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I AM GOING TO COME SIT BY YOU AND GIVE YOU PROMPTS. Sam/Clint, stuck in a hallway waiting for a meeting to be over and playing some game with the pieces in their heads. (Chess, cards, etc.) Who cheats? How?
Sam has met most of the Avengers by this point. Steve brought him with him when he went by Avengers (nee Stark) Tower, so he met the Hulk-in-casual-clothes and Tony Stark while they were both in their pajamas. They also had something on fire in the microwave and the explanation—though incredibly long—didn’t make a whole lot of sense. But he met them. And Widow, yeah, he felt pretty comfortable knowing that the Black Widow had used his little sister’s flat iron when she and Steve had stayed at his place in DC.
So the only one he hadn’t met was Hawkeye. They weren’t talking about Hawkeye and Natasha had gone all stony-silent the one time his name had come up. He was probably not dead, Sam though, because it would have been hard to keep that under wraps. Probably.
Then one day Sam came to the Tower for a meeting with Maria Hill—acting ostensibly for Stark Industries but so clearly still for Fury, who did they think they were fooling?—and there was a dude in raggedy jeans and a dirty purple t-shirt sitting on the floor outside Maria’s closed office door.
"She’s running behind schedule," the guy said, not looking up.
"OK," said Sam. The hallway was entirely empty, that kind of almost-asylum florescent chic. He sat down next to the guy.
They waited a few minutes. The silence crept on.
Sam risked a glance to the side. The guy looked…it wasn’t a soldier’s pain he was wearing, but it was something Sam had seen before. His particular brand of hurt had always been about being useless or being left behind. He’d seen other vets, though, who came back so guilty they hated themselves. They looked like this guy.
"I spy with my little eye," said Sam slowly, eyes closed, "something starting with Q."
The guy shifted and Sam still didn’t open his eyes.
"There’s not a goddamn thing in this hallway and your eyes are closed," the guy pointed out.
"That’s not a yes or no question," said Sam. He opened his eyes and looked at the guy, meeting his eyes full on. And, jesus, what eyes. Sam felt almost naked under his gaze.
"Is it an animal?" the guy asked.
Sam grinned. “Yeah.”
"Is it a fucking quail?" Now the guy looked like he was half a step closer to smiling.
"I was just gonna go with ‘quail.’ But, ok, it’s a quail mid-coitus."
That made the guy snort.
There was another long silence.
"I spy with my little eye," the guy said suddenly, "something starting with P."
"Is it an animal?"
"Is it a bird?"
"Yeah." The guy frowned.
"It’s a pigeon, isn’t it." Sam was grinning big and wide.
"Fuck." The guy raked a hand across his face and, yeah, he was almost halfway to smiling now. "Yeah."
"I’m sort of great at birds," said Sam apologetically. "It’s my thing."
"Yeah?" the guy asked, tipping his head to the side to give Sam an even more scrutinizing once over. "Sort of my thing too."
"Sam Wilson," said Sam, holding out a hand. "The. Um. The Falcon."
The guy shook his hand. “Clint Barton.” He grinned. “Hawkeye.”
Sam’s eyes widened, still grinning. “Nice to meet you.”
"But that’s kink-shaming!" cries the person whose sexual fantasies involve rape, abuse, degradation, sexualizing children, and enslaving a person of color.
It really disturbs me that there’s so much noncon and dubcon fanfiction out there. You’re getting off on rape and abuse.
I will support your kink only if it is healthy and not damaging to either partner and is completely consensual. This is non-negotiable.
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