Chapter Text
Clint decided, as he stared in to the bottom of his beer bottle, that he now hated Beacon Hills. The mission had been a complete clusterfuck . Clint was supposed to be bringing a mutant by the name of Hale in for questioning and when all other attempts had failed, Clint had been forced to spend four hours in the torrential rain in a tree and waited for the brooding bastard to come jogging down the rive and stuck a tranq arrow in his leg.
But that's the thing with mutants, you never know what tricks they have up their sleeves. Hale glared up at him with eyes a bone-chilling red, snapped the shaft of the arrow and disappeared in to the trees faster than anyone with half an arrow in their leg had any right to.
There were no answers at the bottom of his bottle, so he tried another. By his seventh he was buzzed enough to accept that maybe he wasn't going to find one and decided now would be a good time to do a lap of the bar. Maybe sex would solve his problems.
Now Clint wasn't fussy, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he figured he should probably stay away from the drag queens in the corner. The crowd was mostly male, common for a gay bar, but every kind was here. Two men in string vests and hot pants smiled as he walked past but he carried on searching, men in sharp suits were clustered around a table but if he wanted that he'd go to Phil for a pity fuck.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sight that made the blood rush from his brain and his mouth go dry, sat at the bar with a book of all things. Thick and leather bound he flicked through the pages at lightning fast pace. He sipped at a violently orange cocktail and occasionally scrubbed a hand through his already messy hair. His jeans were sinfully tight and the purple t-shirt was stretched over lean muscle. His full lips were pursed slightly and his tongue and darted out to wet them from time to time and the archers mouth was starting to feel like the sahara.
The boy scowled and shoved his book aside, instead staring in to the the bright pink drink the bar tender had just slid his way and Clint realised just how long he'd been staring. Even the drag queens were starting to give him strange looks. The guy looked to be around college age so maybe he was a little young, maybe Clint was a little drunk and maybe he a little didn't care so he picked his way towards him.
"If I could rearrange the alphabet I'd put U and I together." If Clint wasn't so drunk he'd be cringing at himself. Instead he laughed as the guy jumped and dumped half his drink down his shirt.
"Totally not necessary, N and O are already side by side. " The guy glowered and the pout returned in full force, but he'd engaged in conversation which was more than enough reason for Clint to take the stool beside him.
"Wanna tell a total stranger your name so we're no longer total strangers?" Hawkeye smiled and flexed his arms slightly. "I'm Clint by the way." Throwing in a wink for good measure.
"Stiles" he said, a little dumbly. No Stiles, do not get distracted by guns the size of a toddlers head.
"That's an... interesting name?" Stiles blinked out of his stunned stupor and instead stared at the wet patch on his t-shirt. When he finally looked back up, there was a mischievous glint in his eye.
"It's a nickname, and you owe me a new drink." Well that wasn't fair, he hadn't spilled that much.
"it's still half full!" Clint cried in mock exasperation but Stiles just smirked.
"Or if I was a pessimist it would be half empty but since I'm a realist I will never pass up the opportunity to get free booze!" Stiles' grin only increased as Clint grumbled and signalled for the bartender.
"So what even is that? And how is it so pink?!"
"This, my new best friend, is a Woo Woo Tooter and obtains it's colour from gay dragon blood and Peter Pan's tears." Stiles' voice remained solemn throughout and Clint stomped down on the violent urge to show him to Natasha, pretty much the only other person on the planet who could say something like that with such a straight face.
"I am not ordering something called a Woo Woo Tooter! I have a reputation!" Clint cried as he finished the last of his own, masculine, beer. The bartender was still busy so Clint perched on the edge of his stool, placing a hand on Stiles' knee for 'balance'. Stiles flushed a faint pink and he cleared his throat before speaking again.
"If you do not order me another Woo Woo Tooter, I may be forced to ask for something far more embarrassing." Stiles was looking up through ridiculously long eyelashes and biting his lower lip slightly. The archer retaliated by sliding his hand further up the dark haired man's leg. The flush was nearer to crimson but it didn't stop him leaning forward to whisper in Clint's ear.
"A Screaming Orgasm." With only a moments pause to take in the stunned look on the elder man's face back with peals of laughter flowing from him.This time it was Clint's turn to lean forward with a suggestive look on his face as he whispered in a low voice and a flex of his hand to make Stiles realise just how close he was to no longer being in thigh territory.
"Come back to my motel room and I can make you a screaming orgasm, free of charge." Which would have been the best line to get laid in The History of Ever if Stiles hadn't checked his buzzing phone at that exact moment and slapped a hand down on Clint's wandering hand.
"Um, I'm very sorry but my friend's got in to some trouble, I've got to go." And Stiles drained the rest of his drink and scrambled from his stool and disappearing in to the blanket of the crowd, hiding him from the sight of even the famous Hawkeye. It wasn't the nicest let down Clint had been through but it sure as hell wasn't the worst ever. Even if he had been in such a haste that he'd left without taking his book. And huh, that was a language not even Clint could recognise and he'd seen everything in the circus. But before he could get a proper look at it, an angry looking barkeeper with curls and high cheekbones snatched and tucked it out of reach behind the bar. And if bartenders were getting the better of his reflexes, Clint figured sex would probably only result in injury and decided to stagger his way back to the motel. Especially since the Drag Queens seemed to be edging their way closer.
He'd deal with the mission reports and Coulson's frowny face later.