Chapter Text
“Clint. Clint. Clint.”
Clint vaguely registers the use of his name, though doesn’t break his gaze from where he’s staring vacantly down at the cash register. He hums noncommittally, blinking slowly and thinking of his bed and his blankets and his pillows-
“Clint!”
A paper cup hits him on the side of the head and he jerks back to reality, turning to scowl at the culprit. Bucky has another cup in his hand, ready to fly, but rolls his eyes and puts it down as Clint glowers at him.
“I said, stop staring at the register and go and check milk stock,” he says. “Nat’s just opening up.”
“Aw, milk,” Clint complains, ending his objection with a jaw cracking yawn. “Do I have to?”
“No,” Bucky says, “But if you don’t I’ll complain to Nat that you’re making the poor one-armed veteran do all the work.” He shrugs his shoulder, waving his sleeve-covered stump at Clint with a shit-eating grin firmly in place.
Clint scowls. “Dick move, Barnes,” he says, but does deign to push himself away from the register and slump through to the back to check the stock as the doors are opened and the day begins. He doesn’t hear anyone come in but trusts that the seven am regulars will be straight in through the doors as per usual.
It’s not a bad place to work, really. A far cry from his deployment in South America with his spec-ops unit, but not bad. He’s got friends here, for starters. Also, his boss understands the ins and outs of PTSD and even if he’s as scary as fuck, he’s incredibly cool about Clint’s occasionally ‘flexible’ schedule. It mostly happens on days following nights where things get especially difficult, but it’s getting there. He’s not had a day off in weeks, which is good for both his outlook and his bank balance.
He’s just finishing checking the stock when Bucky’s head appears around the door. “I need you on the register,” he says clearly, and Clint gives him a thumbs up to show he’s heard.
“Coming,” he says, reaching for a pen and quickly jotting down the stock before heading out to the front.
It’s an easy start. In amongst the tourists and new customers come the regulars: Sam passes through for his usual black coffee on his way to work at the VA, leaning across the counter to kiss Nat and earning several envious looks from a couple of other guys in the queue. Maria comes in exactly on time for her order, balancing her drink and breakfast bagel on top of a tablet computer, tapping away on her mobile phone and shooting Nat an apologetic smile as she does. Peter stumbles through looking bleary eyed and confused, and Clint sees Bucky take pity on the kid and give him a free shot in his black coffee. Wade doesn’t come by this morning which is something of a blessing, and neither does Jane, but she’s sporadic at the best of times.
It’s a warm day; during a lull, Clint finds himself basking in the sun that pours through the glass windows, eyes closed and face turned towards the light.
“Sleeping upright. That’s impressive, even for you,” an amused voice says nearby.
“Dreaming about warm sandy beaches and cold beers,” he says lazily without opening his eyes.
“Could you be more predictable? That’s like the go-to daydream for everyone.”
“I’m not even sorry,” Clint says, folding his arms across his chest and sighing contentedly.
There’s a rough laugh and then Clint feels a chin hook onto his shoulder from behind, a warm body press to his back. “Alright, daydream over. Back to work.”
Clint opens his eyes grudgingly. “Man, I’m tired. How come you’re awake? We were both up until stupid o clock.”
Bucky shrugs, still leaning on him. “I’m obviously made of sterner stuff than you.”
“Will you two stop flirting and do some work,” Nat says pointedly from the other side of the counter, where she’s wiping down a recently vacated table. They both pull identical faces of ‘ew, Nat, no,’ which just makes her roll her eyes.
“Gross,” Bucky says, but he makes no attempt to move away from Clint. She doesn’t even dignify that with a response, just rolls her eyes even harder and then jerks her chin towards the door.
“Will you do some work now there are customers coming in?” she asks.
“Maybe,” Clint and Bucky say simultaneously, but then they look up and promptly every smart-ass thought is wiped from Clint’s mind. He assumes Bucky is in the same predicament as well, because all he manages is a weak ‘ho-ly shit.’
The guy half in and half the door, looking confusedly down at his wallet, is gorgeous.
He’s tall and blond and his shoulders are so broad it’s ridiculous. If the door were even slightly narrower, he’d probably have to come in sideways. He’s absolutely stacked with muscle, could probably lift Clint one handed and that’s a thought that makes him weak at the knees.
Clint wants to have his adopted babies, stat.
“Clint, move over,” Bucky says suddenly, shoving at him with his shoulder. “I’ll take the register.”
“No you will not,” Clint replies and shoves him back. Tall, blond and gorgeous has apparently solved the riddle of his wallet and is stepping slowly towards the counter, counting out a palm full of change.
“Move, over,” Bucky hisses, stamping on Clint’s foot and that’s it, if Bucky is playing dirty then so is Clint; he jabs Bucky right in the solar plexus with his elbow and then curses as Bucky kicks him in the shin.
“Really?” Natasha’s voice complains, but Clint ignores her and kicks Bucky back, shoving him away with both hands, leaping back in front of the register just as Mr Universe gets to the counter and looks up.
“Hi,” he says with a smile. “Can I just get a medium black coffee to go?”
Marry me, Clint thinks silently, because not only is this man a physical specimen, his face is a thing of beauty. Strong jaw and cheekbones, bright blue eyes and a warm smile that Clint wants to lick.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, reaching for a cup. “Name?”
It’s pointless because he’s the only one in the queue, but this way Clint gets to know his name and can stop mentally referring to the man as the ‘future Mister Barton.’
“Steve,” the man says, and huh, okay.
“Alright, Steve, one boring medium black coffee coming up,” Clint says, scrawling his name on the cup and then tossing it to Bucky. Bucky catches it – of course he does – and glares at Clint in such a way that makes him think he’s going to have his ass handed to him when they get home.
Steve raises a perfect eyebrow in a perfect amused smirk. Perfectly. “Boring? Are you mocking my taste?”
“Not at all,” Clint grins back. “If you want to be boring, be my guest.”
“Alright, what would you order then?” Steve asks. He leans on the corner of the counter - dear god biceps, his biceps are going to rip through that too small shirt – and fixes Clint with a challenging look.
Clint hums, tapping his fingers against his chin. He looks back at the display board that he already has memorized, and then turns back to Perfect Steve.
“A large black coffee,” he says with a triumphant pointed finger, and Steve laughs. He actually laughs, eyes crinkling and oh well now that’s just unfair.
“Alright, you got me,” he says, still chuckling. “But I’ll stick with my medium, today. What’s the damage?”
“One ninety-five,” Clint says, and Steve nods and fishes the appropriate coins from his hand. “So, you a tourist?”
“Do I look that out of place?” Steve asks, grinning. “Just moved to the area. Looking for a new regular coffee shop. The old one is a bit out of my way now.”
“Fair enough. Have you succeeded on your quest?”
Bucky silently hands Clint the drink over and Clint makes a mental note to thank him later because really that’s not his job. He passes it to Steve who smiles in thanks and passes the coins over in exchange.
“I might have,” he grins. “Though the place on 29th does a mean cappuccino.”
“Challenge accepted,” Clint says. “Bring it. Come on, I’ll blow your mind with a cappuccino right now.”
Steve laughs at that as well. “What’s your name?” he asks as he removes the lid of his drink, taking a sip. Jesus, the man must have fire-proof taste buds.
“Clint,” Clint says, and holds out a hand for Steve to shake. Steve takes it, grip warm and firm.
“Good to meet you,” he says, and drops his hand. “Have a good day, Clint.”
“You too,” Clint says, and watches Steve leave the coffee shop, only staring at his ass a little as he goes. Never mind the rest of the guy, Clint would quite happily live in wedded bliss with just his butt.
“I’m going to have his adopted babies,” he announces, eyes still fixed on the gently closing door.
“Yeah, right,” Bucky says sourly. “Two minutes of small talk doesn’t count for shit.”
“He smiled at me,” Clint argues.
“I’m amazed you managed to get as much as a smile without making an ass of yourself,” Bucky retorts.
“Whoa, whoa,” Natasha says sternly, coming forwards to lean on the counter. “Play nicely, boys.”
“He cheated,” Bucky scowls, holding his good arm across his chest and holding onto his ribs. It’s the Bucky version of belligerently folding his arms across his chest.
“Technically Clint is on register today,” Natasha says with a perfectly arched brow. “You’ll just have to hope he comes in tomorrow.”
And Bucky’s scowl is replaced by a devious grin. “Prepare to see how it is done,” he says, kicking at Clint’s feet again, not hard. Clint pulls a face at him and turns to properly sort the change Steve gave him into the correct trays in the register.
“Prepare to see you look dumb,” he grouches. “I did just fine.”
“Sure you did,” Bucky says, patting the top of Clint’s head. “Sure you did.”
“Screw you,” Clint replies, and looks up as the door opens with its usual merry jingle and Peter trips back in, laptop and camera and text book in hands, looking pleadingly at Clint. “More caffeine for Parker, Buck.”
Bucky smiles at him and moves away to grab a large cup, flipping it in his hand as he does. “Coming right up.”
“All he said was have a good day, it’s not like the guy proposed to you,” Bucky says over the bustle of the bar, the raucous laughter, the clack of pool balls and clink of glasses.
“He was totally smiling at me,” Clint announces.
“He was just smiling,” Bucky says, exasperated.
“Yeah, at me,” Clint says, and Bucky just pulls a disgusted face.
“Whatever, I’m going to get another beer.”
He climbs out of the booth over Clint, balancing his hand on Clint’s shoulder as he does. Out of habit, Clint’s hands come up to his hips, holding Bucky steady as he swings over, letting him go when he’s out.
“He was gorgeous, Sam,” Clint says as he settles back, shifting to get comfortable. “Even you’d go gay for that.”
Sam is staring at him, looking like he’s grown an extra head. “You and Bucky were arguing over who got to serve this guy because he was hot,” he says slowly, like Clint is stupid or something.
“Yeah, were you not listening?” Clint says, taken aback. “I’m going to declare a national holiday in honor of his shoulders. Nat, back me up.”
“His shoulders are definitely holiday worthy,” Nat says, leaning into Sam’s side and sipping her beer. “And yes, they were bickering over him. Pushing and shoving like actual children.”
“They were both fighting over another guy,” Sam says, still looking like he’s missing part of the story. “What the hell? What’s gonna happen if one of you does score with him? Take him home and have the other one cook breakfast for you the morning after? Hey, look, I won, now make me some damn eggs?”
“No, the other one would come and stay on your couch,” Clint says, and then pauses, thoughtful. “Though I hadn’t thought that far ahead honestly.”
“Nat, our friends are idiots,” Sam declares. “Totally idiots. I cannot handle this level of stupid right now, I’m sorry. And you work with them, how do you do it.”
Natasha pats his arm. “It’s a skill not many possess.”
“Hey,” Clint says, slightly insulted, but Bucky re-appears and sets two beers down on the table, holding the necks of the bottles between his fingers. Clint reaches out to set them both steady and Bucky lets go.
“Darts,” he says, and pulls at Clint’s ear. “Come on.”
“Left hand or blindfold?” Clint asks, snagging his beer with one hand and letting Bucky pull him up out of the booth.
“Blindfold,” Bucky says. “Then I don’t have to look at your face.”
“Words hurt,” Clint complains, and Bucky slings his arm over Clint’s shoulders with an unconcerned shrug.
“Grab my beer,” he says, and Clint obediently twists backwards to grab the other beer from the table. Nat and Sam are both shaking their heads at him. Nat is smirking and Sam is looking pained.
“You two are so dumb,” Nat says.
“Super dumb,” Sam agrees.
“Well we’ll take our dumb over here away from you,” Clint calls back over his shoulder as Bucky steers him across the bar towards the dart board, Clint tucked in securely to his side.
“Yeah, you do that,” Sam shouts back, now sounding close to laughter. Clint shrugs and leaves him to it, because they might insist that he and Bucky are dumb but Sam and Nat are just plain weird, and there’s no arguing that.
“Hey,” Clint slurs as Bucky drops him back onto his bed with an ooft, knocking pillows askew and onto the floor. Whining excitedly, Lucky jumps up onto the bed and off again, bouncing around Bucky’s feet like they’ve been gone for weeks.
“Hey, what?” Bucky asks. “Lucky, calm the fuck down.”
“Nat and Sam think we’re dumb for some reason,” Clint says, gesturing expansively at the ceiling as it lazily waltzes around above his head. “Like super dumb.”
“Well, they’re weird,” Bucky says, and Clint flails to get upright, succeeds only in rolling onto his front.
“That’s what my brain said!”
Bucky laughs, leans down to pat Clint’s cheek. “You’re not dumb.”
“You call me dumb all the time,” Clint says. Lucky bounces back up onto the bed, bumping Clint’s face with his head and licking at his ear. “Aw, gross. Lucky, get off.”
“Leave him be, Lucky,” Bucky says, and clicks his fingers. Lucky obediently jumps off the bed and promptly flops down onto his back at Bucky’s feet, begging for a belly rub. Bucky ignores him and reaches down to grab the displaced pillows instead, tossing them at Clint. “And you know I don’t mean it. I love you really.”
“Yeah you do,” Clint hums happily as he pushes the pillow away from his face. “Night, Buck.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Bucky says swiftly, and Clint feels the mattress dip as Bucky sits down next to him. “Hearing aids. Come on.”
Clint whines and shakes his head. He drank all the beer and won all the darts and now he just wants to sleep.
“Oh for fucks sake,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t sound mad. “I take it back, you are dumb.”
Clint just grunts in reply. He feels Bucky shift and then gentle fingers are unclipping his hearing aid, pulling it from behind his ear. Bucky taps his cheek and with supreme effort Clint rolls over onto his other side.
“You know I’m not supposed to do this,” Bucky says, but Clint just shrugs and wriggles forwards, burying his face in Bucky’s hip. He smells like coffee and warmth and Bucky and he shoves his face into the denim of his jeans, drunken brain wanting to get closer.
The second hearing aid is taken off, and Clint blinks his eyes open, turns his face up so he can see Bucky’s face. Bucky can’t sign well with one hand, but they’re used to that now and Clint’s lip reading is getting pretty good.
“Need anything?” Bucky mouths and Clint shakes his head and grins up at him.
“We’re dumb,” he says seriously, and then cracks up.
Bucky runs his fingers through Clint’s hair and then takes his chin in hand, firmly turning his face towards him so Clint can lip read him again.
“Get some sleep,” he says, and the words faintly register, a deep buzz of sound to accompany the shapes Clint can see. “If you need me, come and get me.”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant Barnes, Sir,” Clint says.
“You got it, Corporal Barton,” Bucky replies as he usually does, and Clint grins up at him before rolling over with a grunt. He feels a hand clap on his shoulder and then the mattress shifts as Bucky gets up and leaves. The last thing he’s aware of is Lucky bouncing back up onto the bed beside him, and then he’s out like a light, snoring softly and unaware of anything else in the world.
“'Cause the players gonna play play play play play-”
"Nat."
"And the haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate-"
"Natasha."
"Baby I'm just gonna shake shake shake shake shake-"
“Nat, I love you, but please stop,” Clint groans, holding a cold can of cola to his forehead and rolling it back and forth, debating taking his hearing aids out so he doesn’t have to listen to another minute of Nat’s singing.
“Shake it off, shake it off,” Nat continues to sing, smiling sweetly and slamming down a metal coffee pot with a crash.
“No-o-o,” Clint half cries, leaning forwards onto the counter and burying his face in his folded arms. “Nat, I know. I was dumb. I drank too much.”
“Leave the man alone,” Bucky says loudly, walking by and swiftly taking the second pot from her before she can also use it as part of her improvised drum kit.
“Bucky’s got my back,” Clint mumbles into his arms. Natasha says something in reply but he can’t hear her. He lifts his head with a ‘hmmm?’ But she just rolls her eyes and turns away. He feels a hand settle on his shoulder and struggles upright, leaning back against the counter.
“Hey,” Bucky says, hand on the side of Clint’s neck. “Make it to lunch and I’ll nip out and get you a pizza from Carl’s, yeah?”
Clint nods, feeling utterly pathetic. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”
“Something terrible in a past life obviously,” Natasha calls over as she walks in front of the counter, tray in her hands.
Bucky lets go of Clint to gives her the finger; she just laughs and twirls on past, setting the tray down with a bang and scaring the life out of Peter who is sat at a nearby table surrounded by science textbooks. He jumps a mile, whipping his headphones out of his ears and frantically looking around.
“Sorry, Peter Parker,” Natasha says, using his full name as per usual. “I’m tormenting Clint.”
“Don’t do that,” Peter says insistently, hand over his heart.
“That kid inhales much more caffeine and his heart is going to give out,” Bucky says to Clint, twisting around and easing his arm over Clint’s shoulders. “I might give him a free expresso just to see what happens.”
“You are cruel,” Clint says. “Let’s do it.”
They both look up automatically as the bell over the door jingles, and Clint immediately regrets being a hungover state even more than he did because that’s Steve walking in, wearing running gear and looking gloriously sweaty and pink cheeked.
“Oh well that’s just not fair,” Bucky says in awestruck tones under his breath, and then he glances sideways at Clint. “Sweetheart, I know you’re hungover and about to die, but if you fuck up this order I’m going to kill you.”
“Message received,” Clint says. Bucky lets go of him to walk over to the cashier, chin lifted and cheeky half-smirk firmly in place and aw dammit, Bucky is pulling out the big guns this morning.
“What can I get you?” he says with a roguish grin, and that’s just playing dirty.
Steve smiles brightly back, and oh god, Clint feels like he’s in a trashy movie of some sort. A meet-cute plot with a guy and a gal meeting under coincidental circumstances and falling madly in love despite their differences, with a bitter ex or some form of nemesis nearly ruining it before the big happy ending sequence.
Well, his version is obviously guy and guy, and while there is no bitter ex, Bucky is definitely his nemesis because he’s bright eyed and gorgeous and he’s charming the pants off of Steve as they chat idly. Names are exchanged, a handshake is offered and accepted, smiles go both ways. Bucky makes a joke about his lack of arm when Steve goes to hand over the exact correct change again, and Steve laughs, politely enquires if he’s a veteran, almost tripping over himself to not cause offense.
And fuck Bucky because he says yes and obviously it turns out that Steve is too, and Clint has a just as good honorable discharge story to pull on the heartstrings thanks, but Bucky got there first, dammit.
He’s more than a little jealous and bitter when he hands over Steve’s drink to Bucky. Steve spots him and smiles warmly, and ha, in your face Bucky.
“Morning, Clint,” he says. “You look like you could do with going back to bed.”
Bucky bites down on a snigger and Clint attempts to discreetly stamp on his foot. “Yeah, I may have had a few too many last night,” he says ruefully. “I had a beer every time I beat this guy at darts, so I kind of lost count.”
And Steve laughs, looking politely impressed. Bucky casually crosses his legs, kicking Clint painfully in the shin as he does.
“You must have good aim,” Steve says.
“Never miss,” Clint grins.
Steve grins back and steps away from the counter as another customer steps up behind him. “Have a good day, guys,” he says, raising his cup in a sort of salute. Clint waves goodbye and Steve vanishes out the door, soon lost in the bustle of the morning commute.
They serve the next rush of customers, and are kept busy for a good half an hour. The tension between them winds tighter and tighter with every minute and Clint can tell by the set of Bucky’s shoulders that he’s mad about something, and that he’s about to tear Clint a new one the moment he gets a chance.
Finally, Clint takes a breath as he watches Maria deftly navigate the door without dropping any of her many possessions, and then turns to Bucky. “Alright, out with it.”
“You sabotaged me! That’s not fair!” Bucky exclaims, slamming the register shut. “I didn’t interfere with you yesterday!”
“You pulled out the poor-little-one-armed-me card!”
“Yeah I did, because he asked,” Bucky says, sounding angry, poking Clint sharply in the chest with his finger. “Fuck you and your wonderful non-visible disability-”
“Non-visible?” Clint asks incredulously, pointing to both of his ears and the attached hearing aids. “These things aren’t exactly discreet, bro!”
“Oh I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my missing fucking arm-”
“That’s enough!”
Natasha’s sharp voice cuts through their bickering, and they both immediately stop. They don’t dial down the glaring though.
“Argue about the gloriousness that is Steve’s ass all your like,” Natasha says. “But don’t you say things to each other that you’ll regret later. You got it?”
Clint feels guilt roll through him and looks down and away, folding his arms across his chest and turning his glare away from Bucky and training it on the floor. “He started it.”
“You sabotaged me!”
Natasha just stares at them both. “So dumb,” she snaps, and stalks off without looking back.
“I’m not talking to you for the rest of the day,” Bucky informs Clint sourly as they watch her go. She heads to the far corner and starts to make small talk with Wade, who is drinking a cappuccino and mango cooler blend. God, she must really not want to be near them if she’s opting to go near Wade Wilson.
“Good. Because I’m not talking to you either,” Clint retorts. He storms to the end of the counter and starts organising the syrups with more force than strictly necessary. At the other end of the counter, Bucky checks the balance of the register, scowling down at the quarters in his hand like they’ve offended his mother.
“I’m still not talking to you, but can you get me some more dollar bills,” Bucky’s terse voice calls a few minutes later.
“Yeah,” Clint says shortly. “And I’m not talking to you either, but you’re still giving me a ride home, right?”
“Of course I am, you fucking moron,” Bucky snaps back.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Whatever.”
Bucky storms into the apartment, kicking his boots off and heading straight into his room and slamming the door. Clint follows him in, shoving the apartment door closed with his hip and walking over to drop the grocery bags on the table. Lucky runs over, whining and twisting round and round next to Clint’s feet, so Clint shuts him up with a treat.
Stupid Bucky flirting better with Steve, he grouches under his breath, scraping his hand down his face. He glares at Bucky’s closed bedroom door and then marches over and knocks.
“I’m still not talking to you but do you want dinner?”
There’s a pause, and then the door is wrenched open. “Yes,” Bucky says shortly. “Do you want me to go pick up more beer?”
Clint narrows his eyes. “Yes.”
“Fine,” Bucky says, and Clint shrugs like he doesn’t care. “Fine.”
“Whatever,” Bucky says, and he slams the door again, leaving Clint glaring at white-painted wood a few inches from his nose.
With no Bucky to talk to – and after the most passive aggressive dinner he’s ever had – Clint ends up alone in his room at seven pm with nothing to do but take out his frustration on his games console. He’s not even sure what they’re exactly fighting about anymore; they’ve not had a fight like this in a long time, and it would usually take a lot more than bickering over who gets to talk to a hot guy to push them this far.
He goes to bed ridiculously early, feeling disjointed and like his organs aren’t quite in the right place. Punching his pillow in frustration, he rolls over and tries to tell himself he’s not bothered by Bucky’s stupid flirting with Steve, he’s not.
He’s not aware that he’s managed to drop off until a hand on his shoulder jerks him from sleep. Blinking hard, he sits up and gropes for the lamp, flicking it on and squinting in the light.
Bucky stands there, jaw clenched and hand gripping his left shoulder tightly.
“Buck?”
“I know we’re not talking,” Bucky says shortly, the mellow light casting valleys of shadow over half of his face. “But.”
He trails off, shifts his stump uncomfortably, fingers digging in hard enough so Clint can see white marks on the skin beneath.
Nodding in understanding, Clint reaches for his hearing aids, turns them on and slips them in. “Tingles?” he asks, and Bucky nods. He swallows, looking like he’s close to tears.
“Feels like cramp.”
“Alright, come on,” Clint says, rubbing his eyes. He sits on the edge of his bed and grabs a pillow, dropping it down between his feet. Bucky steps over and sinks down, sitting between Clint’s legs and leaning back into him. He leans his cheek against Clint’s thigh, exhaling heavily.
Clint leans over and grabs the moisturizer than sits on his bedside table for moments exactly like this. He could do without but it’s easier on Bucky’s skin if he uses it, and it smells pretty good too so there is that.
“Arm or shoulder first?” he asks as he scoops out enough lotion onto his palm and rubs it between his hands to make sure it’s warm.
“Don’t mind,” Bucky says shakily, stump jerking as he tries to shake out the arm that’s no longer there. “Son of a bitch.”
“Okay, shoulder if it’s that bad,” Clint says, and nudges Bucky’s head to the side, pressing his fingers into the muscle of Bucky’s left shoulder, across the shrapnel scars and twisted lines from his first surgery. “Tell me if anything pinches.”
Bucky nods, exhaling heavily and shoulders slumping. Clint continues to work at his shoulder, kneading tense muscles and tight tendons, moving down to the stump when he’s done. Bucky doesn’t so much as flinch, just exhales so heavily it’s almost a groan.
When he’s done, Clint gently nudges him over and Bucky obediently holds his right arm up above his head. Clint pulls it over his thigh so it’s bent and he can reach Bucky’s fingers. “Did you take your tramadol?” he asks as he gets more lotion and starts massaging his fingers.
Bucky nods. “Right on time,” he says. “And I haven’t smoked today, either.”
Clint hums. “Stressed out?”
Bucky shrugs. “Maybe. My best pal isn’t talking to me.”
Clint frowns down reproachfully. “I’m not talking to you because you’re not talking to me.”
“We’re talking now,” Bucky says.
Clint smiles, moves onto the next finger. Bucky’s hand is limp between his own, joints relaxed. “Yeah we are,” he says, and Bucky heaves out a sigh.
“It’s not you,” he says. “Weather says storms.”
“Pressure pains,” Clint nods, feeling relieved that Bucky says it’s not their bickering that’s stressed him out and brought on his phantom pains. “That’ll do it.”
Silence falls between them, but it’s not uncomfortable any more. It’s quiet and relaxed, and Bucky is acquiescent under Clint’s hands. Clint moves from his fingers to his palm and then his wrist, carefully but firmly massaging his way up his arm. He’s on Bucky’s forearm, fingers smoothing over a lump of scar tissue on the underside of his arm when Bucky speaks again, so quietly that Clint almost misses it.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
“I’m sorry I was a dick about your arm,” Clint replies. “I was being jealous and pissy.”
“Nah, no big deal,” Bucky says. “I give you as much shit for being deaf.”
“That you do,” Clint muses, and nudges Bucky with his heel to get him to turn. He goes obediently, slotting his legs beneath one of Clint’s and leaning forwards over his thigh so Clint can get at his upper arm. Clint digs his fingers into the underside of his elbow and Bucky groans, leaning forwards so his forehead touches Clint’s thigh.
“That guy’s ass isn’t worth falling out with you over,” he says, and Clint laughs.
“Motion seconded,” he says. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” Bucky says, sounding relieved and tired. “Can you go back to my hand?”
Clint obliges, and Bucky melts against his leg as he works. He’s sure he’s almost asleep by the time he stops, gently rubbing the back of Bucky’s neck, fingers playing over the knobs of his spine.
“You with me, Buck?”
Bucky nods slowly, pushes himself up so he’s kneeling. He rubs at his eyes, looking exhausted. “You mind if I stay with you?”
“Not at all,” Clint says, and scoots over. “Lucky, budge up.”
After shunting a dozing Lucky across the foot of the bed, he takes out his hearing aids and drops them onto the bedside table. He settles back down with Bucky lying next to him, not quite touching. Bucky shifts under the covers, legs just brushing Clint’s as he gives him a rueful smile.
“Thanks, Clint.”
“Any time,” Clint says, and yawns. “Goodnight Sergeant Barnes, Sir.”
Bucky smiles. “Goodnight Corporal Barton,” he mouths back, and he closes his eyes, exhaling heavily and relaxing into the pillows.
Clint smiles tiredly back, closes his eyes and sleeps.
By the morning, everything is back to normal. Clint over-sleeps and almost makes them late for work, Bucky complains about traffic the whole way there and yells at several pedestrians that are bold enough to try darting in front of the car. They make appalling jokes and sing along to Journey on the radio, and bitch about the broken air-con.
All in all, Clint is in good spirits when they show up for work. Nat is already there and raises both her eyebrows at them as they walk in side by side.
“Over your lovers spat, I see,” she calls. “Bucky, stock. Clint, check and count the register.”
Bucky just pulls a face at Clint and slopes off into the back to sort the stock. Clint busies himself at the register even though he’s on the floor today and technically Nat should be the one checking it. Though he values his life so he’s not about to say that out loud.
The morning rush comes and goes as normal. Strangely, Peter comes in with Wade, and they sit at a table together arguing about something that’s in one of Peter’s textbooks. Clint shrugs it off and gives the table a wide berth, mostly because of the arguing and also because of the terrible fruit-caffeine concoction that Wade insists on drinking. Jane makes an appearance as well, looking bright eyed and eager, thoroughly excited about her Scandinavian boyfriend who is apparently coming to town. It’s one of Sam’s days off so obviously he swans in around eleven and perches on a stool next to the register, chatting to Nat as he once again sets the world record for the slowest consumption of an iced mocha ever.
Clint is clearing the mess left by Peter and Wade and idly contemplating asking Bucky if he wants to go to Carls’ Pizza Place for their lunch break when the bell rings and Steve walks in, humming tunelessly as he does. He waves across at Clint who waves back, and then heads up to the register to place his order with Natasha.
For a moment, Clint ponders going to say hi, but for some reason decides against it. He skirts around the other end of the counter instead, ducking into the back where Bucky is tediously sorting out tiny cups of creamer by their use-by-date.
“Yo, Steve came in,” Clint says a little awkwardly, and Bucky looks up. “Didn’t know if you wanted to go say hi.”
And Bucky studies Clint for a moment, mouth twisted contemplatively. “Nah,” he finally says, turning back to his job.
Oddly relieved, Clint hovers for a moment. “Hey, I bet if we pretend to clean the self-service counter we’d be at the right angle to stare at his ass.”
And Bucky’s face breaks out into a grin. “Now you’re talking,” he says, and grabs a cloth, tossing it over to Clint. “Get a move on or we’ll miss it.”
Clint finds himself grinning back, and he and Bucky sidle out of the back over to the counter that holds all the packets of sugar and milk. Luckily, Steve is still at the counter chatting away to Sam and Nat like he’s known them for years, and doesn’t notice Bucky and Clint skulking on the other side of the shop and acting like a couple of overly-hormonal teenage boys.
“I’m telling you. Shoulders. National holiday,” Clint says under his breath as he pretends to wipe down the counter.
“Sweetheart, it’s all about the ass,” Bucky says, going to a nearby table and deftly scooping up leftover cups and napkins, bringing them back over to the bin.
“There are loads of nice asses in the world, but shoulders like that are a gift,” Clint insists. “Oh my god, look at him. He’s got the proportions of a Dorito.”
Bucky positively cackles with laughter, and Clint is almost too busy laughing at Bucky to notice the new customer entering the coffee shop, frowning down at his mobile phone. He’s wearing a sharp suit and sunglasses that look like they cost more than Clint’s entire wardrobe; his dark hair is carefully styled and he has an impeccably trimmed goatee that should make him look like a douche but just gives the whole look a rakish angle that’s undeniably sexy.
Clint makes a noise in the back of his throat and elbows Bucky to get his attention; Bucky looks over and his eyebrows go up.
“Is he lost? What the hell is he doing in here?”
“Oh my god, it’s like a most-attractive-people-on-the-planet convention,” Clint says in an awed undertone. “First Steve and now-”
And he breaks off as the stranger reaches the counter and casually extends a hand to brush his fingers over the small of Steve’s back. Steve turns and his expression turns into one of surprised delight, and then he leans down to enthusiastically kiss the newcomer right on the mouth.
Clint’s jaw drops.
“Well, shit,” Bucky says, sounding put out. “Looks like we’re both out.”
“Can’t compete with that,” Clint agrees half-heatedly. “Aw, boyfriend.”
“Aw boyfriend indeed,” Bucky grouches. “Son of a bitch.”
“Are you two ever going to do any work today?”
Natasha’s loud voice kick starts them both into action. Steve and his boyfriend both look over with raised eyebrows and Clint and Bucky hastily push away from the counter and to where they actually should be.
“Drinks after work?” Bucky asks Clint as he heads towards the back.
“Oh god yes,” Clint says. “My ego needs it.”
“Motion seconded,” Bucky says. “Now do some work.”
“I will if you will,” Clint shouts back, and all he sees of Bucky is his middle finger before he vanishes into the back. Clint snorts with fond laughter and watches him go, before turning to Nat, winning smile fixed firmly in place.
“Alright, what am I doing?”
“Man, the looks on your faces,” Sam is still laughing, leaning back in the booth and making a show of wiping his eyes. “You were so disappointed.”
“Of course we were,” Clint says, leaning back automatically as Bucky climbs over him to get back into his spot, handing over the beers. “All that work, and then it turns out to be pointless.”
“Yeah, after jerkface boyfriend showed up like he owned the place,” Bucky scowls, sitting down and taking his beer back from Clint.
“Jerkface boyfriend is called Tony and he’s actually a pretty cool guy,” Sam says. “Play nice. Just because you two were punching way above your weight and came crashing back down to earth with the rest of the mortals.”
“Nat, your boy-toy is being mean,” Clint begins, but Bucky interrupts him with a suspicious look on his face. “Hang on, how do you know he’s pretty cool?”
Sam shrugs. “Steve comes to the VA, it’s how I know him. I’ve met Tony a couple of times as well. Like I said, he’s a good guy under the prickly shell he’s got.”
Clint gapes at Sam. Next to him, Bucky is frozen in place, staring at Sam like he’s just grown an extra head.
“You fucking knew?” Bucky manages to say. “You fucking knew?!”
“Yes,” Natasha says with a smile, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass. “We knew.”
“We nearly killed each other over that dumb flirting game,” Bucky half-shouts as Clint shakes his head in disbelief, taking a swig of his beer. “Seriously, guys!”
“You needed a push,” Sam says dismissively, flapping a hand at them.
Natasha nods in solemn agreement. “If you hadn’t started the flirting game you wouldn’t have got all pissy and jealous of each other, and then you would never have got over yourselves.”
“Oh man, you two were so dumb it was hurting my brain,” Sam says. “We’ve been waiting for you two to get your heads out of your asses and get together for years-”
Clint promptly chokes on a mouthful of beer, spraying it everywhere across the table. He claps his hand to his mouth as he chokes and manages to drop the bottle at the same time; Bucky makes a noise of alarm and grabs the bottle, setting it upright as Clint frantically tries to remember how to breathe.
“We’re not together,” Bucky says, sounding insulted and horrified.
“What?” Sam says, sounding equally as traumatised. “You’re not? Nat, you said they’d sorted it!”
Clint looks up through watering eyes to see Natasha just shrug. “Oops.”
“Oh my god,” Sam says in despair. “You two fell out because you were jealous of each other flirting with Steve. You have lived together without killing each other for years. You are super married.”
“We are not,” Bucky says, offended.
“Super married,” Natasha confirms.
“Bucky, you call him sweetheart,” Sam says, looking pained. “You let him touch your arm.”
And Bucky is looking slowly more and more like an animal backed into a corner. He looks to Clint for backup, mouth opening and closing like a furiously angry goldfish.
“We’re not married,” Clint says, looking from Nat to Sam and feeling utterly blindsided. “Literally or figuratively.”
Sam stares at him and then puts his beer down to cover his face with his hand. “Oh no. Oh god no. So dumb. Nat, make them stop.”
“I wish I could,” Natasha says, sounding weary. “But at this point, short of locking them in a closet together and making them kiss-”
“Aaaaand time out,” Bucky says, roughly shoving at Clint. “Clint, move. We’re going home.”
“You got it,” Clint agrees fervently, sliding out of the booth and turning to help haul Bucky out, instantly making a beeline for the door.
“That’s right, take your husband home,” Sam shouts after them. “Remember to carry your sweetheart over the threshold, Buck!”
“Fuck off, Wilson!” Bucky yells over his shoulder, and Sam and Natasha’s laughter follows them out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.
“What morons!” Bucky exclaims as he shoves his hand into his pocket and storms over to the edge of the sidewalk, looking for a cab. “We are not married.”
“Why the hell would they say we are?” Clint asks, perplexed. “I don’t get it.”
Luckily it’s early enough so they don’t have any trouble getting a cab; Bucky hails one and as it pulls over, Clint reaches past Bucky and opens the door for him. It’s exactly what the usually do, but Bucky freezes in place, staring at Clint’s hand on the door.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” he says almost threateningly.
“You’ve got one arm. Shit at doors,” Clint says and Bucky nods curtly before he clambers into the cab. Clint climbs in after him and sits somewhat awkwardly, unsure as to how he normally sits and hyperaware of Bucky sprawled across the seat only a couple of feet away. Bucky stares determinedly out of the window for the whole journey, and it’s a relief to get out of the cab outside their apartment a few minutes later.
Clint has a moment in which he’s convinced he’s left his keys on the table at the bar, but Bucky just rolls his eyes before pulling them from his own pocket and tossing them over. Clint catches them and grins in sheepish thanks. Bucky mutters ‘idiot’ under his breath and waits for Clint to unlock the door. The get as far as the elevator before Bucky starts up again.
“What the fuck are they on about?” he bursts out, jabbing viciously at the elevator button. “Wilson is so full of shit. Just because he bagged Natasha doesn’t mean he knows everything about relationships.”
“Exactly!” Clint exclaims, because Bucky has a valid point. “I bet he’s just bored and playing matchmaker because he’s into that boring settled stage of his relationship.”
“Exactly,” Bucky says, and breathes out heavily. “They’re the fuckin’ dumb ones,” he says and slings his arm across Clint’s shoulders, just like always except how now it’s not.
Clint snorts, leans into Bucky’s side despite himself. Just like he usually would. Except now he’s thinking about how it might look from an outsider’s perspective, and he’s starting maybe think that to the rest of the world, he and Bucky are pretty handsy.
But he likes it like that.
They step into the elevator, and Clint thinks about Steve standing at his side with his arm slung over his shoulders. It’s a nice image, sure, but he doesn’t feel like he needs it, or it’s anything more than just a nice image.
He tries thinking about Steve standing with his arm over Bucky’s shoulders, and he promptly wants to go punch Steve in the face.
Oh, no.
What has Natasha done?
He stands there in quiet turmoil as they go up their floor, still pressed comfortably into Bucky’s side. He’s never thought of Bucky like that, and if he starts now it’s all going to go amazingly wrong, he just knows it.
They head into the apartment to the sound of excited barking and wild scrabbling at the door. Clint opens the door a fraction, allowing Bucky to slip in and grab Lucky’s collar, pulling him away from the door so he doesn’t escape. Clint hastily edges in and shuts the door behind them, wondering exactly when they learned that routine.
“Jesus, Lucky, we were gone like an hour,” Bucky complains, kneeling down to roughly scratch Lucky behind the ears. “We got hounded out of the bar by Wilson and Romanov. You need to bite them next time they come over, yeah?”
Lucky responds with an enthusiastic bout of licking Bucky’s cheek.
“God you’re gross,” Bucky complains, and reaches for Lucky’s leash. “I’ll take the mutt. Food?”
“Yeah, on it,” Clint says, edging smoothly around Bucky as he corrals Lucky towards the door.
“Alright sweetheart, I’ll be half an hour,” Bucky shouts. “You want anything while I’m out?”
There’s a very tense silence. Clint winces, standing there with one eye closed as he waits for Bucky to react-
“We are not fucking married!” Bucky bellows, and storms out, slamming the door behind him.
Clint sits down on the couch and laughs so hard he can’t breathe.
Bucky comes back from walking Lucky looking slightly calmer than he did when he left. Clint has managed to stop laughing and is in the middle of making dinner. Bucky hovers behind him trying to steal bites and Clint threatens to stab him; he makes off with half a bell pepper and a handful of cheese anyway, vaulting onto the couch with a smug grin firmly in place.
Okay. So that’s totally bro-behaviour, right? It’s not like Clint is wearing an apron and Bucky is coming back from work with a briefcase, sitting down at the dinner table waiting for a meal and a kiss. No, Clint is just cooking for both of them because if he’s cooking for himself and he might as well, and Bucky was just out walking the dog. Clint’s dog. Who, by this point, is pretty much their dog.
Ah, shit.
That one flies straight past Bucky, though he does mildly freak out when they stand shoulder to shoulder doing the dishes. He mutters something vehement under his breath and throws the dish towel in Clint’s face, retreating to the couch and looking mutinous.
Dishes done, Clint flops down onto the couch. Bucky automatically swings his feet up into Clint’s lap but just as quickly jerks them back, scrambling away and curling into the arm of the couch instead, now past irritated and looking increasingly distressed. Clint tries to shrug it off but he feels oddly alone without Bucky’s dumb feet in his lap, heel digging into his thigh whenever he wants a massage, which is pretty much all the time.
Fucking Natasha. Clint is going to kill her. She’s made it weird and that’s not fair, because Bucky is the best friend he’s ever had and the thought of it not being okay between them breaks his heart a little.
The final straw comes when Clint goes to get himself a beer. It’s not until he’s sat back down that he realizes not only did he fetch himself one, but Bucky also somehow not only has a beer in hand, but is also staring at the Oreos that are stacked on the arm of the couch next to his elbow.
Clint stares at the Oreos, too. Wait, did he do that?
Oh my god. They’re so married.
Bucky gets up without another word. He walks into his bedroom and slams the door, and then re-emerges not five seconds later to snatch up the beer and Oreos, leveling Clint with a look that clearly fucking dares him to mention it.
Wisely, Clint doesn’t. He valiantly tries to watch some more of whatever film it is that he’s stumbled across on Netflix, then gives up around an hour later and goes to bed feeling lonely and oddly despondent.
He’s in his room for all of ten minutes when there’s a knock on the door. He pauses his brooding and looks up from where he’s sat on the edge of his mattress, just in time to see the door open and Bucky sidle in.
There’s a pause. A very awkward pause.
Then – luckily or not, depending on the angle – Bucky breaks the silence.
“We’re a little bit married,” Bucky says, sounding pained, and Clint leans forwards to bury his face in his hands.
“I know,” he groans. “We really are.”
“But married people have the option of having sex,” Bucky points out. “And we don’t do that.”
Clint shakes his head fervently, still hidden in his palms. “We definitely don’t do that.”
“We don’t even kiss,” Bucky says.
Slowly, Clint looks up, not sure what he wants to see when he meets Bucky’s eyes. “Would you even want to?” Clint asks. His heart is doing a strange quickstep inside his sternum, swooping and skipping in a glorious rhythm he’s not experienced before.
“No!” Bucky exclaims, and then screws up his face. “I never thought we could?”
“Me either,” Clint says a little desperately. “It’s be weird, right?”
“Super weird,” Bucky says matter-of-factly. “So we won’t.”
Clint shakes his head. “Better not.”
“Alright,” Bucky says with a determined nod. “So. I’ll leave you to sleep then.”
It’s barely ten, but Clint doesn’t argue. “Okay. Goodnight, Staff Sergeant Barnes.”
Bucky nods again, harder than before. “Goodnight Corporal Barton.”
He stands there for a moment and then mutters something, backing out of the room and slamming the door hard enough to make the dartboard on the wall wobble. Clint blinks at the closed door, feeling unsettled and like he’s just missed an opportunity-
And then thank fucking god the door crashes open again, banging noisily against the wall behind. It sets Lucky off barking but Clint doesn’t care because Bucky is marching back in with a scowl on his face, and Clint hurriedly stands up to meet him.
“Fucking fuck it,” Bucky snaps, and he strides right up so he’s standing barely a foot in front of Clint. “If this makes things weird in a bad way, we’re going to pretend it never happened and then go and murder Natasha and Sam.”
“And Steve,” Clint says. “His butt started this.”
“Please don’t talk about Steve’s butt before I’m about to kiss you,” Bucky says, looking pained, and then he slides his hand onto the side of Clint’s neck and pulls him in, kissing him hard.
Clint can’t stop the way his breath catches in his throat, or the surprised noise he exhales through has nose as his eyes automatically close. Bucky’s lips are warm against his, and his brain is kind of stuck because he’s kissing Bucky.
He starts to panic because there’s no immediate fireworks, no spark, nothing that immediately goes yes in his brain. Bucky is breathing heavily and then his mouth is moving against Clint’s in a proper kiss, and Clint finds his hands tentatively coming up to hold onto Bucky’s waist. The noise Bucky makes is pure relief and Clint finds himself laughing shakily because he feels it too-
“And don’t laugh while I’m kissing you either, Christ,” Bucky mumbles, but he doesn’t give Clint a chance to reply because he’s kissing him again, catching Clint’s lower lip between his own and opening his mouth just enough, and-
Well, that’s.
It’s not fireworks but it settles in Clint’s gut, deep and right and warm. He carefully sides his hands further around Bucky’s waist, one sliding lower as the other moves up to press between his shoulder blades. It pushes Bucky flush up against him but Clint really doesn’t mind; Bucky is all compact muscle and strength and it makes him shiver oddly.
“Yeah?” Bucky breathes against his mouth.
“I think we can hold off of the murdering,” Clint replies, voice wrecked, and Bucky laughs and then they’re kissing again, hot and open mouthed. Bucky’s hand slides down over Clint’s shoulder and across his arm, up over his back until his arm is hooked around Clint’s neck, and he’s pulling them around and stepping back towards Clint’s bed. Clint’s brain abruptly stutters to a halt all over again, but then Bucky is making a noise of protest and turning his face away, and Clint is kissing over his jaw, not wanting to stop.
“Lucky, get out of it,” Bucky says, twisting around and almost falling as he tries to let go of Clint to shove Lucky away. Lucky whines, butting his head against Bucky’s side and gazing pleadingly at him with his one eye.
“Fucking mutt,” Bucky says, exasperated. “Clint, let go-”
“Nu-uh,” Clint says, still kissing the side of Bucky’s face and trying to get back to his mouth. “We started this, I’m not stopping-”
“Clint!” Bucky exclaims, but he’s laughing and twisting free, pushing Clint back. His eyes are dark and wicked, and his mouth is wet from kissing and Clint wants him. It uncurls slowly in his chest, gentle yet insistent.
“Wait one goddamn minute,” he says breathlessly, and then he’s grabbing Lucky’s collar and pulling him towards the door. As per usual, Lucky objects with every fiber of his being, and Bucky curses as he struggles to get him out.
“This is not for puppy eyes,” Bucky is saying, half in and half out the door, shins braced against Lucky’s back to stop him darting back in. “Go on, get out-”
Clint takes advantage of the momentary distraction to hastily dive across his bed and yank open the drawer of his bedside cabinet. It’s full of odd socks and old hearing aids and medication he never took, and please lord let there be condoms in here that aren’t past their expiry date, he knows he’s not been laid in ages but that would be tragic beyond even him-
The door closes with a triumphant thud and Clint hastily rolls away from the drawer to lie on his back, trying to look as casual as possible.
Standing a couple of feet away from the bed, Bucky cocks his fist on his hip, looking at Clint with a raised eyebrow. “Real smooth,” he says, and then he’s climbing up onto the bed, kneeling next to Clint’s hip. He braces himself over Clint with his palm on his chest, face inches away.
“You sure about this?” he says, eyes searching and momentarily serious. “Nothing away from your ego if you change your mind.”
“Same to you,” Clint says, even though part of him wants to shrivel up and die at the thought of Bucky changing his mind and stopping.
“That’s not an answer,” Bucky says, exasperated, and then he leans down to kiss Clint, far more gently than Clint ever anticipated. When he pulls back, his mouth is twisted contemplatively, brows drawn together in thoughtful confusion. “Don’t think I could live without you,” he says simply. “Now that I think about it.”
And Clint nods slowly. “I think I was jealous of you flirting with Steve,” he says. “I was glad when you didn’t want to talk to him today.”
And Bucky smiles, a half hitch to his mouth. Clint reaches up to touch the single dimple that appears in his right cheek when he does it, and Bucky turns his head to kiss Clint’s fingertips.
I love you, Clint thinks, and it’s true and just that easy. It startles him a little but then he just mentally shrugs and decides to roll with it. Bucky smiles down at him like he can read Clint’s mind and approves.
“So,” Bucky grins. “You got any condoms that aren’t considered historical artifacts in that drawer?”
“Fuck you,” Clint grouches, but Bucky is kissing him again and Clint really can’t stay mad.
“Now you’re talking,” Bucky breathes against his mouth with that roguish smile that Clint is definitely going to be a sucker for, and he’s kissing him back and rolling him breathlessly across messy purple sheets.
Clint wakes up sore and exhausted in the best possible way, to the sound of whining and scratching at his bedroom door. He blinks dazedly for a moment, then registers that the thigh wedged between his and the arm draped heavily across his chest belong to Bucky.
Well, he thinks. That’s new.
Bucky is still fast asleep, face mashed into Clint’s chest. His hair is sticking up every which way, tumbling messily across his brow, and Clint thinks he could get used to waking up like this.
He yawns, turns his head to the side and looks at the clock.
Ah, shit.
He groans, wanting nothing more than to curl up with Bucky and sleep the day away. Bucky would kick his ass for that though – not to mention Natasha- so against his better judgement he reaches for his hearing aids, puts them in and then prods Bucky awake. He surfaces scowling and grumpy, the same as he always is when he just wakes up, glaring at Clint like he’d not given him the best sex ever only six hours prior.
“Fuckin what?” he grumbles, tired and pissy.
“We’re really late for work,” Clint informs him. Bucky’s head snaps up and he looks at the clock for a heartbeat before cursing explosively and staggering up out of the bed. Clint watches his naked ass run for the door, smothering a laugh as Lucky nearly bowls Bucky over as they cross paths in the doorway.
“Fuckin’ mutt!” Bucky yells, already halfway down the hall. “Clint, get your ass out of that bed before I make you!”
Clint rolls his eyes and braces himself as Lucky leaps up onto the bed. He butts Clint with his head, tail wagging madly and looking excessively pleased.
“Yeah, you can shut up,” Clint says as he scratches behind the dog’s ears. “This means you’re sleeping in the hall from now on, bro.”
Lucky’s tail thumps against the mattress. From somewhere in the vicinity of the bathroom, Bucky bellows at him to get up a second time. Warm and ridiculously happy with how things have turned out, Clint grins, stretching lazily and idly wondering if it would be weird to send Steve a thank you card.
Six months down the line.
Clint blinks tiredly down at his coffee, not quite awake yet. The others are talking about something – plans for tonight maybe, could also be opinions on the election race for all he actually knows – but he’s tuning it out, half accidentally and half purposefully. He’s perfectly happy to slump back in his chair, feet kicked up into Bucky’s lap, a single hand curled around his ankle.
“Hey, check it out.” Fingers tap at his shin, and he looks up to see Bucky nodding towards the counter. The new girl, Gwen, is chatting animatedly to Peter, who is nodding vacantly and staring at her like she’s the best thing since a double-shot expresso.
“It’s the coffee shop of love, what can I say,” Clint says, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips.
“Only counts if he actually gets up the nerve to ask her out,” Bucky says. “Slim to none.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Natasha says from across the table.
“Count me in,” Steve says, glancing at Peter and Gwen. “I say he asks her out in the next week.”
Tony snorts incredulously. “Oh I’m in,” he says. “Get ready to hand over your cash, Rogers. I bet it takes him a month.”
“I bet she asks him out,” Natasha says with a knowingly raised brow, and Tony whistles between his teeth.
“Raising the stakes, Romanov. What’re we playing? Fifty bucks.”
“A round at the bar,” Steve interjects, and Tony rolls his eyes but takes the bite out of it by leaning forwards to gently kiss him, Steve’s chin held in his fingers.
They’re a good couple, Clint knows by now. And as gorgeous as Steve is, he’s turned out to be not really anything Clint could seriously go for. Too much like a not utterly useless big brother, really.
And then there is the whole stupidly tragic realizing he was in love with his best friend thing as well. Kind of puts a damper on any other attempts to hook up with gorgeous customers.
And speaking of gorgeous customers. Clint’s attention is drawn as a newcomer walks past their table; a tall slender man with white-grey hair and piercing grey eyes. He’s got a lithe runners build and Clint finds himself maybe checking out his ass a little.
“Hey Buck,” Clint says, eyes still glued to the third best butt he’s ever seen. “Your six. Check it out.”
Bucky immediately twists around. “Good call,” he says to Clint, sounding impressed.
“Okay, there’s only one thing I understand less than why you all choose to hang out at the place you work,” Tony says, bemused. “And that’s this whole check out the hotties thing you two have got going on.”
“Well, we’re in a healthy and secure relationship that’s not governed by irrational jealousy,” Bucky says, challenging grin in place. Tony just shrugs.
“We learn to live with it,” he says. Steve looks like he’s going to object for a moment and then just shrugs in agreement.
“Speaking of checking out hotties and irrational jealousy,” Sam pipes up. “Did you guys ever hear the story of when Steve first came to get coffee?”
Clint chokes on his mouthful of drink, hastily dragging his feet out of Bucky’s lap so he can lean forwards, coughing to try and clear his airways.
“We talked about this, Wilson,” Bucky says dangerously. “Pain of death.”
The bastard just looks at Natasha. “I fancy my odds,” he says with a flippant grin at Bucky, taking an obvious victory sip of his mocha.
“I feel like we need to hear this story,” Tony says immediately, even going as far as to put down his phone.
“We don’t need to hear this story,” Clint says hastily. “Sam, no.”
“Clint and Bucky both wanted to be there ones to serve Steve because they thought he was the hottest thing on the planet and wanted to flirt,” Natasha interjects smoothly, and it’s Steve’s turn to choke on his drink, much to Tony’s delight if the cackling laughter is anything to judge by. “They fell out over it and then realized they were both being jealous petty man babies.”
Sam raises his cup in a toast. “And then they banged.”
“And then they banged,” Natasha repeats solemnly.
“You two were-” Steve begins, still coughing slightly. He clears his throat and looks from Bucky to Clint, and Clint would quite happily hide under the table right about now. “You were flirting with me? I thought you two were a couple!”
Natasha and Sam burst into delighted laughter at that, as does Tony. Clint gives up and leans forwards, banging his head against the table. Bucky stares in affront at Steve, mouth hanging open.
“We were not together!”
“But, you were looking at each other like-” Steve begins and then gives up. “Well, I’m glad I helped. In a very dysfunctional, weird way.”
“I don’t think it was you. Just your butt,” Sam says seriously.
Tony hums in agreement. “Your butt could easily start a revolution,” he says to Steve.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve says dryly. “Obviously with a great ass comes great responsibility.”
“I hate all of you,” Bucky announces. “You’re terrible friends.”
“We know,” Natasha says happily, and smiles as Sam kisses her temple.
“Barton, we’re moving,” Bucky says seriously. “Come on. I bet the west coast isn’t full of losers.”
“I own property on the west coast,” Tony chips in with a smirk. “We’ll just follow you.”
“Doomed,” Bucky groans, but he’s meeting Clint eyes and smirking lazily, affecting a put-out sigh. “I guess we should thank Steve’s butt really though. We now get to be super married and have all the sex, so I guess it worked out in the end.”
And Clint grins back and leans over to kiss that coffee-flavored smirking mouth, because yeah, it really kind of did.