Chapter Text
Second week at Stark tower
He meets Stark, for the first time, in an elevator. The suit, clearly not knowing what to do with him, has sent him off to the head of housekeeping to keep him busy until the suit figures him out. So Clint is on his knees, scrubbing the floor of the lift, minding his own business and enjoying the soft tune playing in the tiny cubicle. The tidy isn’t supposed to take too long, only wiping the mirrors on the walls, railings and taking care of the floor. He delays it, not really looking forward to his next stop of defrosting the fridges. Nothing near Stark’s personal floor, Clint figures he is not trusted around the king of the house, despite it being that man who bought him. Clint doesn’t mind that. The later he finds out why he was bought, the better.
Which means that Clint is unconsciously washing the already clean floor with his little rag when a pair of very expensive dress shoes step into the elevator. Clint quickly shuffles himself to the side, trying to remain unnoticed.
“Hello sir.” A voice from above welcomes the man. The music switched off. Clint jumps up, not sure where the voice is coming from.
“Jarvis! You don’t know how much I’ve missed you!” Stark exclaims and sighs, resting his back on the wall of the moving room.
“How was your trip?” The elevator starts going up, towards his master’s private floor. Stark hasn’t pressed any buttons. There are no buttons leading to Stark’s private floor, Clint realizes.
“Long and boring. The congress thinks that my suit is a danger to the safety of the US,” Stark chuckles. “I’ve shut them up for now but they will push.”
“I’m sorry to hear that sir.” Clint realizes that Stark's shoe prints have just damaged his work on the floor. He longingly looks at the shoes, wishing he weren’t here.
“Enough about me,” Suddenly Stark announces. Clint feels his master’s eyes on him. He closes his own, trying to maintain passive expression. “Jarvis, tell me, how did my new acquisition adjust to living in my tower? Coulson doing a good job with his training?
“Sir Coulson has awaited your arrival before making any decisions on Clint Barton’s training, sir. But he sees him every week and ensures he has tasks to complete during the day. As to how he is, I am unable to answer sir. You will have to ask him yourself.” Stark scratches his beard and replies.
“I suppose I will.” He exclaims. The rest of the ride in the elevator is quiet, Jarvis informs them when they arrive at Stark’s floor.
“Follow me.” Stark throws an order. Clint isn’t sure if Stark directs it at him or the robot he was speaking to, but then Stark looks around and waves his hands at him, “We don’t have all day!”
“I… I was ordered to clean the elevator, master…” Clint tries to avoid stepping into Stark’s quarters.
“Sir I have to advise you against…” Jarvis starts, whoever Jarvis is.
“Oh shut it Jar, Jar. I know Coulson told you to say that. And Clint, I am your Master, my word comes first. Don’t ever question it again, understood?”
“Yes Master.”
“Okay then, follow me.” Clint reluctantly gets up from his knees and leaves the bucket full of water, cloth and other cleaning equipment behind. “There is one, very important rule that I need you to follow with me. If you do so, you will be fine, no matter what.” He converses.
Stark doesn’t look where he leaves his clothes, unceremoniously throwing them on the ground. “You need to be honest with me. No matter if it’s something that I want to hear or not. No matter your worry about the consequences.” Starting with shoes, ending with his jacket left on the floor, unfolded, in front of his bedroom door. Clint sighs heavily before following him there. He’s not sure if he should pick the clothes up and decides to leave them as they are.
Clint thinks about the entitlement the man in front of him possesses whilst Stark throws his watch and phone on the bed and walks past it, into his closet. Clint’s mouth almost drops when he sees the enormous size of it. Bigger than his and Natasha’s apartment in Budapest. Clint doesn’t like orders like these. ‘Be honest’, he doesn’t actually want that from Clint. He just wants the pretense. The false sense of security from his slave. And when the smallest lie is spotted, it will give him an excuse to punish him. Clint tenses his muscles awaiting the inevitable question.
“So, Clint...” Tony starts. “What do you think about this place?” He asks whilst appearing not to care how his slave will answer. Taking off his t-shirt and throwing it on the ground where he stands.
“It looks expensive” Is the first thing that comes to Clint’s head and it is what he says. Hoping that this is the type of honesty Stark is counting on. “Master.” He adds the honorific as soon as he remembers about it. Hoping it wasn’t too late.
“That I know,” Stark responds, chuckling to himself. He started rummaging through his collection of T-shirts, mostly classic rock and metal bands on the front, leaving all of them unfolded and in a big heap of a mess on the shelf. Someone will definitely be sent to take care of the mess soon. And it must be happening on a very regular basis, come to think how causally Stark does it. “I snatched you out of some nasty people’s hands, wouldn’t be able to do that if I was poor.” So that’s what Stark is about. Praise. Wanting to feel like a samaritan. Clint can play into that, hoping that it will help him avoid conflict. He lowers his gaze.
“This slave is very grateful for the opportunity the master gave to the slave. The slave promises to…”
“Oh shut it!” Stark interrupts him, annoyed. Apparently that’s not what Stark was hoping for. “If you don’t want to be honest, fine! Go back to your cleaning duties. I don’t want to see your face again.” He screams. Clint frowns. He really thought that he got Stark. He shouldn’t be complaining. He’s left him be which means that Clint achieved what he wanted, to remain invisible. He slightly bows and leaves the closet. He passes the bedroom door with the shirt thrown on the floor, phone and watch on the bed, pretending to not pay attention to it, and goes to the living room. The lift is already open for him and ready to take him back. Whoever this Jarvis guy is, he must always be monitoring them. Clint passes the jacket but stops where the flying shoe ended its journey. Stark wants him to be honest. Clint chuckles. He’s gonna show him honesty. He’s gonna show his master what he asked for. Without thinking about the consequences, he picks up the shoe, turns around and goes back the same way he came from, picking up all of Stark’s clothes and belongings on the way. He storms into the wardrobe before Jarvis has time to warn Stark. Stark is in the middle of hopping off of his trousers and stops mid move, looking up at Clint. Fear in his eyes. He must know who Clint is. Maybe for the first time he regrets his decision of purchasing him. Seeing the frown, the red face, clawing his discarded items and storming into the room, marching in his direction. The slave walks past him and deposits the shoes in the designated place for them.
“This ‘place’ is a palace. A home to the most privileged man in the world.” The watch goes onto a watch display drawer and dirty shorts to a laundry basket. “What do I think of it? I don’t know. I think 'Why did this man buy me? What does he need me for and in which ways will he make me suffer?' That’s what I think!” Clint chuckles devilishly. All of it out of rage, worried about the consequences immediately after the laugh ends. He might be saying these things but he sure as hell does not have the courage to look Stark in the eyes when saying them. “Honest. Slave honest. Good one.” Clint hangs the coat up on the hanger, Stark has enough possessions to have the coats coordinated by color and mark. It takes Clint a while until he figures out the correct place for it. “You asked your robot slave or whoever he is how I am. And that robot slave pointed out that you should ask me. So let me answer that question for you too.” Clint is saying all those words whilst in the the waiting pose. The t-shirt drawer sorter. Looking at his feet, fists clenched in fear. “I am sad. I am really sad because I was free and now I am not. I am scared because I am thinking about all the ways you’re going to punish me for how I speak to you now. And I am angry. Because my master is very messy so it seems like the rest of my life is going to be spent on picking up his clothes from the floor. All of the potential lost, because I could do so much more, master. I could do so much more.” Clint finishes in one breath. He’s gotten himself into a lot of shit. Why can’t he keep his mouth closed?
Clint continues to look at Starks feet and politely curtsies. Stark wanted him to be honest, so he was honest. Stark doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. Clint braves out, raising his eyes to glance at Stark’s face.
“Did you just call me messy?” Stark asks dumbfounded. There is no venom in his voice, just a surprise.
“I mean, you're a really smart master. How else would you call a person that leaves a trail of belongings behind them? I mean it’d be good in the middle of the forest if you wanted to escape an old witch but at home?” Stark’s laughs. Quietly and briefly. But he laughs.
There is a smirk on his face after. He walks up to and stops in front of Clint with crossed arms and a smile on his face. The entertained type.
“Master?” Clint asks, worried about breathing. Coulson’s order to breathe, weeks later, still useful. Stark’s lips open.
“I asked for honesty, I got honesty.” Stark starts laughing. “We definitely need to work on your attitude but let’s not get rid of that straightforwardness and bravery out of you, huh?” Clint breathes out relieved. He will still definitely get punished for it but it should be survivable. Clint isn’t sure if he’s done the right thing. He wanted to be unnoticed. He clearly drew his Master’s attention. And that is never good. It’s very dangerous in fact. Clint’s fists loosen up and clench again. Why is he so impulsive? Why did he have to prove himself to this man? Give him what he wanted? It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.
He thinks that Stark is going to say something else but his master just turns around and starts looking at some comfy tracksuit bottoms for home time. Clint slips out of the room, now that he is still breathing. Stepping back into the hallway and entering the elevator. He notices that without giving the lift any instructions, it is taking him to the same floor he started his adventure on. He quickly leaves the space, worried that Stark will summon him for his punishment session.
On this occasion Clint doesn’t get punished. But when he returns to slave quarters and looks at his schedule for the next day he learns that he’s been assigned Stark’s private apartment.