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Expecting Me to Watch

700 | Clint Barton/Bruce Banner | NC-17 (kb: electricity)






Bruce surprises him with the prod three months after they’ve started this. They aren’t in their roles, hanging out in the kitchen and eating the expensive cookies that Tony has delivered three times a week. (For a guy who drinks a lot of green juice, he can have a hell of a sugar craving, and with this many people in his house, it’s not surprising he can’t keep his special cookies in stock.) They don’t talk about what they do, and they don’t let it make them be more or less friendly than they were when they began.

He’s helping Bruce keep the Hulk in check; Bruce is letting him spill some of those darker urges he has onto his skin. Even the small marks on his neck or arms can be ignored. The team likes to overlook Bruce most of the time. As long as he’s happy, they’re pretty fine with what he does in his spare time.

Bruce takes one more bite of his cookie before he’s looking at Clint in a nervous way that usually means good things. “I bought something that I thought you could use on me,” he says carefully, and Clint raises his eyebrows.

“What is it?”

“It’s in the room,” Bruce says. Bruce really isn’t supposed to go into the room without Clint; they both know where it is, a little corner of the Tower that Tony doesn’t have video recorders, but Clint always leads Bruce there, usually blindfolded.

Clint blinks and looms close to Bruce. “I guess that means you want to go down there.”

“Yeah, if we could.” He grabs Bruce’s shoulder roughly, pushing him away from the kitchen. He feels himself starting to slide back into the right place. “Leave your shoes, Banner. You aren’t going to need them.” At the very least, Clint is going to whip his feet. It’s one punishment that he knows Banner

Bruce loves pain, but he hates his feet being hurt. It’s probably why Clint likes it so much.

The room has changed in the months. The chair is still there, but Clint managed to get a hook to hang from the ceiling, enough that it will support Bruce’s weight.

The prod is in the middle of Clint’s work table, laying over one of the whips. He raises his eyebrows. “That’s what you bought,” he says, in a slow, appreciative sound. He turns it on, feeling the hum in his palm. He tries it on his own arm, shivering at the shock. Clint doesn’t like it, but then again, this isn’t for him to like or dislike.

Bruce is already out of his t-shirt, his wrists held out. Clint grabs a length of rope and ties his wrist, looping it over the hook so Bruce has to stretch. He’s up on his toes, already breathing slow.

“Next time, you’ll be blindfolded,” Clint says, and he touches the prod to Bruce’s side. He jumps, gasping. He touches Bruce again, closer to his nipple. “I’ll blindfold you, and I’ll use what I want. It could be this--” He touches Bruce’s nipple that time, and Bruce leans back as much as the hook will allow, “or maybe I’ll use one of my toys, something I like.”

Bruce breathes out slow, and Clint watches this time, the way the edge of the prod seems to spark before the jolt pushes into Bruce’s skin. “Not just something you like.”

“I know,” Bruce gasps, and Clint has a thought about what this would feel like on Bruce’s inner thighs, what kind of noise he would make if Clint kept touching this closer and closer to Bruce’s balls.

But that isn’t what they’re doing, and Clint isn’t sure how Bruce would feel about it if Clint would introduce it now. He can see that Bruce is half-hard in his sweats, just from this, just from the current hitting his body again and again. There are tiny marks on Bruce’s skin from the prod, and Clint kind of loves it.

He pushes the prod against Bruce’s nipple again and the sound Bruce makes is almost like a sob.

Clint laughs, resting his forehead against Bruce’s neck as he waits for him to settle again. “Just think,” he murmurs, letting the prod snap and crackle. He kind of loves the sound, the promise of the pain. “We still have to do your feet.”

He puts the prod to Bruce again.
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June 2013

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