Avengers kissing fest!

[such_heights]

(Me? Procrastinating on my own fannish projects? Never!)

I declare a festival of kissing for my pretty summer fling fandom. Avengers movieverse, all characters, all ships and no ships, all fanworks.

THE RULES:

01. Leave a comment with two or more characters from the Avengers movieverse who you'd like to see kiss. You can include a prompt if you like as an optional extra for the prompt-filler.
02. Reply to a comment with a fanwork in which those characters kiss. The kissing can be platonic or romantic, on the mouth or the cheek or the forehead or the shoulder or anywhere else that you like.
03. All fanworks welcome, including art/podfic/vids/icons/recs/meta/fic etc. Multiple fills for the same prompt are encouraged. Replying to your own prompt is fine. Anon commenting is fine. Coming back and posting a fill two months later is fine.

\o/

eta: fills so far:

Bruce/Clint
by estelendur

Bruce/Natasha
by musesfool

Bruce/Pepper/Tony
by d_generate_girl
by such_heights

Bruce/Tony
by musesfool
by thingswithwings
by florahart
by estelendur

Bucky/Natasha/Steve
by hederahelix

Bucky/Steve
by gorgeousnerd
by jain
by laylee

Clint/Coulson
by sunnyrea
by meinterrupted

Clint/Darcy
by liseuse
by liseuse 2
by grammarwoman

Clint/Hill
by stevie

Clint/Natasha
by recessional (contains gory imagery)
by liseuse
by liseuse 2 (gory imagery)
by some_stars
by recessional 2
by ceridweyn_lin
by recessional 3
by recessional 4
by anonymous

Clint/Steve
by longwhitecoats

Clint/various
by ashen_key

Coulson/Fury
by emmypenny

Coulson/Steve
by estelendur
by such_heights

Darcy/Jane
by meinterrupted

Darcy/Thor
by florahart

Darcy/Steve
by musesfool
by liseuse

Fury/Hill
by longwhitecoats
by igrockspock

Fury/Steve
by jain

Heimdall/Loki
by just_ann_now

Hill/Natasha
by just_ann_now
by liseuse

Hulk/Pepper
by spicedrum

Jane/Tony
by spicedrum

Loki/Thor
by terryh-nyan
by longwhitecoats

Natasha/OFC
by ashen_key

Natasha/Pepper
by thingswithwings
by such_heights

Natasha/Rhodey
by sinensis

Natasha/Steve
by liseuse
by musesfool
by spicedrum

Natasha/Thor
by spatz

Pepper/Tony
by thingswithwings
by spatz

Rhodey/Tony
by spatz

Steve/Thor
by estelendur

Tony/team
by such_heights

Comments

[-samalander.livejournal.com]

Clint/Natasha - We aren't even real.

uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[recessional]

9 times out of ten, Nat is the most grounded, unflappable, composed and cool-headed person in the world, even if (for instance) their contact dissolves in front of them. Literally. Which has happened. And of that one time out of ten that she's not, ninety-nine times out of a hundred (of that one time out of ten) she just gets pissed off and a pissed off Natasha is bad news for pretty much anything she encounters.

But that one time out of a hundred of those one-times-out-of-ten, something hits her brain just the wrong way and lets some of the carefully controlled and neutralized fucked-up out.

The first time she doesn't shove it all back in like you'd to for a gut wound where your intestines fall out is the time that Clint realizes she actually trusts him (inasmuch as she trusts anyone, ever). And this is hugely gratifying and heart-warming and totally, utterly fucking terrifying when he finds her standing in front of a mirror she apparently smashed with her hand (which is bleeding), staring at the fractured reflection like it's got the secrets of the universe or has pissed her off recently.

(These are remarkably similar expressions, in Tasha.)

" . . . Natasha?" Clint says, cautiously. Then he searches for something to say that isn't going to set off Mount Vesuvius and settles on, "You're bleeding all over the tiles."

Natasha frowns and stares at her hand like she's not sure she's ever seen it before or like someone redecorated it while she was out. "How do you know?" she asks, in a weird and distant voice.

"Uh," Clint says intelligently, reflecting that "dealing with the Black Widow's mental breakdowns" is sadly not a currently listed training course at SHIELD. "I can see you. You're right there?"

Now Natasha turns her stare on him and he fights the urge to take a step back, because that . . . well, he hasn't seen that stare since before he decided not to kill her, and it's still fucking scary. But he just stands where he is, and she asks, "How do you know it's me? And don't say you know what I look like, Barton. Looks are nothing. Bodies are nothing. We're nothing. We're not even real."

There's probably a right answer to this, like, an approved and brilliant one. After a minute, Clint just shrugs and says, "I think if you were anyone else and I walked in on you being crazy and punching mirrors and questioning reality, I'd probably be dead by now?"

A lot of different expressions go across Natasha's face, that scrunch it up in different shapes, until she looks back down at her bleeding hand and seems to actually see it.

"Here," Clint says, ducking into the bathroom and opening one of the cabinets, holding up some gauze and bandage. Natasha lets him use the iodine wipes on her hand, but takes the gauze and bandage herself. When she's done she sighs, and looks up a bit more like herself.

"Sorry," she says, short and grudging, like she hates having to see it. On the basis that a little obnoxious is always more welcome than pity, Clint puts a mocking arm around her shoulder.

"Don't sorry about it," he says, and decides to totally break the mood by dropping a kiss on the side-top of her head.

The world pauses for a second, and then Tasha says, " . . . did you just give me a patronizing kiss on the head?" and really sounds a lot more like Natalia Romanova and a lot less like a crazed remnant of a super-spy-assassin. Clint congratulates himself.

"Yeah," he replies, and then adds, "And now I really know it's you, because I'm still not dead."

She's trying not to laugh as she shoves him away. Clint'll count that a win.

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[such_heights]

a;das;ldj why are they so endearing and fucked up at the same time? This is great.

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[liseuse]

This both made me heartclenchy and seal-clap at the screen. Well done!

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[goodbyebird]

Very awesome <3

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[samalander]

This is amazing, I love how you captured them, just on the edge of broken.

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[meinterrupted]

Oh, Natasha! I want to hug her, but she'd probably stab me.

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[longwhitecoats]

I love how complex you made their relationship in so short a space! So charming.

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[cathalin]

Oh wow, this is awesome. Haha the patronizing head kiss is great, and I especially love how they both know she's herself because she won't kill Clint.

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[spatz]

D'awwwww. Clint being sweet and supportive by being obnoxious because that's what she needs is endlessly ♥ Oh, I love them so.

Re: uh, mild warning for Clint using Special, Slightly Gorey Imagery

[boosette]

BROS. AND KISSING. TWO GREAT TASTES THAT TASTE GREAT TOGETHER.

(<333333333)

[liseuse]

Clint/Natasha - We aren't even real.

It isn’t often that Clint gets sent on the deep infiltration spy gigs these days. They seem to have more use for him on rooftops and watching from a distance. But, right now, he is in a tuxedo, dancing with Natasha in the American Embassy in Kiev. They’ve been in Ukraine for two months. Playing the part of second-generation Americans, with (long dead, long mourned) Russian parents, and a lot of money to burn. Natasha’s running the show. Of course she is. She’s organising everything, and scaring the backup team by knowing more intel in three days than they’d found in months. Clint is, basically, along for the ride. He’s the charming husband, with the spine of steel, and the dangerous glint in his eyes. Just enough new-American to not mind being second-fiddle to his wife, and just enough bravado to occasionally slip the leash.

Natasha is wearing her favourite Dinner-And-Dancing-At-The-Embassy dress. It’s black, curve skimming, and forgiving enough that she can wear a thigh-holster and no one will know. It’s a miracle of engineering, and it has removable boning. She’s smiling gently, her head resting on Clint’s shoulder and the pearl earrings are reflecting the light from the chandeliers around the room. To an outsider she looks beautiful, peaceful and in love. Clint can feel her watching the room, knows she has a knife tucked into the boning of the dress, a revolver in the thigh-holster and that the thigh he has bracketed with his, as he dips her down so she can look at the balcony, could kill a man in seconds.

He brings her back up, twirls them round, and then flourishing, dips her again in time to the music. He’s playing this part as a little over-exuberant, it seems to be going down well. They have new money, new car, new attitude and new names. He can have a new personality for a while. “There are two snipers on the balcony,” he mutters into her ear, and she nods. “There’s one at the doorway as well, he’s hiding a gun under the champagne tray. Not very well.” Natasha sounds put out at the lack of effort the marksman is putting into his job.

“Well, in that case, shall we split?” Clint slides his hand up her back, splaying his fingers open. Their signal for “you left, me right, meet you in the hotel” and Natasha slides her hand up his back in an answer. The music comes to an end, and Clint draws Natasha in for a kiss, slides the memory chip over on his tongue and twirls her out of his grip.

[such_heights]

hnnnngh this is fabulous!

[reasdream]

Awesome. So many layers of awesome. Especially the dress.

[samalander]

Oh goodness, I want this to be a whole story about them being glamourous and dangerous and kicking ass.

[longwhitecoats]

So elegant, prose & scene both.

[cathalin]

Ahhh what a wonderful image, them dancing and exchanging information through a kiss, and I love how comfortable they are with each other, and how smoothly they work together. And the dress!!!

[workerbee73]

**HIGH FIVES THIS ENTIRE FICLET**

Just enough new-American to not mind being second-fiddle to his wife, and just enough bravado to occasionally slip the leash.

This line just struck me as so unbelievably perfect. And the kissin' wasn't bad either. Or, you know-- all of it. So good. :)

[spatz]

Eeeeee, this is fun! I love the details and how they are aware of the whole room and competent, and totally having fun, all at the same time. It makes it weirdly sexy while not being about sex at all, between them. (mmm, competence)

She’s smiling gently, her head resting on Clint’s shoulder and the pearl earrings are reflecting the light from the chandeliers around the room. To an outsider she looks beautiful, peaceful and in love. Clint can feel her watching the room, knows she has a knife tucked into the boning of the dress, a revolver in the thigh-holster and that the thigh he has bracketed with his, as he dips her down so she can look at the balcony, could kill a man in seconds.

I love love love this whole description. Perfect.

[sinensis]

This hits ALL of my spy buttons. So good!

Clint/Natasha, "So quietly to catch"

[some_stars]

After the Loki situation, SHIELD takes them both off active duty for a few weeks. Ostensibly it's until all the paperwork clears, but really, Natasha knows, it's because they're resources, and SHIELD is managing them. It doesn't feel like a kindness.

Even less kind to Clint, who isn't just being rested but also watched. A period of observation is understandable after what happened, a new and inexplicable form of mind control for an extended period of time. They can't take Natasha's word for it that he's back--though she thinks Fury's as convinced of that as she is, but he can be surprisingly serious about following procedure, when procedure isn't stupid.

He might have taken Coulson's word that Clint was himself again, and Natasha would have trusted it too. Coulson had been fond of Clint, in his quiet little way, and it had been mutual. Another reason it's hard to be around Clint now, to watch him forced into idleness with no distractions and no mission.

Which doesn't mean she doesn't stay. She's off active duty but she's free to go, at least as free as any SHIELD agent ever is--which is to say, with eyes on her, but just the usual eyes. And she could go anywhere. But Clint can't. To be sure, they're hardly married or even official partners, and she's spent more time on solo missions than working with him since he brought her in. For now, though, she stays. Trains with him, when he doesn't prefer to be alone. Watches movies--he likes big action films, preferably the kind where the villain is some natural disaster. There's alien invasion movies in his collection too--they've watched most of them together--but she suspects the bloom is at least temporarily off that rose.

(He doesn't so much like the movies where the bad guys are other people and the fights are violent orgies of punching and gunplay. Not--she's almost certain--for any deep emotional reason, but because that kind of thing done badly is annoying, and done well it's shop talk.)

He's being kept in SHIELD's New York facility, because the Helicarrier is in dry dock being repaired and upgraded, and anyway it's not really built for long-term habitation. The New York building is a nice enough place, with a big gym that even has an archery range, if only a small one. His quarters have windows. But it's not enough.

"You have to let me take him out," she tells Fury. "We won't leave the city, but he needs a break. Or a mission," she adds, out of no real hope. On that she expects no leeway; 'agent under enemy control' is three to six weeks of observation, depending on the circumstances, and no time off for good behavior. (The observation period doesn't always end happily, but this one will. Because he's fine. It's just the procedure.)

"Do you know how many routes there are out of this city?" Fury says. "I'm not in the mood to blockade Manhattan because Barton got itchy feet."

"I can keep Barton under control," Natasha says. "And he doesn't want to leave SHIELD. Just this building."

"One and a half more weeks and maybe he can."

"He won't--" She stops herself. It isn't true, anyway. Of course he'll make it. Clint's no more fragile than she is. It only feels true, watching him lift weights, shoot arrows a short distance in a straight line, spar with her in a way that feels hollow now that she knows exactly what he's capable of and remembers the taste of his blood. Watching him flinch and carefully relax when some agents had passed them in a corridor, glanced at him, and then the murmured names of two of the agents he'd killed had floated down the hallway after them.

"You know this isn't necessary," she tries.

"It's procedure," Fury says. "For a damned good reason." He looks at her more closely. "But there's no reason you need to stay locked in here with him."

She hasn't, quite. She goes outside, mostly when Clint's made it clear he needs his space for a while. It doesn't seem fair to take off while he's stuck in there, though. And maybe--she knows her own weak points; she has to. When she's away she starts to feel tense. Anything could happen, without her.

Of course she doesn't say anything like this to Fury. She doesn't say, either, We're off active duty because we're your resources, and resources need to be managed, and that's all well and good but you're killing him, and there won't be anything left to burn out if you don't give him some way out of his own head.

She doesn't say, I can't stand watching him like this, and I can't leave.

She says, "Two hours. We'll go to the park."

But Fury knows her pretty well, and he probably hears the rest.

*

Clint's been on edge all day--moreso than usual, which is what prompted her to finally confront Fury. So she doesn't go find him right away. She goes outside, walks a few blocks and drinks some tea at a coffeeshop and watches people. The SHIELD facility is in one of the unscathed sections of the city, but there's reconstruction work underway another few blocks down and the growling hum of equipment carries well.

She heads back in the evening and goes to his quarters. Sharing a bed is an old habit, though in the past it's only ever lasted a few days, after bad missions. This was a bad mission, no question about that, but it's been ten days now since she first slid under the sheets next to him. Well, if he wants it to stop, he'll let her know.

His body is tense alongside hers. He tries to wear himself out but it's the same every night; he only relaxes in his sleep, between dreams. A little of the tension slips away, though, when she presses close against his back.

It's not about sex, between them. That isn't who they are. But this is what he showed her about herself: she needs contact. Just like everybody else.

(You're not a machine, he'd said, they tried to make you into one but you're a person, you don't have to--you get to decide-- Hands on her face, in her hair, his forehead pressed sweaty and hot against hers.)

Natasha rests one hand on his bicep. "You've got a two hour furlough tomorrow," she says. "We're going to the park."

For a minute he doesn't respond. If it weren't for the tautness in his muscles--and if they were other people entirely--she might think he'd fallen asleep.

"Fury's sending me on a field trip?" he says finally. "Thought I couldn't break containment. Thought I might try to run off and do more bad things."

"We'll have chaperones," she says. "Best deal I could cut."

She's seen Clint cry before, once--not including tears from pure physical pain, which are involuntary and signify nothing. Only once. She isn't seeing it now, but with her chest against his back the shaking is pretty unmistakable. She holds on to his arm and rides it out.

"It's only eleven more days," he says eventually. His voice is thick, and wavers a little, but not so anyone else would notice. "Not like they're torturing me in here."

"Yes they are," Natasha says, and presses a quick hard kiss to the back of his neck. "You need a break."

"I need a mission," Clint snaps.

"That deal I couldn't make." She sits up on one elbow and looks at him. She hadn't expected him to get up and dance, but he seems somehow worse. "Clint, what's wrong?"

"That…is a damned good question." His body curls in tighter, away from her. Worry creeps up her spine, cold and grey, even before he goes on. "Maybe I should be in here. Maybe I'm not safe."

"Not safe?"

His clenched fist thumps down on the mattress. "I feel--I don't feel right."

She doesn't have to force herself to consider the possibility. This is the kind of scenario her mind runs automatically, whether she wants it to or not. "You think you might still be under some kind of influence?"

"I don't know!" Another thump. He's turned away so much that he's mostly talking into the pillow now. This is all new, this level of--distress. She's held him through so much, helped him back after torture, after worse things than torture--but this is different.

Do you know what it's like to be unmade? he'd asked her.

Of course she knows.

"Come here," she says, and pulls at him until he rolls over. "Look at me."

He looks. His eyes are hurt, and hollow. "Tasha…"

She touches his face, and his eyes flutter closed again.

"I don't even feel real anymore," he says, very quietly.

Natasha has always trusted her instincts. Clint draws in a shaky breath when she slides her fingers into his hair, and then she's kissing him, holding on and kissing him. His arm lands heavily on her back and clings tight.

It doesn't last so long, not even long enough to leave her out of breath. She doesn't move away, lips brushing his cheek when she speaks. "You're real," she says. "And you're going to be all right again."

He doesn't say anything for a minute, just strokes her back slowly, big hand rubbing up and down, up and down, in time with the puffs of breath against her face.

Finally he says, "You learn that technique from the SHIELD psychiatrists?"

She feels the corner of her mouth twitch, and she lets go of him. "Go to sleep," she says. "We're going to the park tomorrow."

"Yaaaay, walkies," Clint mutters. His grin is only slightly more visible than her own. "You're not going to let me try and slip the handlers, are you?"

"Apparently Fury's not in the mood for an emergency blockade. I even had to promise to stay out of the more wooded areas."

"This fucking job," Clint says, and yawns. The tension isn't gone from his body, but it feels like lying next to a person again, not unexploded ordnance.

Like always, he falls asleep first. Natasha lets herself drift off on the sound of his breath, shallow and steady, close enough to touch.

Re: Clint/Natasha, "So quietly to catch"

[samalander]

This is all kinds of beautiful and achy and raw, and even giggle-inducing at the end.

Re: Clint/Natasha, "So quietly to catch"

[such_heights]

FEELINGS. OH GOD. THESE TWO. *hearthands*

Re: Clint/Natasha, "So quietly to catch"

[holli]

ahhhhhh CLINT. NATASHA. This is hurty and so, so good.

Re: Clint/Natasha, "So quietly to catch"

[sasha_feather]

This is great. :D <3