Marcus was pretty sure he had never wanted to punch Clint as much as he did right then. He really should have known better. This was Marcus, when didn't he find something to occupy his night. At the comment about his hardon, he glanced down and shrugged. "You could say that," he wasn't going to come out and say that he let Bell, of all people, into his bedroom. He didn't let any woman in there and he didn't even want to think about the comments Clint would have about it. Of course, the git didn't get to say anything since he was interrupting what was promising to be a particularly pleasurable evening.
Of course, the fact that Clint couldn't sleep and was calling him in the middle of the night was suspicious in and of itself. Studying the other man for a moment, he sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Give me like ... twenty minutes," he sighed, waving him off. It was going to be a long night. He just knew it.
Turning around, he left Clint to disconnect the call and returned to the bedroom. Only to stop at the end of the bed, a look of frustration mixed with disbelief. "For fuck sake," he snapped, eying a naked and clearly sleeping Bell. "I'm going to fucking kill him." This was exactly the reason he didn't bring women back to his place. Fucking complicated. What the fuck was he suppose to do with her now? To be honest, he was half tempted to dump her onto the floor. Fucking falling asleep. He'd only been gone a minute or two.
Grumbling to himself, he scooped his shirt back up off the floor and tugged it on. Grabbing the corner of the blanket, he flipped it over to cover her and left her there. He wasn't bloody carting her arse all over London looking for her place. Now that he was wide awake with nothing to do, he moved back to the kitchen and called Clint back.
"You're a fucking dick and you owe me," she growled. "She's fucking sleeping. Where the fuck are you?"