All the Small Things
It wasn’t dramatic, or planned, or even the result of some life-threatening situation. It happened on a lazy Sunday morning, the kind of morning that Clint never thought Tony Stark would tolerate but had come to appreciate more and more.
Clint was sitting cross-legged on Tony’s couch, a mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other, reviewing some intel Natasha had sent him. Tony was sprawled out beside him, glasses perched low on his nose as he tinkered with a holographic model of his latest suit design. AC/DC played softly in the background, a rare moment of quiet in their otherwise hectic lives.
“Hey, what do you think about this?” Tony asked, gesturing to the projection of the suit. “I’m thinking of adding a modular quiver attachment. You know, for you.”
Clint blinked, lowering the tablet. “For me? You’re making another suit attachment for me?”
Tony didn’t look up, his fingers moving to adjust the model. “Yeah. Figured it might come in handy during team missions. Not that you aren’t already ridiculously over-prepared with those arrows of yours.”
Clint stared at him, a warmth blooming in his chest. Tony, in all his brilliant, chaotic glory, had thought of him—had gone out of his way to build something specifically for him. It wasn’t just thoughtful; it was… Tony.
-
-
“Tony,” Clint said softly.
“Hmm?” Tony looked up, his glasses sliding down a little further. “What’s up?”
“I love you.”
Or at least that’s what played out in Clint’s head. Clint wasn’t sure how many times he’s said that to himself before he could finally build up the courage to say that to Tony’s face. He’d been in his bathroom leaning against the sink staring at himself in the mirror for at least an hour.
He knows he means it and he knows he wants to say it to Tony, he just wants to do it right. He’s messed up so many things before, he couldn't bear to say something so serious and screw it up. Especially not to Tony.
Then it hit him, he knew the perfect place to express his love to Tony.
-
So later that evening, they found themselves on the balcony, watching the city lights. Clint leaned against the railing, a beer in hand, while Tony stood beside him, sipping from a glass of whiskey.
The air between them was comfortable, but charged with something unspoken.
Clint glanced at Tony, taking in the way the city lights reflected in his eyes, the way his lips curled into a faint smile as he watched the world below.
It hit Clint then—hard and fast, like an arrow to the chest.
How much he loved him.
Not in the way he’d loved before—brief, fleeting, and always tinged with regret. This was different. This was real.
And it terrified him.
Clint took a deep breath, setting his beer down on the railing. “Tony,” he said, his voice rough.
Tony turned to him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”
Clint hesitated, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “I… I’ve been meaning to say something.”
Tony frowned, stepping closer. “Clint, you’re starting to freak me out a little. What’s going on?”
Clint looked at him, his chest tightening. “I love you.”
The words tumbled out before he could stop them, raw and unpolished, but undeniably true.
Tony stared at him, his expression unreadable.
For a moment, Clint panicked. Had he said the wrong thing? Was this too much, too soon?
But then Tony’s face broke into a wide grin, and he stepped forward, cupping Clint’s face in his hands.
“Say that again,” Tony said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Clint swallowed hard, his heart racing. “I love you.”
Tony let out a breathless laugh, his forehead pressing against Clint’s. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”
Before Clint could respond, Tony kissed him—soft and slow at first, but quickly deepening into something more. Clint’s hands found Tony’s waist, pulling him closer as the kiss intensified.
When they finally pulled apart, Tony rested his forehead against Clint’s, his breath shaky. “You’re full of surprises, Barton.”
Clint smirked, his hands sliding up to cup Tony’s face. “Guess I’ve got a few tricks left.”
Tony laughed, the sound warm and genuine, permanently leaving the smile on Clint’s mouth.
-
The silence that followed Clint’s confession was warm and alive, buzzing with an energy neither of them dared disturb. Tony kept his forehead pressed against Clint’s, his eyes closed, savoring the moment like it was something fragile—something he was afraid would slip away if he moved too quickly.
For Clint, it was like standing at the edge of a cliff, but instead of falling, he felt steady for the first time in forever. Tony was his safety net, his ground, his everything, and that realization scared the hell out of him. But it didn’t scare him enough to run.
Not this time.
“You okay?” Tony’s voice broke through the quiet, soft and careful.
Clint huffed a small laugh, his hands still cradling Tony’s face. “I just confessed I love you, Stark. Pretty sure I’m the one who should be asking you that.”
Tony pulled back slightly, his hands still on Clint’s shoulders. His grin was bright, boyish, and entirely too smug. “I mean, I always suspected, but hearing you say it? That’s next-level stuff, Barton.”
Clint rolled his eyes. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, but you love me,” Tony shot back, his grin widening.
Clint couldn’t help but laugh, his chest feeling lighter than it had in years. “Yeah, I do. God help me.”
Tony leaned in again, brushing a kiss to the corner of Clint’s mouth. “I think we’re past needing divine intervention, don’t you?”
Clint opened his mouth to respond, but Tony kissed him again, silencing whatever sarcastic remark was about to come out. This kiss was deeper, slower, and more deliberate, as if Tony was trying to etch the moment into both of their memories.
Clint’s hands slid down to Tony’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them. Tony responded by tangling his fingers in Clint’s hair, tugging just enough to make Clint’s breath hitch.
For a while, it was just the two of them—lips, hands, soft gasps, and the steady thrum of their heartbeats filling the space around them.
When they finally broke apart, Tony’s cheeks were flushed, his lips slightly swollen, and his eyes brighter than Clint had ever seen them.
“I could get used to that,” Tony said, his voice a little breathless.
Clint smirked. “You’d better. I’m not going anywhere.”
-
The next morning, Clint woke to the smell of coffee and the faint hum of music coming from the kitchen. He rolled out of bed, his body pleasantly sore from a night that had been equal parts passionate and tender.
When he stepped into the kitchen, he found Tony standing at the stove, flipping pancakes with a surprising amount of concentration.
“Pancakes, huh?” Clint said, leaning against the doorway.
Tony glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Don’t sound so shocked. I’m full of surprises.”
Clint chuckled, crossing the room to grab a mug from the counter. “I think you’ve officially ruined my ability to be surprised, Stark.”
Tony handed him a plate stacked with pancakes, bacon, and eggs. “Challenge accepted.”
They ate together at the island, the conversation flowing easily between them. It was mundane and domestic in a way Clint hadn’t experienced in years, and he found himself enjoying it far more than he thought he would.
“You’re staring,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow at Clint.
Clint smirked. “Can’t help it. You’re kind of hard to look away from.”
Tony’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he covered it with a playful scoff. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Barton.”
Clint leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Good. That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”
-
Later that day, Tony dragged Clint back down to the workshop, claiming he had “one last thing” to show him.
“You’re like a kid showing off his toys,” Clint teased as Tony led him to a workbench covered in half-finished gadgets and prototypes.
Tony shot him a grin. “Yeah, well, you bring it out in me.”
Clint rolled his eyes, but his attention was quickly drawn to the object Tony picked up from the workbench. It was small and sleek, about the size of a deck of cards, with a faint blue glow emanating from its center.
“What’s that?” Clint asked, leaning in for a closer look.
Tony handed it to him carefully. “It’s a portable shield generator. Think of it as a force field, but cooler.”
Clint turned it over in his hands, impressed despite himself. “You made this?”
Tony shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “It’s nothing fancy. Just thought it might come in handy for someone who insists on putting himself in harm’s way all the time.”
Clint glanced up at Tony, his chest tightening. “You’re something else, you know that?”
Tony grinned. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.”
Clint set the device down on the workbench and stepped closer to Tony, his expression serious. “I mean it, Tony. You don’t have to do all this for me.”
Tony’s smile softened. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”
Clint stared at him for a long moment, then closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Tony’s in a kiss that was equal parts gratitude and affection.
Tony responded immediately, his hands sliding up to cup Clint’s face as he deepened the kiss. Clint’s arms wrapped around Tony’s waist, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.
When they finally broke apart, Tony rested his forehead against Clint’s, his breath coming in soft, uneven gasps.
“You’re full of surprises, Barton,” Tony murmured.
Clint smirked, his hands sliding down to rest on Tony’s hips. “Guess I’ve got a few tricks left.”
Tony laughed, the sound warm and genuine, Clint couldn't help but smile. He truly felt at home.