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“You know this is basically soft porn, right?” Clint murmurs with a sly grin, cupping his own dick through his pants before shaking his head and laughing.
Clint, like Clint Barton. Like the Avenger. Fuckin’ Hawkeye, for fuck’s sake. The not-so-secret love of Bucky’s very gay life. One day, he’s a disabled vet signing up for a very exclusive and very top-secret state-of-the-art prosthesis trial, and then before he knows it, Tony Stark is asking him to take some publicity pictures of superheroes.
Bucky’s barely even a photographer, just one more half-truth anxiously added to his application to make it look like he has interests and hobbies beyond watching earnest reality dating shows, endlessly considering cutting his hair but never actually going through with it, thinking about Hawkeye’s biceps, jerking off, and thinking about Hawkeye’s biceps while jerking off.
But of course Tony Stark zeroed in on that one throwaway lie, and after a little bit of Oh a photographer, you should come take pictures of my friends, Bucky accepted his first ever photography gig. He couldn’t exactly say no after the guy gave him a sweet metal arm for free, but fuck, is he ever out of his league here. He had to borrow the camera from Becca’s boyfriend. And now here he is, watching Clint Barton lounge on a table in the middle of an empty laundromat while he jokingly feels himself up in the thinnest T-shirt and tightest jeans Bucky has ever seen in his life.
“Nothing soft about it,” Bucky mutters to himself, looking through the one thing on the camera and twisting another thing around until it stops letting him twist, and God, he really hopes he doesn’t break it, because there’s no way he can afford a replacement.
Clint sits up and swings his legs around to face Bucky, staring at him with a focused intensity that makes Bucky’s stomach flip. Clint looks away first, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck. The hem of his t-shirt rides up a little bit, and his whole body looks so long and lean that Bucky really wishes he actually was a good photographer and could somehow capture this moment.
Clint is so sexy, just screaming raw sexual magnetism, but there’s an ease to him, too. The lopsided smile on his face is so charming and self-effacing, and he has a weird cowlick that neither of them could fix, and he’s been mostly very polite towards Bucky, careful to see how each of his jokes landed before trying another one. The innuendo has just started creeping in, and even now, whenever Clint makes a dirty joke, there’s a moment where he bites his lip afterwards, looks at Bucky so carefully, like he’s trying to gauge the line and how close they are to crossing it.
Bucky doesn’t give a fuck, honestly. He wants Clint to grab him with both muscular arms, biceps popping out all over the place, and drag him across the goddamn line. Fuck professionalism, he’s not even a real photographer.
But Tony’s paying him, so the least he can do is fulfill his end of the deal. He looks through the camera’s viewfinder, and whatever knob he was twisting before has caused him to zoom in all the way on the subtle, teasing shadow of Clint’s dick through his jeans, cupped loosely by his long, elegant fingers. He can’t see any details through the thick fabric, but it’s a pronounced, obvious bulge, a nice handful. Bucky is absolutely going to hell, but he clicks to take a picture anyway.
“Are you getting good shots?” Clint asks, his brow furrowed.
“Just took a real nice shot of your dick,” Bucky admits, and Clint throws his head back laughing. “Sorry.”
“Is my face so bad that you’ve resorted to dirty pictures? Just grasping at straws now trying to make me look good?” Clint asks, and his tone is lighthearted, but there’s something a little bit uncertain in his eyes.
“I’m just not very experienced at taking pictures,” Bucky says haltingly, not sure if he should be confessing this on the job, but not sure how much longer he can pretend otherwise. “Your face is good. It looks really, really good.”
“Well, shit,” Clint says, and the smile that crosses his face is so blinding and genuine that Bucky fires off eight, twelve pictures in a row, just trying to capture the magic that is Clint Barton shining brighter than the goddamn sun. “And what about the dick pic? Does that one look good?”
“All of you looks good,” Bucky says sincerely.
“Cool,” Clint says. “Thank you. I don’t have a lot of pictures of myself that I like. Hey, if any of them turn out really nice, I’d pay you to let me use it as my Grindr profile picture.”
Bucky’s finger stutters for a moment, but he swallows and continues taking pictures. So, Clint is definitely into dudes and he’s not just misreading the signals. Cool. That’s...cool.
“Sure,” he says after a minute that feels like an eternity. “But I can’t imagine you’d need any help from me in that department.”
“You’d be surprised,” Clint says with a shrug and a wry smile. “This is the most attention I’ve had from a cute boy in a long time.”
Bucky chokes on absolutely nothing. That’s fine. That’s fine. So Clint is not only into dudes generally, he’s into Bucky specifically. That’s totally cool, and everything is cool, and everything is absolutely fine, and it’s fine.
“Did that weird you out?” Clint asks, his face creased with concern. “Shit, I’m not trying to, like, hit on you at work. I mean, I am, but I know this is your job and I don’t want you to feel like...coerced.”
“I do not feel coerced,” Bucky says faintly. “You think I’m cute?”
“I think you’re gorgeous,” Clint says, running his eyes slowly over Bucky’s body. He feels the blood rush into his cheeks, but he stands still and fights the urge to shrink down and cover up, and he lets himself be appreciated, basking in the warmth of Clint’s careful attention. It’s been a while for him, too.
Bucky watches Clint watching him, and the look on his face is so awed and almost reverent that Bucky has to snap another picture.
“Is that the money shot?” Clint asks, and fuck, he just says things like that.
“Maybe that one’s just for my personal collection,” Bucky says, trying to project a confidence that he absolutely does not feel. “C’mon, according to the assignment, I need you to take your top off next.”
A grin unwinds across Clint’s face, serpentine and seductive, and he’s obviously milking the moment for everything he’s got as he uncrosses his unfairly long arms and reaches behind himself to snag the collar of his shirt. His triceps are un-fucking-possible as he draws the fabric up slowly, and the tease of each inch of skin being gradually revealed is delicious torture. There is absolutely no way for Bucky to adjust his dick in his pants without drawing attention to how affected he is by this ludicrous display.
Clint knows. He has to know how fucking good he looks and how stupidly hungry Bucky is for his perfect goddamn body. But the way he hops down from the table and saunters over to deposit his shirt in the nearest open machine is almost casual.
“Want my pants off?” Clint asks, wide-eyed, biting back a smile. He waggles his eyebrows in a way that is absolutely more goofy than sexual, so there’s really no goddamn excuse for the irrational way Bucky immediately thinks I want to lick his eyebrows, which is not even a thing, but fuck, he just wants to put his mouth on Clint’s face. Bucky might need to throw himself into the machine if he wants any chance of cleaning up the filthy thoughts running through his head.
“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Bucky says. He isn’t even checking the viewfinder anymore, too transfixed by the lines of Clint’s abs and shoulders and arms and everything to do much more than click the shutter without looking and just hope for the best
“Oh, I’m real comfortable,” Clint says, leaning against the washing machine to remove each of his socks in turn. “How about you?” He hooks his thumbs into his waistband to shimmy out of his tight jeans, and Bucky just about swallows his tongue at the way his briefs shift lower, exposing sharp, luxurious hipbones. “You comfortable?”
Hawkeye doesn’t seem to have the same following or command the same level of respect that some of the other Avengers do. Probably because the others are super-powered or mutated or near-immortal. They’re all enhanced in some way, and Hawkeye is just...normal. But honestly, as Bucky tracks his gaze over Clint’s skin, drinking in every detail of him, his muscles, his bulk, his lean and powerful strength...Bucky fucking dares anyone to look at Clint like this and call him ordinary.
For fuck’s sake, just look at his dick bulge if you’re looking for something enhanced.
Clint chuckles softly to himself, turning around and bending over slightly to drop his socks and pants into an open machine, and there’s no reason for him to be bending that much, there’s no reason for his ass to be on display like this, but Bucky isn’t gonna say no to a sight like this. God, those thighs. He snaps a few pictures idly. He’s going to jerk off thinking about this day for probably the rest of his life.
“What about these shots?” Clint teases. “Website or personal collection?” He easily vaults on top of the machine and lounges against the wall, thighs splayed tantalizingly, legs dangling. He’s so shameless.
And the thing is, Bucky genuinely doesn’t know anymore.
“You can,” he says, almost swallowing his tongue when Clint crosses his arms behind his head. Bucky is absolutely going to hell, there is no spot in heaven for someone who thinks the things he just thought about Hawkeye’s goddamn armpits, for fuck’s sake. “You can approve anything. Before it. You can see them. I’ll show you it.”
“Oh yeah?” Clint says, raising one corner of his mouth in an easy smirk. “You’re going to show me what you got? You’re gonna let me see?”
“Um.” Fuck. Fuck. Is this real? Is this even fucking real?
“C’mere,” Clint says, his voice softening just a little, dropping the leer and letting his face settle into something more gentle, more earnest. “Show me.”
Bucky blinks, and then he takes a few steps closer. He used to be so good at this, just picking up a hot guy and getting some casual, no-strings-attached action. He knows he’s good looking, and he’s got a nice cock. He used to be charming and teasing in a way that always feels just a little beyond his grasp these days. He always used to set the pace. But ever since he lost the arm, he’s felt a little off-balance with dating and fucking and all the games with their unspoken rules.
But it seems like Clint will take the lead. Everything leading up to this has made him think Clint will take the lead, and God, he hopes that’s the case. He wants this to be real, he wants Clint to want him, and he wants Clint to make a move and prove it to him before he lets himself stumble too much farther down this path.
Bucky gets close enough that his toes are touching the front of the machine. He has to look up to stare into Clint’s eyes, and he forces himself to do that. No counting abs. No fucking touching, not until he knows Clint actually wants him to.
“Gimme,” Clint says, and his palm is cool as he takes the camera from Bucky’s hands, the first time they actually touch each other.
“Are you cold?” Bucky asks, watching Clint flick through the images. His pale eyelashes are so long from this angle, his freckles so prominent at this distance.
“Little bit,” Clint murmurs. He runs his hand over his own thigh to warm up, and Bucky can’t help it, he has to look, watching Clint ruffle his own leg hair, his large palm moving competently over his own thick muscles. “Some of these are good.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure,” Clint says, looking up with a lopsided grin. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, some of them are a shitshow. What, were you distracted by something?”
Bucky doesn’t say anything, nervous to even breathe on Clint.
“You like watching me?” Clint asks, his voice quiet, his eyes piercing right through Bucky, and all he can do is nod his head. Clint begins to move his hand higher, making a lazy trail over his abs, up his chest. “Cold here, too,” Clint says, thumbing at his nipple.
Bucky tries to choke back a whimper.
“Look,” Clint says, as if Bucky could tear his gaze away even if he wanted to. “Do you see how hard my nipple is?” He shivers, but Bucky doesn't know if it’s the cold or the feel of his finger or the thrill of exhibitionism.
“What is this?” Bucky finally whispers. “What do you want from me?”
“I think I’ve been pretty upfront about what I want,” Clint counters gently. “I want you. So what do you want? Do you like this? Me touching myself?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says hoarsely and Clint smiles.
“Do you want to touch me? You can touch me if you want.”
Bucky can’t even put it into words, can barely find the focus to nod his assent. Because fuck, of course he wants to touch Clint. He wants to grab him, wants to handle every part of him, wants to get his fingers and his mouth on every last inch that he can reach, but he--
“Then fuckin’ touch me already,” Clint says.
And it’s like that’s all Bucky needed, an order, a command to follow, permission granted to let him do what he’d already been craving. And before he even understands what’s happening, he’s letting his hands settle on Clint’s perfect fucking biceps, skin and metal and muscle and nerve all working in concert to let Bucky finally grab Clint’s body and hold on tight.
Clint moans, letting his head loll to the side, and Bucky quickly loosens the grip of his left hand.
“Sorry,” he stammers. “Sorry, I’m-- Did I hurt you?”
“No way,” Clint says, licking his lips, his eyes looking a bit glassy. “Feels good. Tickles a bit.” He clears his throat, blinking down at Bucky. “You don’t have to be gentle with me.
“Okay,” Bucky says, letting himself crowd closer, until he’s pressed right up into the warm cradle of Clint’s thighs. He tightens his grip incrementally, pausing when Clint’s eyes flutter shut. “Too much?”
“Perfect,” Clint whispers. He wraps his legs right around Bucky’s body, and Bucky can feel Clint’s hard, eager cock against his hip. Clint rocks against him, unsubtly letting Bucky know just how perfect it is. Christ.
“You have a really nice body,” Bucky murmurs, and Clint sighs, leans into him, and kisses him.
Clint’s mouth is wicked against Bucky’s, slick and insistent and warm as he licks past Bucky’s lips. Bucky slowly runs his hands up Clint’s arms, sculpting the generous muscles beneath his eager palms. He softens his grip as he strokes along Clint’s thick neck, then possessively holds Clint’s warm face in both of his hands, keeping him steady so he can meet Clint’s intensity, kissing him hotly, purposefully.
Clint is a good kisser, thorough and attentive and dirty, and he’s shameless. His thighs are a vice around Bucky, his cock warm and wet where it’s leaking through Clint’s briefs and Bucky’s shirt. He’s wanton and wild, sucking on Bucky’s tongue, brazenly rubbing his dick against Bucky’s body, whimpering little hiccups into Bucky’s mouth as his hips stutter and jerk.
And Bucky feels fucking invicincible, powerful and sexy in a way he never knew he could be anymore. Clint fuckin’ Barton is falling to pieces. For him. It’s an adrenaline rush and an aphrodisiac all at once, and Bucky slides his fingers through Clint’s hair and tugs just enough to tilt Clint’s head back, going up on his tiptoes to chase his mouth. It puts him a little off balance, and he easily falls into Clint, letting his weight settle heavily as his hips drive Clint down against the machine.
Clint pulls back from the kiss gasping, and his eyes look glassy as Bucky fucks forward with his hips, letting Clint’s dick snub against his stomach, the button of his jeans, his own hard cock trapped beneath layers of clothing.
“Is this what you wanted?” Bucky asks, stroking his thumb along Clint’s cheekbone, letting it dip past his parted lips. Clint’s features are so beautiful, and now that he’s allowed to, Bucky can’t stop touching him. “Is it good for you?”
“Fuck,” Clint whispers, his tongue lush and wet against Bucky’s thumb, his eyelashes spiky. He’s trapped between the solid weight of Bucky’s body and the washing machine beneath him, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit with how desperately he’s humping his cock against Bucky’s hip. “I’m close.”
“Do you want me to touch you?” Bucky asks, letting his metal fingers whirr gently.
For a moment, he’s worried it might be too much, too weird.
But all Clint does is moan loudly, drop his head back, and come.
And it’s fucking beautiful, the way Clint’s face goes lax as he rides out his orgasm against the tension of Bucky’s body. He drapes his arms loosely around Bucky, tucks his face into his neck and breathes his warm breath against Bucky’s skin. And Bucky wraps his arms around him soothingly, and it’s a rush, it’s a fucking rush to have his arms full of this particular man in this particular moment, sated and ruined and lovely. Bucky could do anything right now. This is the most in-tune with his body he has even goddamn felt.
“Fuck,” Clint whispers, his wet dick still twitching against Bucky’s abs. “Holy shit, fuck.”
Bucky takes a moment to respond, licking his lips as he keeps trying to process the fact that Clint Barton just came in his pants from humping him, like something out of his best, filthiest dreams. He strokes his fingers lightly over Clint’s back, feeling the shapes of his muscles, tracing the line of his spine. He can’t remember the last time he was this hard.
“‘M sticky,” Clint slurs after a moment, pushing lightly against Bucky’s shoulders until he takes a step back.
Clint scoots forward on the machine and drops to the floor. He lands on his feet, steady and sure, but Bucky catches him anyway with a hand on his biceps and a palm to his chest, just in case, and Clint winks at him and flexes before proceeding to wriggle out of his come-soaked briefs until he’s standing there pressed up against Bucky and completely, perfectly naked.
“Yuck,” Clint says, wrinkling his nose as he looks at the damp fabric. Then he shrugs, tossing them into the same machine with the rest of his clothing. “We’re here anyway. Might as well do a load.” He smirks at Bucky. “Did me saying ‘do a load’ make you uncomfortable?”
“You’re naked,” Bucky blurts out, because Clint is naked.
“Yup,” he says, and he has that teasing smile on his face that Bucky is so, so easy for. Clint is so goddamn hot when he’s cocky and confident. “I’m standing here completely naked and you’re not even looking at me. Am I not attractive to you?”
“‘I--” Bucky exhales helplessly. Words are useless. He might as well look, Clint’s basically ordering him to at this point, and--
Clint’s body is perfect and filthy. Perfectly filthy. There are streaks of come across his abs and in his pubic hair, and his dick is longer than Bucky would have guessed, even as if softens against his thigh, and yeah, Bucky has spent some time thinking about Clint’s dick, it’s certainly been a topic of consideration for him throughout the years, but he’s still unprepared for the actual sight of it before him. Bucky shifts his jaw slightly, tries to imagine the weight of Clint’s cock on his tongue, wonders how much of it he could take without gagging. Wonders how much he could take with gagging. He doesn’t mind working for it, and he thinks Clint wouldn’t mind a little drool.
“That’s better,” Clint murmurs. “That look on your face, that hunger. That’s what I was hoping for.”
“You’re fucking beautiful,” Bucky says, and the words are easy now. “God, your dick is amazing. Wish you were still hard so I could choke on it.”
“Fuck,” Clint says faintly. “Do you wanna touch it?”
“I mean, yeah, but...now?” Clint just came, he’s probably still so sensitive.
“Please,” Clint says, and his voice is barely a breath. He reaches for Bucky’s right hand and guides it to his cock, whimpering softly.
“Is that too much?” Bucky asks. Clint’s cockhead is so wet against his palm, so hot.
“Mmhmm,” Clint says, pressing harder on the back of Bucky’s hand to increase the pressure. Clint’s cock is velvet heat against Bucky’s fingers, and Clint’s gasps and twitches are making Bucky’s own dick harder. “I like too much, sometimes.”
“You are so fucking sexy,” Bucky breathes. “God, how are you real?”
“Can I suck your cock?” Clint asks, tickling his fingertips over the back of Bucky’s hand. “Can’t come again, but I just….” He exhales shakily, licks his lips. “Just so worked up right now. Wanna be full of something. Wanna get your cock in me.”
Bucky just blinks as Clint slumps to his knees, rubbing his cheek against the rough denim covering Bucky’s thighs. He’s had a lot of dreams about Clint. Like...a lot. But never this depraved. This is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.
“Can I?” Clint asks again. He’s kneeling on the floor, completely naked, his lips red and swollen, his eyes wet at the corner, and he’s begging to suck Bucky’s cock, and--
“Please,” Bucky says.
He barely gets the word out before Clint is scrambling to open up his fly. He nuzzles at Bucky’s dick through his boxers, licking at the fabric with his soft, pink tongue, and Bucky braces his hands on the washing machine and tries to hold still. Clint is trapped between the machine and Bucky’s body, but if anything, he seems to get off on being constrained. He pulls down Bucky’s boxers just enough to get his cock out, and all Bucky can do is stand there and watch, almost fully clothed, looking down as a completely naked Clint pushes up on his knees and parts his lips for Bucky’s cockhead like he’s taking goddamn communion.
“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” Clint says again, right before he swallows down Bucky’s cock.
“Fuck,” Bucky says, his words turning into a whine as his cock is enveloped by the warm, wet slickness of Clint’s lax mouth. He feels his cockhead nudging at the back of Clint’s throat, and he watches Clint blink up at him, eyes wide and already starting to water. He pulls out slightly before tentatively thrusting in again, and Clint hums happily in a way that makes Bucky feel crazy, before he pulls off of Bucky’s dick with a soft pop.
“Christ, you’ve got a good dick,” Clint says, his lips shiny with spit. He rests his hands flat on top of the machine behind him, and it makes his triceps bulge in a way that shouldn’t even be possible. “C’mon,” he says, leaning his head back against the machine and looking at Bucky through hooded eyes, “fuck my face already.”
And Bucky pushes back inside his mouth, chasing the molten heat of him, feeling Clint’s tongue trace the line of his dick, and there isn’t any resistance this time, just a hot infinity for him to fuck into. And he fucks, and he fucks, and he fucks into Clint’s receptive mouth, until a tear squeezes out from the corner of Clint’s shut eyes.
But when he tries to pull back, Clint just glares at him and rasps, “Get in me, I fucking like it,” and Bucky is helpless to do anything but obey. He’s already addicted to the feel of Clint’s mouth, somehow yielding and tight in the same instant. Clint is sucking his brains out through his dick, and Bucky isn’t going to miss them one bit.
“I’m gonna,” Bucky pants, “I’m gonna come.”
Clint fucking purrs around his cock, and that’s it, Bucky’s a goner. He comes so hard he sees fucking stars, and he just barely hears the crunch of his metal fist gripping the machine so hard that it deforms, but all he cares about is the sight of Clint’s upturned face, his look of pure bliss as he swallows most of Bucky’s come, only letting a small amount dribble past his wet, stretched lips.
Bucky just stands there, tries to catch his breath, tries to speak, but he can’t do anything but watch as Clint lowers his jaw enough to let Bucky’s spent cock slip out, can only watch as Clint catches the errant drops of come with his thumb and then thoughtfully licks it clean.
“That was fun,” Clint says, fixing Bucky with a frankly dazzling smile, and Bucky gives up trying to make sense of any of it all and just collapses to his knees, catching Clint’s face with careful hands and giving him a soft, gratified kiss.
“You’re unreal,” Bucky murmurs against his lips. “Who fucking are you?”
“I’m the Amazing Hawkeye,” Clint mumbles back, kissing his way across Bucky’s throat. “Maybe you’ve heard of me? World’s greatest marksman? I’m an Avenger?”
“Not ringing a bell,” Bucky lies, shivering as Clint gently nips at the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. “Oh wait, are you Iron Fist?”
“You’re Iron Fist,” Clint grumbles. But when he pulls back to look into Bucky’s eyes, his expression is kind and serious and sincere as he pushes a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ears. “Could I be the guy taking you out to dinner tonight?”
“Yeah?”
“If you want me to be,” Clint says, letting his bravado slip slightly, but Bucky wants it so bad that he can barely form the words. God, he wants this.
“I’d love that,” Bucky says, and Clint’s answering smile is so fucking beautiful. “Be that guy. Be taking-me-out-to-dinner guy, please.”
“Okay,” Clint says, giving Bucky a quick kiss. “We gotta wash my clothes first, because I genuinely don’t have anything else to wear.”
“How are we gonna pass the time until then?” Bucky says as innocently as he can, and Clint’s smile gets just a little wicked, just a little dirty.
“I think we’ll manage,” he says, and Bucky can’t wait to see what he comes up with next.