This is technically the prequel to one of my other fics, "in which tony is tony...and steve deals with that", but it can be read by itself.

It isn't like Clint does it on purpose.

Well okay, no, he does do it on purpose but it's not like he can help it. People in his line of work end up a little off. Its grueling stuff that leaves you twisting in nightmares, awake and asleep, and if you don't find a way to decompress you get deep cracks running right through you. Better to pick up some odd habits and stay a little rough around the edges rather than walk the straight and narrow only to end up splitting right down the middle.

In this line of work you bend or you break and Clint is proud to say he is more flexible than most, and no it has nothing to do with his growing up in the circus, fuck you very much.

Clint has always liked the high places, even before he started shooting people from them. Up where people can't see him he is truly invisible, free to see the big picture without getting wrapped up in the daily rhythms of everyone's lives. Only when he's above it all does he truly relax, sinking into the head space he crafted for himself with painstaking care during his early missions.

That's not to say he doesn't do it to freak every one out. There's a visceral satisfaction in getting the jump on his teammates, some of the most dangerous people in the world, and knowing he can sneak up on them with no special tech or super power reminds him again and again that no one is perfect. Of course that cycles back to being a little cracked himself since he is basically startling the most powerful people in the world, one of whom turns into a – how did Stark put it? – a giant green rage-monster.

However Clint has embraced his eccentricity and considers it his solemn duty as a member of the Avengers to make sure that everyone stays in top shape, and if it means lurking on top of cabinets or in the ceiling panels so be it. Plus its fun, so suck it.

Which is why he is currently perched on top of a dresser in the back of Stark's closet. It's a nice spot, deep in the shadows and giving him a perfect view of the rest of the room, including the yard below because Stark is a narcissist and nothing makes the man happier than being able to look out over his empire. Considering Natasha has recently taken to lounging on the side of the pool in a string bikini that seems rather pointless once she puts it on, Clint can maybe understand Stark's appreciation for the view.

And speaking of views –

Clint grows still when he hears the low murmur of voices approaching, unable to contain the grin that has begun to unfurl on the side of his mouth. OCD creeping aside, Darcy's words not his, he's here with a purpose.

No one was sure what to think about the recent revelation that by some miracle, or you know, freak accident, Steve had started sleeping with Stark. (He doesn't know why Steve gets a first name and Stark – doesn't. He hasn't really thought about it to be honest.) Everyone else seemed bogged down by the whole part that involved Steve getting it on with Stark, who was honestly the most annoying human being alive. (Phil had confessed once that he'd thought nobody could be any worse than Clint until he'd met Stark. Clint would have been offended only he'd been kind of preoccupied with trying to suck Phil's brains out through his dick. He did get even, eventually.)

That's not what's bothering Clint. It isn't so much that Stark managed to seduce Steve (because honestly, who didn't see that coming?) as much as the mere idea of Steve having sex, period. Clint simply cannot see Mr. Homeboy Apple-Pie, The Captain America, having sex. He remembers what Cap was like after he'd first woken up and Clint's work had given him something of a sense for these things, it helped to know which buttons to push if he had to get up close to a target, and he would let Natasha use him for target practice if Steve had gotten anywhere near third base before becoming the Capsicle.

As they say, seeing is believing, and Clint isn't going to believe it until he sees it. Lurking in Stark's closet, technically Steve's closet too since Steve had moved into Stark's room a few weeks back, is somewhat drastic but it has to be done. So far he's only been able to catch a few chaste kisses between the two men, which was almost unheard of for Stark who had 'playboy' as one of his self claimed titles for a reason. The man was a slut, especially when he had an audience.

Seeing as how Stark isn't bending Steve over the couch in the common room, or if he is he's doing it when no one is there to enjoy the show, obviously Steve has managed to convince Stark to keep it primarily to the bedroom. Talk about a man with super powers.

The low murmur grows clearer until Steve walks into view. He's staring over his shoulder, smiling at who ever is following him. The smile tells Clint who he's going to see before Stark saunters into Steve's personal space. The man doesn't walk anywhere. He saunters, drives, or flies to any place he wants to go, but he never walks. Walking is for the dull masses, so Stark says.

Stark moves up into Steve's personal space and Clint can't help but raise his eyebrows. Apparently he wouldn't have to wait very long to see it. He hears Stark murmur something but doesn't listen since everything Stark says is basically "insert sarcastic quip here". What comes as a surprise is the way Steve grins and reaches up to sink his hand into Stark's hair. Stark's head is tipped back even as he's drawn in snug against Steve's front, their hips pressed together.

"What am I going to do with you?" Steve murmurs but he doesn't wait for Stark to respond, just leans down and takes the other man's mouth in a kiss.

Clint is all for that method of 'doing'.

A couple seconds in its blatantly obvious that Stark has been very busy defrosting his personal Capsicle. Steve is all quiet dominance, controlling the kiss and holding Stark in place for it, and damned if Stark doesn't seem to be loving every second of it. Huh, considering how Steve seemed to spend more time than not trying to corral Stark during a mission, he probably should have seen this coming.

Clint kind of wishes that he'd brought a camera or something. It's not everyday he get's to see Stark dance to someone else's tune.

His mind is running ahead of him, trying to guess if Steve likes to take Stark apart bit by bit or if he's more of a throw'em down and fuck'em kind of guy (honestly it could go both ways and at this point Clint is not trusting the Home Boy Apple Pie image anymore) when he see's Steve stiffen. Steve ends the kiss, which Stark protests vehemently, the man can't even seem to use words right now, which elevates Steve even higher in Clint's opinion.

Clint has never had a reason to be afraid of Steve, but as the man turns to glare at the closet, staring right at Clint, he thinks maybe he could learn how to be. It only occurs to Clint as he's throwing himself off the cabinet and doing his best to avoid an extremely pissed off super-soldier and a playboy billionaire philanthropist who can destroy him with a click of a mouse for Chrissake that he thinks this maybe wasn't the best idea after all.

I blame the caffeine for this and there was lots of caffeine - LOTS.