Steve Rogers Never Was A Boy Scout (BDSM/Smut)

Part 6 - A Kinky Little Game

"So, Barton," Tony clapped Clint on the back and settled onto a barstool next to him. "Got a question for you. Do you fuck men?"

Clint made a remarkably comical face and struggled to swallow a mouthful of beer.

"For fun, I mean," Tony clarified when an answer didn't seem to be forthcoming. "I don't need to know what you do in your professional life."

Clint snorted at that, and examined Tony's face. "Is this- Is this some kinky little sex game thing? You and Cap have a bet or something?"

"I don't think you get to point fingers about betting on people's sex lives. And no. To the second question." He paused, and then admitted, "yes to the first question."

"It is a kinky sex game?"

"Well," Tony gestured at the two of them, "this isn't. But I'm, uh, inviting you to one. Actually."

Clint didn't answer immediately, but he hadn't left, or laughed in Tony's face, or hauled off and punched him, so that was something. Realistically, that last one was very low probability-Tony hadn't managed to figure out if Clint liked dick, but he was pretty sure the guy wasn't the queer panic type.

"So, do you?" Tony persisted, "like to fuck men?"

"I, uh," Clint began, before apparently settling on simplicity. "Yes."

The directness of the answer went straight to Tony's groin. As if he weren't hard just from asking the question. "OK. Well, that was what I was hoping for. And to move from the general to the specific, if we were to invite you to a... uh... kinky sex game?"

Tony watched Clint's adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Kind of depends on the type of kinky."

A grin spread across Tony's face. Unless he was very much mistaken, that was going to be a yes in short order. "The kind that involves you fucking me. And probably also Steve fucking me, though we can be flexible about whether you're there for that part."

Clint's eyes raked up and down Tony's body. "And? There is an 'and,' right, 'cause I can't imagine a guy like you considers a threesome kinky."

Tony glanced around the bar. The place was noisy enough that he was confident that their conversation couldn't be heard, but you could never rule out lip readers. Still and all, this was worlds away from being the most embarrassing thing he'd ever said in public, and truth to tell the small risk only made him harder. "Steve calls the shots. For me."

Tony watches as Clint processes that. "Like... he tells me how I get to fuck you?"

"Right."

"And watches me fuck you?"

"Right."

"Because you're... his sub," Clint deduced. By the sound of it, he liked the idea more than a little.

Tony felt his face flush. He was a sub, sure. He had no interest in denying what got his rocks off, felt no shame or embarrassment about his particular predilections. But he'd never before heard himself described as someone's sub in particular, and he wasn't entirely sure that he liked it. Accurate though Clint's conclusion might be, hearing it said out loud and in public brought a warm flush of humiliation to his face. But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, it also stirred something hot and tight inside him. "More or less," he confirmed.

"Fuck," Clint muttered, with feeling. "Uh, yes. Where do I sign up?"

"How does right here work for you?"

"Right here... in the bar?"

"In the back."

"Right now?"