To be fair, Tony thinks they have a reasonable excuse. They're both trying to drown their respective unrequited crushes who just happen to be requiting on each other, but Tony doesn't really remember when they made it to the top of Stark Tower and he really should.
He knows Clint's pretty good at perching on things but he's swaying a little too much to make Tony comfortable with him just hanging over the side of the building like that.
"C'mon back to the safer portion of the roof. Say, the middle," Tony says, grabbing a fistful of the back of Clint's shirt to tug him away from the edge. Clint lets himself be urged backwards, only because Tony's currently holding the vodka.
"Why'd he have to be all... and she was like... blergh!" Clint manages to grumble. Most men will mime a golf swing but Clint pulls back his arm like he's shooting a bow, probably envisioning Steve somewhere in front of him.
"We can be the bigger men, happy for them and crap," Tony says, then pulls a face. "Nah, scratch that. Let's just glare at them."
"Glaring sounds like an excellent plan," Clint says, goes to sit and lands unceremoniously on his ass, giggling. "Maybe I can make Steve combust if I glare hard enough."
"Hey now, no combusting him," Tony scolds.
"I know, you like him tooooo," Clint laments. "Everyone likes him."
"Obviously you don't."
"Because he snagged Meeting Girl from under my nose. Missed her by that much." Clint pushes his thumb and index finger together till there's only an inch of space between the pads. "According to the sign out sheet he's at her apartment now, over night."
"Gah, don't tell me that," Tony says, grimacing. It's one thing to know that Steve and Darcy are courting or whatever the hell it is Steve would do with a woman, being as ancient as he is, but it's quite another to hear that Steve's apparently caught up to the modern times which includes the naughty kind of sleepovers.
"I think there's something in this vodka that's making me drunk," Clint says, staring blearily at the bottle that's now in his hand.
"It's called vodka," Tony says, dropping down beside Clint and snagging the bottle. Clint slides backwards until he's a sprawled star, looking up at the darkened sky.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-08-13 02:27 am (UTC)To be fair, Tony thinks they have a reasonable excuse. They're both trying to drown their respective unrequited crushes who just happen to be requiting on each other, but Tony doesn't really remember when they made it to the top of Stark Tower and he really should.
He knows Clint's pretty good at perching on things but he's swaying a little too much to make Tony comfortable with him just hanging over the side of the building like that.
"C'mon back to the safer portion of the roof. Say, the middle," Tony says, grabbing a fistful of the back of Clint's shirt to tug him away from the edge. Clint lets himself be urged backwards, only because Tony's currently holding the vodka.
"Why'd he have to be all... and she was like... blergh!" Clint manages to grumble. Most men will mime a golf swing but Clint pulls back his arm like he's shooting a bow, probably envisioning Steve somewhere in front of him.
"We can be the bigger men, happy for them and crap," Tony says, then pulls a face. "Nah, scratch that. Let's just glare at them."
"Glaring sounds like an excellent plan," Clint says, goes to sit and lands unceremoniously on his ass, giggling. "Maybe I can make Steve combust if I glare hard enough."
"Hey now, no combusting him," Tony scolds.
"I know, you like him tooooo," Clint laments. "Everyone likes him."
"Obviously you don't."
"Because he snagged Meeting Girl from under my nose. Missed her by that much." Clint pushes his thumb and index finger together till there's only an inch of space between the pads. "According to the sign out sheet he's at her apartment now, over night."
"Gah, don't tell me that," Tony says, grimacing. It's one thing to know that Steve and Darcy are courting or whatever the hell it is Steve would do with a woman, being as ancient as he is, but it's quite another to hear that Steve's apparently caught up to the modern times which includes the naughty kind of sleepovers.
"I think there's something in this vodka that's making me drunk," Clint says, staring blearily at the bottle that's now in his hand.
"It's called vodka," Tony says, dropping down beside Clint and snagging the bottle. Clint slides backwards until he's a sprawled star, looking up at the darkened sky.
"This sucks."
"Yeah buddy, it certainly does."