“ this is getting old fast. ”
DAYS GONE // accepting
“sorry to hear that.” he’s not. and yet… clint still can’t meet his eye; staring adrift at some art piece tony thinks is feng shui. it makes him wrinkle his nose when he sees it and get the vague idea of pissing on it, drunk or sober. he hasn’t and he might not but the idea is ever tingling on the edge of his brain tendrils, fingers wiggling together in thought. the moment lasts: clint imagines himself stumbling over to it, engaging it like a real human in a flirtatious atmosphere, and then just unloading an unholy stream of whizz on it. it’s a funny image until he blinks and he’s back, alone with steve and the unfortunate truth of his actions.
god, he’s a shitty person.
a fact that clint has never denied but always feels hard to admit to when he has to confront steve’s upset demeanor. it’s always steve: steve who is ever patient and so clever, so kind in his hands and his words. he doles out compliments and righteousness like it was made from his very own blood. a plentiful stream of earnest love emanates from him. it must be so tiring to play therapist, play team leader, when you’ve got someone like clint on your team. clint - who’s played the team game and got shot for it. clint - who’s played the team game because it was either that or get shot again for good. clint hates the team game but kind of hates it a little less when steve’s got something to do with it.
he feels like a puppy, craving the praise and attention of a trick played right. a pat on the head, a scratch under the chin, even a glance his way. it’s hard. it’s hard to want and not want at the same time. at what cost?
“what do you want me to do?” an answer. he’s always looking for one, for multiples of them, hoping with every stupid bone in his body that each next one gets him what he needs. wants. hopes. stupid shit.
