Hulkeye for the "we're both teachers and all of our students ship us" au, if you're taking prompts <3
“They’re talking about you,” Bruce whispered as he set his tray down at the teacher’s table. “Again.”
Clint glanced up at him, mouth full of pizza. He chewed quickly and swallowed. “Who?”
Bruce gave a meaningful glance to a table in the far corner of the cafeteria which was filled with giggling girls hiding their conversation behind their hands. “They keep looking over here,” he said. He tried to keep his eyes downcast, years of internalized embarrassment making him fear teenagers even though he no longer was one.
“Really?” Completely unashamed, Clint whirled around and scanned the room. He caught sight of the girls’ table and smirked at them, giving them a wave. “Hate to break it to you, Bruce, but they’re talking about you.”
“Sure. I can read lips; that brunette was definitely saying ‘Mr. Banner.’” He turned back around and fixed his twinkling gaze on Bruce, smile still threatening at his lips. “You should feel honored.”
Bruce picked at his food and tried to quell the roiling in his stomach. “It’s easy for you,” Bruce whispered. “If they’re talking about you it’s probably something good.” He gestured at Clint with his fork. Clint was the epitome of a gym teacher–all sculpted muscle and scraggy hair. He was handsome; of course girls would giggle over him.
Clint leaned in, frowning now. “What d’ya mean?”
“I mean…” Listlessly, Bruce toyed with his fork. He sighed. “When I took this job I expected push back from students, but I don’t necessarily want to know about it.”
“You think they’re making fun of you? Bruce, they’re teenagers, but you’re their teacher. Here.” He twisted in his chair. “I’ll tell you what they’re saying.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Bruce protested weakly. Truly, he didn’t want to know if it was bad. He hoped Clint would lie to him.
Clint watched them out of the corner of his eye. “They’re back to talking about you. And, hey, you were right. They’re talking about me, too.” He watched for a moment, a little line of concentration forming on his brow.
“We’ll, we’re both ‘sooo’ something.” He drew out the word, just like a teenage girl would and Bruce found himself smiling. Clint looked rough and tumble, but in reality he was a complete dweeb. “I can’t tell what. Something positive. We’re perfect. Well, that’s true.” He started to say something else, but then froze with his mouth partly open.
“Um.” Clint whipped back around and examined his half-eaten pizza studiously. “Yep. That’s, that’s all there is. Lip reading is hard, you know.”
Bruce frowned at him. “Is everything all right? Is there…do we need to intervene?” The thought made him uncomfortable.
Clint glanced up at him, scattering his gaze across Bruce’s face. “It’s–” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Just dumb kid stuff, and, uh, they may thinkwe’reinlove,” he said in a rush.
“Mm.” Clint took a huge bite of food.
Bruce stared at him. Clint wasn’t looking at him, clearly intent on his pizza. After a moment, Bruce glanced behind him in time to see one girl–Katie Bishop, he thought her name was–waggle her eyebrows at him and give him a thumbs up. Bruce blinked in surprise.
“Clint,” he began softly. Clint glanced up at him, then away. Up, away. “I’ve got my sophomores doing a little trebuchet experiment tomorrow. Do you think you could help me set up for it?”
“Sure, Bruce,” Clint said instantly, which wasn’t unexpected. Clint always seemed willing to help Bruce set up for class (read: distract Bruce until late at night). Bruce just hadn’t ever thought about why until right then.
“And maybe after,” Bruce ventured quietly. “We could go out for a drink?”
Clint relaxed all at once at his words, his familiar smile resurfacing. “A drink-drink?”
Bruce nodded sagely. “I’d like to talk to you about some of the rumors I’ve been hearing around the school. There’s some pretty scandalous stuff out there.”
Clint grinned. “So I hear,” he said.
Bruce almost–but not quite–jumped as Clint’s booted foot came to rest against his. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it was nice and grounding. He smiled down at his tray and said, “It’s a date.”
