Prompt Bingo, player me

[harcourt]

Hostile climate	Fuck or die	Corporal punishment	Crossover/ Fusion	Exposure
Zombie apocalypse	Wing!fic	Prison AU	Different historical period	Vampires
Fantasy creature	Oral sex	WILD CARD	Trapped	Isolation
Friends with benefits	Torture	Tentacles	A/B/O	Illness
Bondage	Gunshot wound	Organised crime	On the run (2)	D/s

I'm still plugging away at longfic bingo, even though the comm seems dead, but you guys, longfic takes so long. But I like their prompt list, and I like kinkmeme style prompts, so I made myself a bingo card, and if anyone is up for this game:

You prompt/request according to a bingo box, I write a prompt fic style fic. I'll x-post to tumblr, but anon is on here. Wild card is free-for-prompter, go nuts.


Filled:

A/B/O:
Clint/Logan, On the Run

D/s:
Bucky/Clint

Fantasy Creature:
Bucky & Clint

Fuck or Die:
Clint/Tony

Gunshot Wound:
Clint & Steve

On the Run:
Clint/Tony
Clint/Logan, A/B/O

Torture:
Clint/Steve

Vampires:
Clint/Steve

Wing!fic:
Bruce & Clint

Comments

Re: Clint/Any, Clint is a vampire

[harcourt]

Clint took a breath and let it out. A pained heave that meant the situation was a little more urgent than Clint was letting on. "Just if you get to any stringy bits, don't cut through them."

"Okay. You hear that, Cap? Watch the stringy bits."

Steve had dealt with bullet wounds before, but even though these were far less messy, the procedure was strangely gruesome. Like dealing with meat rather than living flesh. The whole thing was too clean, no blood spilling down Clint's sides and over Steve's hands, or pooling under his knees as he got down for a closer look. His hand brushed over Clint's chest in a soothing gesture, settling briefly over his ribs, where there was never enough of a pulse to feel even though Clint's medical records assured him that there was one, or at least the electrical fluctuations of one.

"Arm first," Clint told him, still not moving very much. The silver must have been doing a number on his system. Steve was pretty sure he'd never seen mention of the hazard in Clint's file, which meant either SHIELD had been keeping secrets and holding Clint to them, or Clint had been keeping secrets all on his own, from all of them.

Steve filed the thought away for later, and pulled the knife, dropping its sheath and strap to the ground by his leg, and then taking a few moments to figure out how to best grip the blade for accuracy, considering its size and that it was balanced for throwing and stabbing and not delicate, close-up work.

"Can't hurt me too much," Clint said, when Steve settled on a dubious overhand, holding the back of the blade in an awkward grip, to get his fingers closer to the tip and control the movement of the blade as much as possible. "I'll heal."

"Okay. Keep breathing."

Clint did, eerily calm while Steve worked, his face turned away and towards Tony. It meant Steve couldn't see his expressions, but his body stayed relaxed even when Steve had to go digging a bit, and finally drew blood. Thin tendrils of it that wrapped around the extracted bullet to drip off its end. Steve had a little pile of damp silver by the time he was done, leaving the too-deep or awkwardly placed remainders for a proper surgeon, and Clint's skin was still only just smudged with red, where the brush of Steve's hand had made streaks.

"Can you move?" he asked Clint, setting the knife aside to turn Clint's face back towards him. "Clint?"

Clint's eyelids flickered, stilled, then flickered again before his eyes finally blinked open, and then it took another second for him to focus. Steve wasn't sure if he'd passed out or if it was a result of how little blood he had in him. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

"You say that like I can just run out for a pizza," Clint slurred. His head rolled a little when Steve let him go, but he started testing his movement after, gingerly moving each joint before making an attempt to sit up. Steve kept him down with a hand on his chest. Too easy, and met with too little protest, Clint just accepting the restraint and falling back against the stack of boxes.

"This morning?"

Clint grinned. It looked hazy. "Nah. It was with you. On the roof."

"That was two days ago."

"S'fine. Stuff SHIELD has on ice tastes like crap."

"Well," Tony said. "This is taking a turn."

Clint looked over at him, smiled dopily, then let his eyes shut again. "Didn't think there was gonna be silver bullets."

"Yeah. Who’d’ve thunk, right? We're going to get you more kevlar." Tony looked up. "Want me to fly him in, Steve?"

"Not as long as we're safe. Let medical do the moving." Whatever Clint said, there was no way swooping around in Tony's arms wouldn't be doing him harm, even if it was temporary and non-lethal harm. In the meantime, Steve picked the knife back up, gave it a wipe on his thigh and pushed the tip of it against his wrist.

"I guess sterilizing isn't a thing with us," Tony commented, but looked away, then got back to his feet to make a bit of distance, boxes and junk crunching under the weight of his armor. "Enjoy your pending tetanus." Steve waited until he had come to a halt, and then, even though Tony couldn't give them real privacy, pushed the blade through his skin.