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laniew1Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 13/?
The pack accompanies him to the strip, a line of cars and he’s sad about leaving but excited about getting back to work.
“So no more silent treatment,” Derek says suddenly.
“What?”
“No more silent treatment, phone calls once a week,” he says. “Maybe on Sundays, we can put you on speaker and you can tell us about your week.”
“Okay,” Stiles agrees, he’ll call them after he calls his dad, it’ll be phone home Sunday, maybe he can do an ET impression.
******************************************************************************
Natasha is waiting at the base of the stairs, hands dangling at her sides and the pack surrounds him in one big hug, if he runs into any wolves there’s going to be no mistaking the fact that he’s a member of a pack.
His dad hugs him last, rubbing his hand over his head.
“Be good,” his dad says. “No more visits from SHIELD agents to tell me you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Don’t front dad,” Stiles mutters into his shoulder. “You totally liked hanging out with Captain America.”
“Steve,” his dad grins when Stiles pulls back, Stiles grins back. “I’d rather do it without worrying about my son next time.”
“I make no promises,” Stiles says, because he works for SHIELD, he thinks he’ll break that promise, at least the worrying part, the next time there’s some world-wide catastrophe. “I’ll call you when we get there,” he starts backing away, bag in hand now, backpack over his shoulder.
“Natasha,” he calls, waving a little wave, her lips twitch at him. “Are you my ride? Do I need to tell you that we have to swing by Chicago and pick up Crawford? Because, well, we need to swing by Chicago and pick up Crawford.”
“Tony already told me,” Natasha says, she steps back and lets him walk up the stairs into the jet first, he waves when he gets to the doorway and the pack and his dad wave back, Natasha presses a hand to his back and indicates he should go inside.
“So the phones are bugged then? I was right? Go me,” Stiles says, handing off his luggage to the woman in the snazzy uniform who looks like she wants them.
“Crawford called Agent Coulson to let him know that you’d agreed to pick him up on your way through, he wanted to make sure it was okay.”
“It’s okay, right? Because it kind of sounded like family drama happened and…” Stiles doesn’t go any further, it’s Crawford’s personal business and Stiles isn’t going to interfere unless Crawford gives him the go ahead.
“If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be stopping. We’re stopping to pick him up, so ergo, it must be alright.”
******************************************************************************
Natasha is frowning, eyes narrowed and kind of angry when she comes back on board. She’d looked fine when she got off the plane to go retrieve Crawford from where he was waiting; now she looks like she wants to kill someone.
“What…?” Stiles starts coming to his feet and then Crawford follows her in, kind of meekly, shoulders hunched, he looks pale and drawn and…
“That’s a black eye, you have a black eye.”
“Wow, observant,” Crawford mumbles, he rubs the hand not in the cast over his face, like he’s going to cover the black eye with his hand and Stiles will forget that it’s there.
“Your other black eyes were all gone when you left for vacation, why do you have another one now? Natasha?”
“He won’t say,” Natasha says.
“You said you were fine, this is not fine,” Stiles waves his hands.
“I just, can we not talk about it,” Crawford says, “I’ll talk about it later, just not right now, please?”
Stiles makes a noise of frustration and Crawford goes to a seat, buckling in. Stiles looks at where Natasha is silently fuming in that way where outwardly someone who doesn’t know her wouldn’t be able to tell that she’s plotting fifteen ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident.
******************************************************************************
He’s not in a party mood, not after leaving Crawford back on the Helicarrier with an icepack and ten refusals to his invitations to come with.
“I’m not feeling very festive,” he says when Tony opens the door.
“We’ll solve that with copious amounts of alcohol, music, games, presents and maybe if you’ve been a really good boy maybe some kissing later on.”
“Won’t Pepper get jealous?”
“Not as much as…”
“Tony, are you going to let him in?” Pepper interrupts, poking him in the side. She gives him a stern look, it’s all in the eyes he thinks and Tony settles down with a smirk and a knowing expression.
“And don’t worry about the Crawford thing,” Tony says settling an arm over his shoulders and walking him away from the door. “I’ve got people on it.”
“No one’s going to die, right? Because I kind of got the impression it was maybe a family thing and I’d really like Crawford to still want to work with me when it’s all done,” Stiles says. He would stop dead at the sight of the room but Tony’s still moving, tugging him along with him.
The room looks like someone tossed all the decorations available for Christmas, New Year, Hanukkah and Baby’s First Birthday into a hat and then put up whatever they pulled out of the hat.
“Did you guys hire a decorator or do it yourself?” Stiles asks, he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as horrified as he thinks it does.
He doesn’t want to offend anyone, 3/4 of the room could kill him with their bare hands, but he’s seen paparazzi pictures of all kinds of parties that Tony’s been involved with and none of them looked like this.
There’d been more dignity, or at least as much dignity as parties that very obviously had more male and female strippers than actual guests could manage.
“He made two decorators cry, it was easier to just let him do it himself,” Pepper says from his right.
“It’s really…” Stiles can’t finish, he doesn’t think the words are available in the English language to convey what imagery the room evokes.
“You get desensitized to it very quickly,” Pepper says. “Drinks help.”
******************************************************************************
“I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s mistletoe right above you,” Steve says in a very low voice, they’re shuffling along the buffet of food, the buffet is just as schizophrenic as the room, it has no idea what holiday it’s celebrating and he’s pretty sure he saw Halloween candy on the table where the plates were.
Stiles casts his eyes upward and there it is, just hanging there, “Um.”
Steve’s got two red spots on his cheeks and he leans down and pecks him on the cheek quickly.
“Boo Cap,” Tony catcalls. “That’s in no way a kiss. Where’s the lip on lip action? Where’s the tongue?”
“Where’s my gun?” Steve mutters.
******************************************************************************
“I think this is a birthday game,” Stiles says to Clint as he watches Pepper place a blindfold over Natasha’s eyes. “In fact, I know this is a birthday game, I played it at like my tenth birthday party.”
Pepper spins her around and then directs her away from the wall with an evil little grin, Natasha stops, spins on her heel and walks directly to the donkey taped to the wall, she places her tail directly over top of the one that Clint had already put up.
She pulls the blindfold off and smirks.
“Okay, new rule, next game, the assassins don’t get to participate,” Tony says, arms crossed over his chest.
“You’re just mad because your tail is on the other wall,” Clint laughs, Stiles doesn’t know how much he’s had to drink, the glasses seem to refill themselves every five minutes or so but Clint is all loose and heavy against his side and Stiles giggled for ten minutes straight after finding himself planting his tail right next to Tony’s on the wall.
That’s about when he switched back over to soda, he doesn’t think Tony’s noticed yet and his plants might end up with alcohol poisoning by morning at the rate that Agent Coulson is pouring his into the fern by the bar.
“No, I just don’t want to get knifed or shot in the ass by an arrow when you and Tasha there try to take down the Piñata.”
******************************************************************************
“If spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven are the next games up I’m locking myself in the bathroom,” Stiles mutters to Agent Coulson.
“You won’t be alone in there; I think Pepper’s already claimed it as her hiding spot of choice.”
******************************************************************************
The birthday games end, thankfully and there’s a radio playing soft music. Tony’s rigged up something that’s counting down to the mock midnight and he’d said something about fireworks which if Stiles knows Tony at all by now, he knows are going to be loud and flashy and would probably land someone without Stark as a last name in jail.
Clint is leaning against the wall next to him close enough that their shoulders are pressed together, there’s a whole large expanse of wall and Stiles would ask why he’s been glued to his side but the little tiny part of him that wants to lick the muscles in his arms and jerks off thinking about him says that’s a bad idea.
Pepper and Tony are swaying together; Steve dancing near them with Natasha. The difference between the two couples is, well only one pair of them is a couple and you could fit a whole person in the space between Steve and Natasha’s bodies.
Bruce has his legs drawn up under him in what looks to be a comfiest armchair ever and may or may not be sleeping.
On the other side of the bar Coulson is on the phone, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to be expected to perform medical miracles and force the Avengers to sober up anytime soon.
“It kind of reminds me of my prom,” Stiles says. He’d ostensibly gone with a girl from his chem class, she’d spent the whole time dancing with some muscle-bound jerk from the football team and he’d spent the whole dance leaning against the wall next to Isaac watching everyone else.
“Do you want to dance? We should dance,” Clint says as he grabs his hand and swings him away from the wall.
“Um,” he says as Clint kind of pulls him into place, he has a half-second of absolute terror while he tries to figure out where to put his hands. He danced with Danny once when they’d been out and about pretending to be normal people; but that had been fast dancing with Jackson standing nearby arms crossed over his chest looking sullen and annoyed in equal measures.
“I didn’t have a prom, but the ones that I see on TV either end in teen pregnancy or with a bloody massacre which way did yours go?” Clint asks, Stiles blinks at him.
“There are just normal ones too, you know, where the kids stand around, dance and drink punch and nobody gets Teen Mom’d up or mauled by demons from the ninth dimension or pulls a Carrie.”
Clint makes a face that says he finds the thought of that completely boring.
“We could have just played with the Wii or something and it would have been like 100% less terrifying than some of the parties I’ve been to,” Stiles says thoughtfully.
He’d stopped going to parties in high school because there always seemed to be a werewolf attack either going on right then or one about to start imminently or fucking fairies poisoning the local water supply with some dust that made people go crazy and strip all their clothes off in the street and sing musical numbers.
There are some things that he would give just about anything to not be able to remember (where’s a good bout of amnesia when you need one?) his father standing over his moms grave singing the open lyrics for ‘My Heart Will Go On’ and trying to unknot his tie is one of them.
“You’re good at this,” Stiles says, for lack of anything better to say.
“Undercover op, Coulson made me learn, if I’d known about the perks I probably would have been more receptive,” Clint smirks at him and Stiles grins back helplessly.
“Five, four,” the countdown is going on around them, Steve is already blowing on one of the noise makers probably so his mouth is occupied and Tony won’t try and lay one on him.
When the count hits one, Clint leans forward and Stiles doesn’t back up and wave his arms and shout ‘personal bubble, personal bubble,’ he just closes his eyes and lets Clint brush their lips together.
As kisses go it’s chaste and innocent and when Clint pulls back there’s a little voice in his head that goes ‘ah-ha’ when he licks his lips and Clint’s eyes go dark and follow the motion. The voice sounds like Lydia, it’s kind of disconcerting to have the voice of his first crush in his head urging him to lean forward and lay a real kiss on this one.
It’s a moot point because Natasha whirls Clint away to plant a kiss on him, and Tony’s got an arm over his shoulder pressing a kiss to his temple.
It’s not, well it’s not an orgy of kissing like actual New Years in Beacon Hills but no one tries to slip him tongue and it doesn’t escape his notice that the only one who actually kisses him on the lips is Clint.
******************************************************************************
He doesn’t realize that the mock New Years kiss was going to be an actual first kiss until Clint corners him outside Tony’s bathroom.
“Clint?” he starts because he has got him pressed all up against a wall and he’s just staring at him. It’s disconcerting and unnerving as hell, he has a feeling that if he squirmed just a bit that Clint would let him go and he’d probably never see him again.
“Just,” Clint mumbles, his eyes are dark and when he leans forward, slowly, telegraphing all his moves so Stiles can turn his head or hit him if he wants to, well Stiles leans forward enough that he can press their lips together this time.
His lips are warm, and his tongue presses against the seam of Stiles’ lips and it’s all gentle and quiet and kind of tentative. Like Clint still isn’t sure of his welcome even though he has his tongue in his mouth and Stiles is pressing his hands against his hips to keep him from going anywhere.
“First date rules,” he hears from the side and his groan of annoyance is echoed by Clint, Clint is the one who pulls back. Dragging his lips across Stiles’ cheek, when he turns his head their temples are pressed together and Stiles doesn’t want to know the picture they present to Tony.
They’re still clothed.
“What the hell are first date rules, Stark?” Clint asks, there’s an annoyed tone to this voice that says that if Clint had a weapon Tony might not still be among the living.
“I’m glad you asked, Barton,” Tony says brightly. “First date rules means that I ignore the kiss at New Years because, well New Years. But it also means that you get one more kiss, and that one better be when you drop Stiles off at his room for the night.”
Tony evidently doesn’t like whatever he sees on Clint’s face, Stiles would move so he could see the expression himself but he’s pressed up against the wall and Clint’s pressed up against him and he’s comfortable where he is, thank you.
“I’ll be revoking your access to this floor once you leave, at least for the night, and that includes the air ducts; don’t think I don’t know how you get into the kitchen to steal all the cookies without anyone seeing.”
******************************************************************************
TITLE: Stiles Stilinski: Agent of SHIELD
RATING: PG-13 (for now)
PAIRING: Gen – but Stiles/Clint (eventually)
AUTHOR: Melanie
Summary: Stiles goes to college and accidentally gets hired by SHIELD.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing Marvel, MTV, etc own everything but the idea to mesh them..
FEEDBACK: Please?
Stiles Stilinski, Agent of Shield 13/?
The pack accompanies him to the strip, a line of cars and he’s sad about leaving but excited about getting back to work.
“So no more silent treatment,” Derek says suddenly.
“What?”
“No more silent treatment, phone calls once a week,” he says. “Maybe on Sundays, we can put you on speaker and you can tell us about your week.”
“Okay,” Stiles agrees, he’ll call them after he calls his dad, it’ll be phone home Sunday, maybe he can do an ET impression.
Natasha is waiting at the base of the stairs, hands dangling at her sides and the pack surrounds him in one big hug, if he runs into any wolves there’s going to be no mistaking the fact that he’s a member of a pack.
His dad hugs him last, rubbing his hand over his head.
“Be good,” his dad says. “No more visits from SHIELD agents to tell me you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Don’t front dad,” Stiles mutters into his shoulder. “You totally liked hanging out with Captain America.”
“Steve,” his dad grins when Stiles pulls back, Stiles grins back. “I’d rather do it without worrying about my son next time.”
“I make no promises,” Stiles says, because he works for SHIELD, he thinks he’ll break that promise, at least the worrying part, the next time there’s some world-wide catastrophe. “I’ll call you when we get there,” he starts backing away, bag in hand now, backpack over his shoulder.
“Natasha,” he calls, waving a little wave, her lips twitch at him. “Are you my ride? Do I need to tell you that we have to swing by Chicago and pick up Crawford? Because, well, we need to swing by Chicago and pick up Crawford.”
“Tony already told me,” Natasha says, she steps back and lets him walk up the stairs into the jet first, he waves when he gets to the doorway and the pack and his dad wave back, Natasha presses a hand to his back and indicates he should go inside.
“So the phones are bugged then? I was right? Go me,” Stiles says, handing off his luggage to the woman in the snazzy uniform who looks like she wants them.
“Crawford called Agent Coulson to let him know that you’d agreed to pick him up on your way through, he wanted to make sure it was okay.”
“It’s okay, right? Because it kind of sounded like family drama happened and…” Stiles doesn’t go any further, it’s Crawford’s personal business and Stiles isn’t going to interfere unless Crawford gives him the go ahead.
“If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be stopping. We’re stopping to pick him up, so ergo, it must be alright.”
Natasha is frowning, eyes narrowed and kind of angry when she comes back on board. She’d looked fine when she got off the plane to go retrieve Crawford from where he was waiting; now she looks like she wants to kill someone.
“What…?” Stiles starts coming to his feet and then Crawford follows her in, kind of meekly, shoulders hunched, he looks pale and drawn and…
“That’s a black eye, you have a black eye.”
“Wow, observant,” Crawford mumbles, he rubs the hand not in the cast over his face, like he’s going to cover the black eye with his hand and Stiles will forget that it’s there.
“Your other black eyes were all gone when you left for vacation, why do you have another one now? Natasha?”
“He won’t say,” Natasha says.
“You said you were fine, this is not fine,” Stiles waves his hands.
“I just, can we not talk about it,” Crawford says, “I’ll talk about it later, just not right now, please?”
Stiles makes a noise of frustration and Crawford goes to a seat, buckling in. Stiles looks at where Natasha is silently fuming in that way where outwardly someone who doesn’t know her wouldn’t be able to tell that she’s plotting fifteen ways to kill someone and make it look like an accident.
He’s not in a party mood, not after leaving Crawford back on the Helicarrier with an icepack and ten refusals to his invitations to come with.
“I’m not feeling very festive,” he says when Tony opens the door.
“We’ll solve that with copious amounts of alcohol, music, games, presents and maybe if you’ve been a really good boy maybe some kissing later on.”
“Won’t Pepper get jealous?”
“Not as much as…”
“Tony, are you going to let him in?” Pepper interrupts, poking him in the side. She gives him a stern look, it’s all in the eyes he thinks and Tony settles down with a smirk and a knowing expression.
“And don’t worry about the Crawford thing,” Tony says settling an arm over his shoulders and walking him away from the door. “I’ve got people on it.”
“No one’s going to die, right? Because I kind of got the impression it was maybe a family thing and I’d really like Crawford to still want to work with me when it’s all done,” Stiles says. He would stop dead at the sight of the room but Tony’s still moving, tugging him along with him.
The room looks like someone tossed all the decorations available for Christmas, New Year, Hanukkah and Baby’s First Birthday into a hat and then put up whatever they pulled out of the hat.
“Did you guys hire a decorator or do it yourself?” Stiles asks, he hopes his voice doesn’t sound as horrified as he thinks it does.
He doesn’t want to offend anyone, 3/4 of the room could kill him with their bare hands, but he’s seen paparazzi pictures of all kinds of parties that Tony’s been involved with and none of them looked like this.
There’d been more dignity, or at least as much dignity as parties that very obviously had more male and female strippers than actual guests could manage.
“He made two decorators cry, it was easier to just let him do it himself,” Pepper says from his right.
“It’s really…” Stiles can’t finish, he doesn’t think the words are available in the English language to convey what imagery the room evokes.
“You get desensitized to it very quickly,” Pepper says. “Drinks help.”
“I don’t want to alarm you, but there’s mistletoe right above you,” Steve says in a very low voice, they’re shuffling along the buffet of food, the buffet is just as schizophrenic as the room, it has no idea what holiday it’s celebrating and he’s pretty sure he saw Halloween candy on the table where the plates were.
Stiles casts his eyes upward and there it is, just hanging there, “Um.”
Steve’s got two red spots on his cheeks and he leans down and pecks him on the cheek quickly.
“Boo Cap,” Tony catcalls. “That’s in no way a kiss. Where’s the lip on lip action? Where’s the tongue?”
“Where’s my gun?” Steve mutters.
“I think this is a birthday game,” Stiles says to Clint as he watches Pepper place a blindfold over Natasha’s eyes. “In fact, I know this is a birthday game, I played it at like my tenth birthday party.”
Pepper spins her around and then directs her away from the wall with an evil little grin, Natasha stops, spins on her heel and walks directly to the donkey taped to the wall, she places her tail directly over top of the one that Clint had already put up.
She pulls the blindfold off and smirks.
“Okay, new rule, next game, the assassins don’t get to participate,” Tony says, arms crossed over his chest.
“You’re just mad because your tail is on the other wall,” Clint laughs, Stiles doesn’t know how much he’s had to drink, the glasses seem to refill themselves every five minutes or so but Clint is all loose and heavy against his side and Stiles giggled for ten minutes straight after finding himself planting his tail right next to Tony’s on the wall.
That’s about when he switched back over to soda, he doesn’t think Tony’s noticed yet and his plants might end up with alcohol poisoning by morning at the rate that Agent Coulson is pouring his into the fern by the bar.
“No, I just don’t want to get knifed or shot in the ass by an arrow when you and Tasha there try to take down the Piñata.”
“If spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven are the next games up I’m locking myself in the bathroom,” Stiles mutters to Agent Coulson.
“You won’t be alone in there; I think Pepper’s already claimed it as her hiding spot of choice.”
The birthday games end, thankfully and there’s a radio playing soft music. Tony’s rigged up something that’s counting down to the mock midnight and he’d said something about fireworks which if Stiles knows Tony at all by now, he knows are going to be loud and flashy and would probably land someone without Stark as a last name in jail.
Clint is leaning against the wall next to him close enough that their shoulders are pressed together, there’s a whole large expanse of wall and Stiles would ask why he’s been glued to his side but the little tiny part of him that wants to lick the muscles in his arms and jerks off thinking about him says that’s a bad idea.
Pepper and Tony are swaying together; Steve dancing near them with Natasha. The difference between the two couples is, well only one pair of them is a couple and you could fit a whole person in the space between Steve and Natasha’s bodies.
Bruce has his legs drawn up under him in what looks to be a comfiest armchair ever and may or may not be sleeping.
On the other side of the bar Coulson is on the phone, but he doesn’t look like he’s going to be expected to perform medical miracles and force the Avengers to sober up anytime soon.
“It kind of reminds me of my prom,” Stiles says. He’d ostensibly gone with a girl from his chem class, she’d spent the whole time dancing with some muscle-bound jerk from the football team and he’d spent the whole dance leaning against the wall next to Isaac watching everyone else.
“Do you want to dance? We should dance,” Clint says as he grabs his hand and swings him away from the wall.
“Um,” he says as Clint kind of pulls him into place, he has a half-second of absolute terror while he tries to figure out where to put his hands. He danced with Danny once when they’d been out and about pretending to be normal people; but that had been fast dancing with Jackson standing nearby arms crossed over his chest looking sullen and annoyed in equal measures.
“I didn’t have a prom, but the ones that I see on TV either end in teen pregnancy or with a bloody massacre which way did yours go?” Clint asks, Stiles blinks at him.
“There are just normal ones too, you know, where the kids stand around, dance and drink punch and nobody gets Teen Mom’d up or mauled by demons from the ninth dimension or pulls a Carrie.”
Clint makes a face that says he finds the thought of that completely boring.
“We could have just played with the Wii or something and it would have been like 100% less terrifying than some of the parties I’ve been to,” Stiles says thoughtfully.
He’d stopped going to parties in high school because there always seemed to be a werewolf attack either going on right then or one about to start imminently or fucking fairies poisoning the local water supply with some dust that made people go crazy and strip all their clothes off in the street and sing musical numbers.
There are some things that he would give just about anything to not be able to remember (where’s a good bout of amnesia when you need one?) his father standing over his moms grave singing the open lyrics for ‘My Heart Will Go On’ and trying to unknot his tie is one of them.
“You’re good at this,” Stiles says, for lack of anything better to say.
“Undercover op, Coulson made me learn, if I’d known about the perks I probably would have been more receptive,” Clint smirks at him and Stiles grins back helplessly.
“Five, four,” the countdown is going on around them, Steve is already blowing on one of the noise makers probably so his mouth is occupied and Tony won’t try and lay one on him.
When the count hits one, Clint leans forward and Stiles doesn’t back up and wave his arms and shout ‘personal bubble, personal bubble,’ he just closes his eyes and lets Clint brush their lips together.
As kisses go it’s chaste and innocent and when Clint pulls back there’s a little voice in his head that goes ‘ah-ha’ when he licks his lips and Clint’s eyes go dark and follow the motion. The voice sounds like Lydia, it’s kind of disconcerting to have the voice of his first crush in his head urging him to lean forward and lay a real kiss on this one.
It’s a moot point because Natasha whirls Clint away to plant a kiss on him, and Tony’s got an arm over his shoulder pressing a kiss to his temple.
It’s not, well it’s not an orgy of kissing like actual New Years in Beacon Hills but no one tries to slip him tongue and it doesn’t escape his notice that the only one who actually kisses him on the lips is Clint.
He doesn’t realize that the mock New Years kiss was going to be an actual first kiss until Clint corners him outside Tony’s bathroom.
“Clint?” he starts because he has got him pressed all up against a wall and he’s just staring at him. It’s disconcerting and unnerving as hell, he has a feeling that if he squirmed just a bit that Clint would let him go and he’d probably never see him again.
“Just,” Clint mumbles, his eyes are dark and when he leans forward, slowly, telegraphing all his moves so Stiles can turn his head or hit him if he wants to, well Stiles leans forward enough that he can press their lips together this time.
His lips are warm, and his tongue presses against the seam of Stiles’ lips and it’s all gentle and quiet and kind of tentative. Like Clint still isn’t sure of his welcome even though he has his tongue in his mouth and Stiles is pressing his hands against his hips to keep him from going anywhere.
“First date rules,” he hears from the side and his groan of annoyance is echoed by Clint, Clint is the one who pulls back. Dragging his lips across Stiles’ cheek, when he turns his head their temples are pressed together and Stiles doesn’t want to know the picture they present to Tony.
They’re still clothed.
“What the hell are first date rules, Stark?” Clint asks, there’s an annoyed tone to this voice that says that if Clint had a weapon Tony might not still be among the living.
“I’m glad you asked, Barton,” Tony says brightly. “First date rules means that I ignore the kiss at New Years because, well New Years. But it also means that you get one more kiss, and that one better be when you drop Stiles off at his room for the night.”
Tony evidently doesn’t like whatever he sees on Clint’s face, Stiles would move so he could see the expression himself but he’s pressed up against the wall and Clint’s pressed up against him and he’s comfortable where he is, thank you.
“I’ll be revoking your access to this floor once you leave, at least for the night, and that includes the air ducts; don’t think I don’t know how you get into the kitchen to steal all the cookies without anyone seeing.”