Clint throws himself down onto Tony's fancy leather couch, the well-worn material creaking softly beneath him. He waits, and then when no one acknowledges his dramatics, he lets out a groan that comes from somewhere left of behind his breastbone. Still, no one responds. So he flops over onto his belly and screams into the cushion, letting the faintest of grey-purple mists swirl around him.
Finally, someone drops what they were doing, (Sam, most likely given that it sounds like a perfectly normal book), and asks, "Okay, Clint, what's got you grey today?"
Clint dutifully ignores the exasperation and whines, "My ice-fae boyfriend brought home a zombie boyfriend and he's hot as hell."
The silence is heavy, with judgment. Clint glances over his shoulder and is about to further explain why this is a gatdang dilemma and they should all pity him, when Steve Roger's comes barreling in.
"Why did Bucky bring home an Undead and why are they making out in my bed?" He looks at Clint, like somehow it's his fault Bucky and the hot Undead are currently five minutes from bone town on his pristine, bleached sheets.
Spoiler, it is Clint's fault, but he's not done pouting.
Steve, however, is entirely unsympathetic to Clint's plight, (probably owing to the whole, Bucky about to bone an undead on his clean sheets) and he walks over and picks Clint up by his collar. He gives him a few good shakes. "Clint. What have you done this time?"
Clint whines and then, when Steve refuses to put him down he bares his fangs and hisses. From across the room Natasha shoots him with the water gun of holy water she keeps on hand and he scowls at her. "That's a myth and you know it!"
She smiles at him, and then squirts Steve in the face. "Put the vampire down so he can explain to us why your best friend is defiling your sheets with someone who isn't his boyfriend."
Steve does, and throws her a look. "I hate working with vampires."
Clint would be offended if he thought Steve meant it. But he also knows Steve doesn't enjoy Clint's particular brand of chaos and curse attracting
As all of Clint's stories do, this one begins with, "I was hungry okay?"
Many, many sets of eyes swing upwards, prayers to different deities and others mouthed.
From the vague direction of Steve's room, there is a low, unfamiliar groan that definitely sounds pleased, and then Bucky moans equally low and pleased.
Clint whines again. "Where's Bruce? I need an antidote to sex pollen." He pauses for a moment, then gets a thoughtful look on his face.
"No," Steve begins, just as Clint says.
"Or, I need him to recreate the pollen because Jason is hot and if Bucky shares, I'm so down."
—
3 hours (ish) earlier
"I'm hungry," Clint whines into Bucky's shoulder.
"Hush," Bucky chides him, fingers working the cold ground as he carefully tries to pull back the icy snow.
"How do you know this is the right grave?" Clint mouths at Bucky's neck, frowning as he always does at the cold, ice-hard and sharp skin. Stupid ice fae. Steve got to be a sunlight fae, all warm and full of fizzy, buzzy blood that made Clint feel bubbly the few times he'd been allowed to taste it. He sighs, dreamily, and nuzzles Bucky's neck again.
"Stop daydreaming about Steve and go find a snack," Bucky snaps. "You're slowing me down anyway and Natasha needs the left pinky like, yesterday."
Clint loves Natasha. With every fiber of his being. But does she have to send them out to procure the parts she needs for every freaking ritual and spell? Steve might be all sunshine infused but he can hunt at night. Clint takes off under the moonlight, wandering through the grave. He doesn't even bother with his mist, because the moon is barely a sliver and winter clouds cover it. He hates graves. Especially on cold, winter nights. But, aside from the overwhelming stench of death, formaldehyde, and cold, it's a good time of year for this.
Anyone visiting a grave this time of night in this weather, is most likely not actually worried about ookie-spookie night bumpers. Plus, there aren't many people, which limits witnesses.
Downside, there aren't many people, so, you know, not many snacks. In fact, Clint is seconds from giving up when he spots his target. He sniffs, frowning. No smell, which means blockers, which means either the guy is his own brand of trouble or he's just super aware of ookie-spookie, night bumpers.
Whatever, Clint thickens his mist shroud and sends out his smell-good feelers. They aren't pheromones no matter what Nat insists. He watches, waiting for the targets shoulders to slump, fractionally. It takes a while, longer than he thinks it should.
Clint is curious. Smell blockers, smell-good deterrents. Who is this guy and what's he doing in almost no moonlight above a grave? Clint slips forward, feet silent on the snow. He pauses a few feet away, waiting. He's not even sure what for, until he smells candle smoke and, Clint sniffs again. "Clove isn't used for raising the dead, usually," he says curiously.
His snack turns, and hot damn he's hot. Blue glowy eyes, dark hair too long over his brows, and sharp features Clint want's to lick. He bets his blood taste like cherry cola and glitter.
Snack lifts his hands and he's holding a simple iron talisman. Not enough to properly hurt Clint, but definitely enough to slow him down. "Back up."
Clint debates his options, because he's really quite hungry, and the talisman won't slow him down that much. But at this point, "Who'd you bury alive and why are you trying to resurrect him?"
"Back. Up." Cherry cola snack says, slow and purposeful.
Clint shrugs. He shoves forward, and many, many things happen all at once, too fast for Clint to track.
Which is saying something.
Bucky yells something about "Wrong grave." A body shoots out of the grave, that overwhelmingly, iodine and copper of not-quite-dead-not-quite-alive mixing with the loamy smell of grave dirt. Clint actually gets his teeth into Cherry cola's neck and then gets grabbed by Bucky who gets ripped from him by Not-dead-iodine-and-copper.
Somewhere along the way Cherry-cola snorts and Bucky ends up in a cloud of silvery grave flowers that smell like-
"Aw, lust-lilies, no," Clint groans.
"Well shit," Cherry cola says. "Your fae is about to really wanna fuck my brother."
Clint turns, and there's a clove scented hand shoved in his face. "Dick."
Clint furrows his brows, but shakes the hand anyway. "People don't usually shake my hand after I try to drink them and they insult me."
The laugh that comes out is as fizzy as the blood Clint only briefly tasted. "Dick's my name," he swings around to point at Bucky and his brother, who are currently so twisted around each other Clint can't tell which limb is whose in the dark. "That is Jason. He's going to need some time to reactivate to the whole breathing thing, but lust-lilly induced fun times usually helps it happen faster, so maybe don't interrupt that."
Clint blinks at the onslaught of information. "You planted lust-lillies nearl your brother's grave and then tried to resurrect him?"
"That's what stuck out to you?" Dick frowns, eyebrows all the way up in his bangs. "I didn't plant them, by the way, and I was waking him up. Look," he pinches the bridge of his nose and then grabs Clint's hand, wincing at the icy-cold.
"There's a reason the Ice-fae and I get along so well," Clint grins.
Dick rolls his eyes but pulls a sharply from his pants pocket and scribbles a string of numbers on his palm. "Call me when Jason and your boyfriend are done. He's got business in Gotham."
—
Natasha rolls her eyes, "But did you get my left pinky?"
Clint winces. "That was Bucky's job."
She scowls, but stands and holds her wrist out to Clint. She's not his favorite. She's spicy and metallic, but he takes the offer and tries to be gentle. He stops well before he's satisfied, but such is life snacking on his teammates.
Before he can fully pull away though, she blows something silvery and cold into his face. "Go take care of your boyfriend and his new boyfriend, and then go get my fucking pinky." She pauses. "Please." She covers his eyes and walks him to Steve's room.
Steve, for his part, lets out some very unCap language and resigns himself to burn his sheets and buy new ones.
Clint waits, because he doesn't have blood for the lust-lilly dust to work through so it takes longer.
When it hits though, damn, but he forgot how good stuff like this was. It's been centuries since he was turned, but he's 19% sure lust-lillies were involved. It's even better than Steve's sunshine blood.
Clint opens his eyes and hotdamn, but Bucky is hot. Miles of pale skin, dusted with dark hair. Long, lean lines, smatterings of midnight freckles. And there, a shockingly peachy colored hand grabbing that beautiful ass. Clint hisses again, but he's not mad this time. Over Bucky's shoulders, brilliant teal eyes appear, under dark curls. Jason scowls at him, and then he gives Clint a once over.
Bucky whines, uncertain why Jason had stopped working on his neck. When he glances at Clint, his eyes go soft and gooey and he grins. It's a slow, sensual thing, with his lips twisting up and curling over his teeth. "Don't just stand there."
Clint doesn't have to be asked twice.
—
"He's not a zombie," Bucky grouses.
Jason rolls his eyes, watching his left pinky slowly grow back. "Not not a zombie," he added unhelpful. "Just like you and Steve aren't born fae and Natasha here isn't-"
His mouth suddenly disappears.
"What I do with this spell is not yours to tell everyone," she says primly, carting off his digit and her cauldron.
Jason stares at Clint and Bucky who give him lazy shrugs. "You'll get it back in 6 to 48 hours," Clint says.
"In the meantime," Bucky says with a waggle of his brows, "Steve is still off pouting somewhere and his sheets are still crisp at the corners."
Clint hesitates for about 2 seconds, mostly waiting for Jason who's mouth moves in what might be a smile if he had lips.
He's letting Jason and Bucky tug him along when he has a thought. "Wait, since when do Lust-lillies work on the undead and the fae? And how'd you find me that fast Buck?"
Natasha cackles from somewhere left of reality. "Happy Birthday Clint."
"It's not my birth-" Jason's mouth has returned faster than Clint's ever has and he's kissing Clint.
"Shut up and take the gift. I've waited a long time for you two."