a fool." Because he is, quite often, very foolish. It's gotten him into just as much trouble as it's gotten him out of, really. "Or God of Thunder."

A beat, a quirked bow as he takes a sip of his black coffee. "And fertility. I am an amazing lay."

Because clearly that's the part that needs emphasizing.

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Well yeah, that’s probably no contest there,” Clint says, glancing Thor over. What? He’s not allowed to look? He has eyes! Maybe his gaze lingered a little but—

Clint pauses in his own mental rant and parts his lips for a moment. He looks confused.

“How many kids do you have then? I mean, we can probably spin it. Lots of women like kids…?”

[stopmjolnirtime]

Clint can look and Thor can settle comfortably, legs slung out, hip against the counter, nevermind that he's still got blood on him from the night before- he knows he looks good. It's hard to not. "None. I think, for the time being, I've had my fill of the fairer sex."

Which isn't to say he isn't interested in other potential partners, it's just- dating is hard, as a hero.

Oh I usually okay Clint more 616 than MCO. So partial hearing loss. No family. Etc.

[cognitive_recalibration]

“Not really a god of fertility then are you?” Clint ribs Thor, holding the mug to his chest to feel the heat. He’s been so pleasantly warm under Thor’s arm on the couch but now this place just feels a little too cool.

The archer grins cheekily, and heads back towards the couch. Yea, yea, let Thor pose like the Adonis he is. Clint’s sure there’s songs about bouncing quarters off of his abs.

Oh cool! I wasn't sure, excellent >_>

[stopmjolnirtime]

"I'm not the one that told Midgardians of my vigor and virility in bed. Fandrall was." Thor boasted about many, many things in his time, but bedsport? If you had to brag, clearly, you needed the reassurance.

"What of you? Do you require a wingman of your own?" Which- that isn't how it'd go at all, no matter how helpful Thor would want to be-

Clint would get ignored entirely, despite his best intentions.

[cognitive_recalibration]

“What me? Nah, I’m drowning in it.” This, of course, is a lie. Clint does not date. Clint does not have one night stands. He may not be as recognizable as the flashy part of the Avengers but he does not have the legal team Stark does to refute one night stands.

Besides, a man with his background does not settle down. He had. Once. Long enough to get married and have a couple of kids. Just long enough to feel safe. And a little too long to see them all killed. But that was a long time ago and he’s still a little gunshy about it.

And when is he supposed to find the time?!

“I gotta pry them off. Man, you should see my DMs.”

[stopmjolnirtime]

"Ah, of course." Thor smiles over the rim of his mug. "I'm glad to know the people of this world know you for the catch you are."

Because he is, if not unearthly in the way of the Aesir- singular and striking. Sharp eyes, angled jaw, powerful arms, a clever mind and steady heart. That he is a focused and determined warrior is only to his benefit, Thor is surprised he has not heard more of these exploits.

Clearly this means Clint is also, above all things, discreet- yet another point in his favor!

[cognitive_recalibration]

Now that he feels like his manhood has been saved in the face of a literal fertility god, Clint can breathe more evenly. He doesn’t need the world, or even the Avengers, to know how lonely he is. What? Lonely? Certainly not. He’s too busy for that! Plus, he has Nat. And now he has Thor who is willing to rescue him from Australia.

Win-win-win.

“Oh yeah. I really am the catch. But we’re talking about you. If there’s someone like Susan out there who doesn’t know you, there has to be at least ten more. And not all of them can be married, right? Or it’s okay to just be alone too. For awhile. Work on yourself. Maybe take a shower. You’re literally covered in my blood and it’s weird.”

aw, clint, t-t

[stopmjolnirtime]

"Is it? It is." Thor huffs quietly, knocking back the last of his coffee and tugging his shirt up and off on the way to the bathroom. "I'll clean up and then we can get that thread out of your side."

Which will take tweezers and patience, but he's up for it, certainly.

He's pretty sure he has at least one shirt that'll fit Clint after he's taken a shower. Mostly? Moderately. It may be one of Jane's she left behind but it's oversized for her, meaning it ought to fit Clint, and it had the benefit of being purple.

Thor's shower is short, hair combed and braided out of his face, towel around his hips as he walks past to the bathroom. "Your turn, I'll have something for you by the time you're done."

Clint is small but he’s gonna still bust those sleeves open Thor!

[cognitive_recalibration]

The most amusing thing about this situation is that his own room is literally down the hall. He could go and come back without anyone noticing. He could climb through the vent in the kitchen and even bypass FRIDAY. Of course, he realizes as he closes the bathroom door, Thor’s muscled back still interspersing the rest of his thoughts because damn, Jane why would you give that up?, that Thor is still taking Nat’s threat seriously.

And it’s been over ten hours since he’s been shot and Thor put it put on Twitter. He has yet to call her. Or text her. So maybe he is going to dead if he leaves?

While the water runs, Clint makes sure his bestie is kept in the loop again. He explains about Thor partially kidnapping him and they have a good tease about it. When he finally showers, it’s several minutes later and it takes him a lot longer to turn the water off than it had for Thor.

Mostly because his wound had literally healed around the purple stitching and he had blood stuck in his hair. Both required a lot of extra examination.

Short but solid, nicely muscled, v nice.

[stopmjolnirtime]

There's a sharp rapping on the door as Thor returns, fabric folded in his hands. Purple galaxy shirt, soft sweatpants, folded socks as it does get cold in his suite on occasion, not that he is ever particularly bothered. "Clint? How are the stitches? Do you require aid?"

He will offer it as best he can, though he is not very experienced with stitches and the like, stones tend to handle such things.

[cognitive_recalibration]

Wrapped in a towel meant for someone of Thor’s size, Clint opens and then immediately closes his mouth again. “Thor. I think those are for women. Which you know. To each their own. But there’s not enough cloth to cover me…”. He lightly pokes at what must be Jane’s old left behinds.

He feels bad but he’ll stretch out that fabric so badly and ruin the garment.

“Could I just borrow something of yours? I roll up the pant legs. And I have a feeling you’re gonna have to help me cut out these stitches. Maybe I’ll get a decent scar after all.” He’s already covered in them but they’re like tattoos. You just get addicted to getting more.