For @winterhawkbingo Round 5, Square O2: In Vino Veritas
Ao3 Link
Lift:
The first time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was entirely by accident. The button for Bucky’s floor was directly below the button for his floor, and he’d hit the wrong one after getting back to the tower from an extended mission, eyes blurring with exhaustion. He’d been awake for about sixty hours straight, only upright and conscious thanks to the liberal application of caffeine.
When he stumbled into Bucky’s rooms he was half drunk with exhaustion, mind barely registering the fact his couch wasn’t in its normal place to the left of the door. Everything seemed to be in muted shades of grey, and he bounced off the armchair that had suddenly appeared in the location his couch normally was.
At that point Clint couldn’t be bothered to care and made his way to the bedroom, dropping pieces of gear in a trail behind him as he went.
His bed had moved a few feet over – Clint wondered if Tony was pulling some kind of weird prank on him – but he couldn’t find the motivation to care about that either as he collapsed into it face-first, asleep within seconds of his face hitting the pillows.
Clint woke up to somebody poking him sharply and repeatedly in the calf.
“G’way, lemme sleep,” he mumbled, rolling over and wrapping the blankets more tightly around himself.
The poking stopped and Clint vaguely registered a set of footsteps walking around the bed before finding himself hauled roughly off the bed and dumped on the floor. He was struggling to free himself from the blanket burrito to yell at whatever teammate had rudely thrown him out of this own bed when someone dumped a pillow on his face.
“I don’t know why you’re here, but you can sleep on the floor,” he heard Bucky growl.
“Why am I here?” Clint yelled, finally freeing his arms from the blankets to throw the pillow at Bucky, “Why are you here?”
Bucky caught the pillow with one hand and stared at Clint like he’d grown another head.
“Because this is my bedroom?”
Clint looked around in confusion before registering the fact that nothing in this room belonged to him. It was far too clean, for one thing, and there wasn’t nearly enough purple.
“Aww, bedroom, no,” he whined, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling in despair.
“Go back to sleep, Barton,” Bucky said, tossing the pillow back at his face. “You clearly need it.”
Clint opened his mouth to argue before deciding the better of it and tucking the pillow under his head and rolling back up into the blanket. If he had to do the walk of shame back to his floor, he’d rather do it after a full night’s sleep.
*
The second time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was also more or less an accident. He made the same mistake again - pressing the wrong floor’s button – but this time he’d been distracted by a heated discussion he was having with Natasha.
She raised her eyebrow when he hit the button, but didn’t say anything as he continued to rant about Reinhold in SciTech and his penchant for leaving his dirty socks outside the showers in the SHIELD locker room.
“It’s unsanitary and I’ve nearly killed myself about three times now slipping on them on my way to the shower!” Clint was yelling as he walked off the elevator. He nearly ran into Bucky, who was staring at him with confusion.
Clint returned the look of confusion until he glanced past Bucky and noticed the rest of the room. The rest of the room that was definitely not his living room.
“Aww, floor seventy-three, no,” Clint sighed, shaking his head as Natasha snickered at him. “Sorry Bucky, I must have hit the wrong button again. At least I’m not sleeping in your bed this time?”
“Small victories,” Bucky said dryly.
“I’ll take what I can get,” Clint told him. He had a vicious bruise on his elbow from slipping on Reinhold’s socks this morning, and he was lucky he hadn’t brained himself on one of the shower stalls. He was going to take any small victories he could.
“Low standards are important, I suppose,” Bucky commented, looking pointedly at the elevator door. “Are you going to go to the correct floor now, or were you planning to join me for disc golf?”
Clint perked up at the thought of playing disc golf with another sniper. “You’re going to play disc golf? Really? And we can join?”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re far too excited about this. But yes, I suppose you can join if you want to.”
Clint pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!” he crowed, suddenly happy to have hit the button for the wrong floor. “Large victories!”
*
The third time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor he was wheeled in by Tony.
"Birdbrain here decided to jump out a window again without arranging transport," Tony informed Bucky as he pushed Clint into the living room and parked the wheelchair next to the couch. "The rest of the team is headed to an Assemble, but somebody isn't supposed to be putting any weight on those legs and has a long history of escaping medical. If anyone's going to be able to keep him out of trouble it's you," he said, marching back out of the room before Bucky could respond.
Clint shrugged when Bucky turned and gave him a questioning look. "Not sure why Tony thinks that," he said, disengaging the brakes on his wheelchair and making his way towards the kitchen. "I mean, your track record isn't that great. You never managed it with Steve, even before he got all full of muscles. You got any pizza in here?"
Bucky trailed in after him, looking a bit dazed. "Not everyone keeps their fridge full of pizza, you know."
"Yes, but those people are wrong," Clint said, frowning at the contents of Bucky's fridge. "Do you eat anything besides chicken?"
"Says the man who would eat nothing but pizza if given the option."
"Pizza is great," Clint said, shutting the fridge. "We should get pizza."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "I think there might be a frozen pizza in th- hey, no standing!" he snapped when Clint pulled open the freezer and started pushing himself out of the chair. "What part of 'no weight' do you not understand?" he asked, pushing Clint back down and keeping a firm grip on his shoulder.
"It was only for a second," Clint argued. "I wanted to see if there was pizza."
"There is... barbecue chicken pizza," Bucky said after peering into the freezer, hand still a warm weight on Clint's shoulder.
"Again with the chicken," Clint moaned, flopping his head backwards dramatically. "Can we please order pizza? I promise I'll be good if we can order pizza."
Bucky looked down at Clint looking unimpressed. "No escape attempts if we order pizza?"
"And watch a movie?" Clint asked, widening his eyes and smiling up at Bucky as he tried pressing his luck.
"No escape attempts for pizza and a movie?"
Clint shook his head, trying his best to look endearing. It must have worked because Bucky sighed and said, "okay, fine, pizza and a movie".
Clint pumped his fist and wheeled himself back into the living room. "Can we get mushroom pepperoni?" he asked, grabbing the remote from the coffee table and turning on Bucky's TV. "Or maybe that mediterranean one with the olives and the feta? Or both? Let's do both. Hey JARVIS, can you order a large mushroom pepperoni and a large mediterranean pizza from that place with the space cats on the takeout menu? And an order of cheesy garlic bread?"
He looked at Bucky who had a dazed expression on his face again.
"And a large pesto chicken pizza for the chicken-obsessed super soldier," Clint added. Pizza and movie night with Bucky was going to be awesome.
*
The fourth time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was entirely JARVIS’s fault. He’d stumbled into the elevator after a bit too much revelry and announced “fly me to the moon, Jarvy, my man!”. Apparently, JARVIS took that to mean Bucky’s floor, which was entirely on JARVIS and had nothing to do with the fact Clint was falling over and hitting elevator buttons at random because he had tried to out-drink Thor.
In retrospect, that was maybe a little bit on Clint. Maybe.
*
The fifth time Clint ended up on Bucky’s floor was much like the first. He’d only been awake for about forty-eight hours this time, but at the end of it they’d busted a child trafficking ring masquerading as a circus and Clint wanted nothing more than to burn the world down and then sleep for a week straight. To say this one had hit too close to home was a little bit of an understatement.
So when he’d stepped out of the elevator and found himself on Bucky’s floor instead of his own, he shook his head and headed for the couch instead of the bedroom. He couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore, because that would open himself up to caring about other things. Things like kids in cages with silent tear tracks running down their faces because they’d learned that crying out loud only brought more pain.
If Bucky wanted to murder him for sleeping on his couch, well, Clint could think of worse ways to go.
Instead of being murdered in his sleep, Clint woke to find Bucky sitting in the armchair across from the couch and staring at him. The hair on the back of Clint’s neck went up and he shivered, his body going cold like someone had dumped a glass of ice water down his back.
“Could you be any more of a creeper?” Clint joked, trying to deflect his primal fear of being watched by an apex predator.
“I could have a knife,” Bucky said calmly.
“Please, like you don’t have at least half a dozen knives on you,” Clint said, his body starting to thaw out when it looked like Bucky wasn’t going to do anything drastic like kiss him or throw him out the window.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “I could have a visible knife,” he amended.
Clint pointed to Bucky’s ankle, where the hem of his pants had ridden up to expose the sheath tucked into his boot.
Bucky sighed deeply. “I could be stabbing you with a knife,” he said after a beat. “Maybe I should be stabbing you with a knife. Why are you sleeping on my couch?”
"I hit the wrong button on the elevator again and I didn't want to get tossed out of your bed. The couch seemed safer."
Bucky raised an eyebrow.
"Did you read the after action report from the latest SHIELD mission?" Clint asked.
"You know I don't have access to those."
Clint snorted. "Everyone knows Steve gives you the hard copy he prints out 'for his files'. He plays up the old-fashioned fuddy-duddy stereotype for the SHIELD administration, but everyone knows he's printing them out for you."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Well, I suppose it's good to know his team can see through his nonsense, even if SHIELD can't figure out what's going on. Yes, I read the after action report," Bucky admitted.
"And you've read my file?"
Bucky looked uncomfortable for a second, looking to the side and playing with the zipper on his hoodie. He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly through his nose before replying, "Yes. Both the SHIELD and Hydra ones. The Hydra files on you actually had more detail than the SHIELD files, especially regarding some of your history prior to joining SHIELD."
Clint grimaced. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Coulson purposefully left some of that out of my official record. After Nat released all the files to the public, I'm pretty grateful for that fact. Not sure how I feel about Hydra having all that dirt on me, though."
"For what it's worth, after the way you left the circus Hydra didn't consider you recruitable. Too many morals."
"Well thank Thor for that," Clint said, flopping back on the couch and throwing his arm over his face to cover his eyes. "I figured it woulda been the whole Natasha thing that put me on Hydra's blacklist, but sure, getting beat up by my own brother and left for dead on the side of the road's a good reason as any."
Bucky coughed delicately, and when Clint lifted his arm to peer at him, he was looking pointedly away from Clint.
"What?"
"The, ah, 'Natasha thing', as you call it actually made Hydra reconsider their stance on you."
"What."
"Not enough to actively recruit you, but, ah, they were always looking for persuasive individuals who could convert others to their cause. If you could convince an active Red Room agent to defect, just imagine what you could do for Hydra recruitment if you joined the cause..." Bucky petered out as he peered at Clint with growing concern. "Are you all right?"
"I think I'm gonna throw up."
"Please don't."
"I'm not actually going to," Clint assured him, despite feeling queasy at the revelation that Hydra had considered him for some kind of recruitment officer. "I just... that's horrifying and I don't want to think about that more than I have to. Great distraction technique, though. A-plus for both effort and execution."
"That was not actually my intent, but I'm glad to have been of assistance," Bucky said, studying Clint for a long moment. "Do you want a drink?"
"God yes," he answered, flopping back on the couch again to stare at the ceiling. "I want ten drinks."
Bucky's lip twitched in a small smile. "Maybe we'll start with one," he said, heading into the kitchen. He came out a few minutes later with two small glasses in his hand and held one out to Clint.
"Nostrovia!" Clint said, taking the glass and clinking it against Bucky's.
Bucky frowned for a second before replying, "Na zdorovje."
Clint tipped his head back, taking a large sip and immediately coughing. He managed to swallow instead of spitting it back into the glass, and he felt quite proud of himself for that.
"What the fuck is this?" he asked, looking balefully at the glass.
"Absinthe," Bucky replied with a raised eyebrow, calmly taking a sip from his own glass.
"Why does it taste like where happiness goes to die?" Clint asked, taking another cautious sip and making a face. "It's like... black licorice cough syrup."
"That would be the anise," Bucky explained. "And maybe the wormwood."
Clint swirled the liquid in his glass, glaring at it and feeling betrayed.
"Is this stuff even legal over here?"
Bucky shrugged. "I have no idea. Tony imports it for me. I got a taste for the stuff when we were stationed in Europe during the war." He held out his hand. "If you won't drink it, I'll take it."
"I didn't say I wouldn't drink it!" Clint huffed, clutching the glass to his chest. "If it's good enough for Sergeant Bucky, it's good enough for me."
Bucky just rolled his eyes and settled down on the couch next to Clint. "Sergeant Bucky, as you so call him, brewed coffee in a tin can and boiled most of his meals. I'm not sure I'd take culinary advice from that guy."
"I won't judge. We've all been there," Clint said with a shrug, taking another sip of the absinthe and wrinkling his nose. "I can see how it'd lead you to thinking this concoction is good, though. Lower your standards enough and even the licorice wormwood drink tastes appealing."
"It is an acquired taste," Bucky said, sipping delicately from his glass before settling back into the armchair across from the couch and giving Clint an unreadable look.
A few too many glasses of absinthe later, Clint had clearly acquired a taste and was sprawled across Bucky's lap, hand reaching up to bat at Bucky's hair.
"What are you doing?" Bucky asked.
"Playin' with your hair," Clint slurred, twirling a lock of Bucky's hair in his fingers.
Bucky rolled his eyes and gently grabbed Clint's hand, redirecting it away from his hair. Clint took that as an invitation to hold hands, and twined his fingers through Bucky's, smiling dopily.
"Why do you keep coming to my floor, Clint?"
"Pro'bly because I have a crush on you," Clint said, closing his eyes. "I wish you liked men," he continued, drunkenly oblivious to Bucky's shock. "It's okay you don't, of course. You like who you like and that's not a choice you make, no matter what some people tell you, no matter how many times they try to beat it out of you, but I wish you liked men because then you might like me."
Clint yawned, eyes still closed, so he didn't see the way Bucky bit his lip and frowned. He fell asleep a few minutes later, breathing softly and body going limp and relaxed. Bucky shook his head and slowly eased his fingers out of Clint's hand. When Clint didn't stir, Bucky carefully extricated himself from the couch and pulled the fuzzy purple blanket he'd bought on a whim over Clint.
It seemed he had a lot to think about.
*
Bucky stood in the elevator, finger hovering over the button to Clint's floor, for much longer than he cared to admit. JARVIS must think him a fool.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a brief second, and pressed the button to Clint's floor. The elevator started moving in the smooth way the elevators in Avengers Tower always did, and Bucky had exactly seventy seconds to second guess his actions before the doors opened with a quiet whoosh.
He took in the surroundings as a matter of course, instinctually noting the differences with his floor - mainly the mess of purple clothing and knickknacks scattered across the floor and tables.
Clint looked up from the couch where he was sprawled. He had a set of beat up looking headphones over his ears, but pulled them down around his neck when he spotted Bucky.
"Bucky, hey!" he said, sounding surprised but not unhappy. "What are you doing here?"
"Possibly something very foolish," Bucky replied with a wry smile.
Clint perked up from his seat on the couch. "You came to the right place for that," he said, pushing himself to an upright position. The purple Starkpad he'd been holding fell to ground, but Clint just shrugged and shoved it under the coffee table with his foot. "I am totally your man for possibly bad ideas. What are we doing? Are we pulling a jump-scare prank on Bruce?"
"God, no!" Bucky said, horrified. The last time Tony had tried that, he'd had to replace half the engineering wing.
"Probably for the best," Clint admitted, looking thoughtful. "Are we pranking Steve, then? I've been wanting to replace his shampoo with purple hair dye for a while now. Did you know they make conditioners with hair dye in them? I don't know how well they'd work on someone with your hair color, but I'm sure they'd work great on Steve."
Bucky shook his head. "No, but I might steal that idea." He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I wanted to ask you out to dinner." He paused. "On a date," he clarified.
Clint frowned and Bucky's heart fell.
"Why would you... wait, are you pranking me?"
"What? No!" Bucky said hurriedly. "Why would I prank you about that?"
"Because you don't date men!" Clint practically shouted.
Bucky recoiled, torn between anger and frustration. "I don't date men because I grew up in the twenties and then I was a brainwashed Hydra assassin. I don't date men because I haven't had an opportunity to date men, not because I'm not interested in men. I'm sorry you thought I was pranking you."
He gathered up the remaining shreds of his dignity and turned back to the elevator. The doors whooshed open without him having to press the button. JARVIS must truly think him a fool.
"Bucky, wait!" Clint called out behind him. He heard Clint stand up from the couch and take a few hurried steps, but Bucky didn't turn around. He didn't need to see whatever expression Clint had on his face. Disgust, pity, or god forbid - amusement? Bucky didn't need to see any of that. The rest of this experience had been humiliating enough.
"Bucky, stop, please," Clint begged, standing right behind him from the sound of it. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea and you - you took me by surprise. I'm sorry. Please don't leave?"
Bucky turned around slowly to face Clint.
"It's fine. I understand. I made a mistake."
"It's not," Clint insisted. "And you didn't. But even if you had, that's no excuse. It's like... you can't just go around stabbing people because they've surprised you. That's rude. I was rude. I'm so sorry."
"I might have preferred if you'd stabbed me," Bucky muttered darkly. "It would have hurt less."
Clint winced. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just - I thought you must be pranking me because there's no way someone like you would want to go on a date with someone like me."
"Why would you say that?"
"I mean," Clint waved his hands, gesturing to Bucky, "just look at you. You're like, super soldier perfection. I'm like the hot mess carnie trash that keeps breaking into your house."
Bucky shook his head. "I think you're getting me mixed up with Steve. And it's not really breaking in when you're welcome. If I didn't want you on my floor, don't you think I'd have asked JARVIS to lock the doors?"
Clint's mouth dropped open. "Really?"
"Really."
"Is it too late to say yes to that dinner?" Clint asked, biting his lip and looking at Bucky with a hopeful look.
Bucky smiled. "No, Clint. It's not too late to say yes to dinner."
For @winterhawkbingo Round 5, Square O5: First Aid Done Poorly
Ao3 Link
Bandaid:
"Hawkeye, we need eyes at 3rd and Flagler," Steve called over the comms. "These things are swarming and we need a clear route to get the civilians into this parking garage."
"Got it Cap," Clint said, abandoning his nest and taking off at a run. The intersection was two blocks over, but luckily the buildings in the Miami metropolitan area were relatively close together. He fired a grappling hook arrow and leapt off the roof, tucking his bow close to his chest and angling his body for a roll as he flew through the air. He rolled twice as he hit the neighboring roof, releasing the cable and using his remaining momentum to sprint across the roofs on this block.
As he reached the end of the block, he fired another grappling hook arrow at the roof of the much taller building across the street. He pressed the button to retract the cable as he leapt, letting the mechanism carry him up. Unfortunately he hit the building before the cable finished retracting, but luckily he didn’t go through the window and was able to let the arrow bring him all the way to the top.
Wrapping his fingers over the edge of the building, Clint flung himself the last couple of feet over the edge and dropped the cable. It would take too long to dislodge the grappling hook from the building, so he’d have to come back for that later.
From there it was a straight shot across the block of buildings to reach 3rd and Flagler, so he didn't bother nocking another grappling hook arrow as he sprinted across the roofs. With just one more roof to go, Clint flung himself across the small gap between the buildings.
"Oh shit," he had time to yelp as he realized this roof was about five stories lower than he'd expected. At least he hadn't been planning the same tuck and roll procedure he'd used earlier, he had time to think before landing. He let out an involuntary bark of pain as he felt his leg snap and sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. Well, it could have been worse. It could have been his neck.
"Hawkeye?" Steve's voice asked in his ear piece. "Are you all right?"
"I'm good," Clint said with a probably unconvincing grunt, given the rapid string of Russian swear words coming over the comms. "I'll have eyes on 3rd and Flagler in a minute," he said, popping his bow into the staff position and using it to lever himself to his feet.
"Bucky, provide backup at Clint's location," Steve said when Natasha finished swearing.
"I said I was good, Cap," Clint protested as he limped as fast as he could across the rooftop, using his bow-turned-staff as a crutch and forcing himself to ignore the shooting pain in his leg with every step. This was gonna suck as soon as the adrenaline wore off.
"Nobody believes you, Hawkeye," Bucky said, sounding slightly winded. "I'll be there in five."
*
By the time Bucky got to his rooftop, Clint had taken care of most of the swarm, picking off the beetle-bots that got a little too close to Steve or Natasha’s groups and letting them herd the panicked civilians into the parking garage. Clint wasn’t entirely sure why Cap had chosen a parking lot as shelter, but hey, he wasn’t the star-spangled man with the plan. He was just here to shoot things.
“Hey Bucky,” Clint said as casually as he could manage, picking off another one of the beetle-bots before turning to glance at Bucky.
“Hey Clint,” he answered with a frown, eyes flicking from Clint’s face, down to his leg, and back up to his face. “This your definition of ‘fine’?”
Clint shrugged, trying to ignore the waves of pain radiating up his leg. “I’m still standing.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, muttering “barely” as he leaned over the balustrade to scope out the situation. He fired a few shots from his rifle before turning back to Clint. “That should hold them for now,” he said, still frowning. “Let’s get you sitting before you fall over,” he said, holstering the rifle and reaching towards Clint.
“I’m fine,” Clint insisted, mostly because the thought of moving sounded more painful.
Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You’re white as a sheet and look like you’re about to pass out.”
“See, I’m fine,” Clint said with a grin that turned into a grimace when Bucky moved to pluck the bow out of his hands.
“Ground, now,” Bucky said brusquely, placing Clint’s bow on the ground with a gentleness that felt out of place with his tone. When Clint didn’t move, he slipped his hands under Clint’s arms, lifting and pivoting Clint to lean his back against the balustrade.
Clint got with the program then, doing his best to breathe slowly so Bucky wouldn’t realize how close he felt to actually passing out. Judging by the look he was giving Clint, he wasn’t doing a particularly good job of it, but with Bucky’s help he managed to end up seated on the ground with his left leg sticking out in front of him. Bucky frowned at the angle of Clint’s leg, shaking his head as he stood up and turned his attention back to the intersection.
“Watch my back,” he said gruffly, unholstering his rifle and taking a few shots.
When Clint leaned over to reach for his bow, a pair of handguns dropped into his lap. A few seconds later a box of ammunition followed.
“They’re loaded, don’t shoot yourself,” Bucky said when Clint picked up the guns.
“I do know basic firearm safety,” Clint snapped, checking to make sure the safeties were on. They were – Bucky hadn’t dropped a couple of live weapons in his lap. “And what’s wrong with my bow?” he asked petulantly, knowing full well he couldn’t get a good draw on the longbow at this angle.
“You can’t get a good draw in that position, and if you don’t know that you need to give me back those guns.”
“No, I know,” Clint sighed when Bucky looked down at him.
“Good,” Bucky said, turning his attention back to the street and firing a couple of shots. “And do something about that leg before you pass out from shock.”
*
A few minutes that felt approximately like four millennia later Steve gave the all clear over the comms. Clint took a second to scan the ring of dead beetle-bots surrounding them on the roof before he re-engaged the safeties on Bucky’s handguns and laid them on the ground, barrels facing away. He let his head slump back to bump the wall and let out a heavy sigh.
“How’re you doing?” Bucky asked, stepping over Clint to pick up his guns and tuck them away. He squatted next to Clint and gave him an assessing glance, frowning when his eyes reached Clint’s leg. “What is that?”
“You told me to take care of it,” Clint said with a halfhearted shrug. “I didn’t pass out from shock and successfully covered your rear. I took care of it.”
“Clint,” Bucky said, expression slowly morphing into a dead-eyed stare that Clint suspected had been the last thing a lot of people saw before being murdered by the Winter Soldier, “that is a bandaid.”
“Yep,” Clint confirmed, popping the ‘p’. “It’s a Dog Cops bandaid. Tony gave them to me.”
Bucky ground his teeth and Clint wondered if he was about to get murdered.
“Clint, your leg is at an angle that human legs should not be at. When I told you to take care of it, I expected you to maybe, I don’t know, elevate it? Splint it with something? Not stick a Dog Cops bandaid on the outside of your pants!”
“Oh,” Clint said. That did actually make a lot more sense. “Well, you should have been more specific.”
Bucky scrubbed his hand against his face. It sounded like he muttered “what am I going to do with you?” before he tapped his comms unit and barked out a request for Sam’s assistance.
“We’ve got a lot of civilian injuries down here,” Sam replied, voice echoing between Bucky’s comms unit and Clint’s earpiece. “Can it wait until Natasha brings in the quinjet?”
“Clint thought putting a bandaid on the outside of his pants would fix a broken leg,” Bucky said flatly.
“I’ll be right there,” Sam said, raising his voice to be heard over the loud string of Russian curses.
“Maybe you could kiss it better,” Clint suggested to Bucky in the silence after Natasha finished her tirade.
Bucky rolled his eyes, but planted a soft kiss on Clint’s temple. “Better?” he asked.
Clint smiled, tipping his head back to lean it against the wall and closing his eyes. “Definitely.”
For @winterhawkbingo Round 4, Square N1: Vampires AU
Ao3 Link
Fangs:
Clint looked in the mirror and sighed heavily. He would never get over the annoyance of not having a reflection. A lot of his friends asked why he even bothered keeping a mirror in his basement apartment, but Clint still liked being able to see how his outfits came together. Did none of them understand how hard it was to make sure your cravat was laying straight when you were trying to peer down your own chest?
Not that Clint was wearing a cravat tonight. No, tonight he was headed out to The Stake and Legs in fishnets and leather and body glitter.
"Would you stop fussing and let me do your eyeshadow?" Tasha demanded, grabbing his chin and forcing his neck around to face her. "I don't know why you're going out of your way trying to impress Bucky," she said, the name dripping off her tongue like she was talking about something utterly foul, "but I agreed to do your makeup anyway, and you need to sit still before I poke your eye out."
"Sorry Tasha," Clint said meekly, settling into the chair and turning his face towards the light. If she poked his eye out it would heal, of course, but it would still be annoying and painful. "Can you do the dramatic cat-eye with the lilac eyeshadow and pair it with the plum mascara?"
Tasha gave him a flat look. "You act like I don't know what I'm doing. I know exactly what you're going for with that outfit," she said, gesturing at the corset he was wearing. "You're clearly playing up the full Victorian vamp camp tonight, and it will do you well to remember that I'm the one holding the eyebrow pencil here."
Clint glanced at his outfit in the mirror and had to concede her point about the style he'd chosen for tonight. He was wearing a thick leather corset in deep purple with roses embossed along the sides and his top under the corset was a soft lilac with ruffles across his chest and upper arms, exposing his shoulders. He had a pair of lacy silk fingerless gloves and below the corset he was wearing metallic purple booty shorts over ripped fishnets. His boots were a dark purple with buttons running up the side, and he was wearing a ruffled garter that served absolutely no useful purpose.
“I missed the whole Victorian era, you know,” Clint said, closing his eyes as Tasha went over them with the makeup brush. “I spent the entire nineteenth century in Mongolia, trying to perfect my fletching under the tutelage of Guang Bo, so I’m just trying to make up for lost time here.”
“By pursuing Bucky Barnes in a corset and hotpants?” she asked.
Clint shrugged. “Whatever it takes to win over the Winter Soldier.”
“He won’t buy you a gothic castle, you know. He’s not one to play into stereotypes like that.”
“Hence the hotpants,” Clint said with a toothy grin. “Nobody can resist this ass in these pants.”
*
When Clint arrived at the nightclub, he spotted Bucky immediately. He was surrounded by the rest of the Howling Commandos next to the bar, head tipped back in a laugh as Dum Dum Dugan slapped him on the back. Clint felt drawn to him like a deep sea fish was drawn to the unnatural light of an anglerfish. He didn't think he'd ever seen anything so beautiful in his hundreds of years of death.
Steve noticed Clint first, sharp eyes raking over him as he stood just inside the doorway staring at Bucky. He stared at Clint with narrowed eyes for a few seconds that felt like a lifetime, then nudged Bucky and looked pointedly back at Clint.
Bucky followed his gaze with an unreadable expression. He considered Clint for another second that felt like a lifetime, then smiled, running his tongue across his teeth. He clapped a hand on Steves shoulder, saying something Clint couldn't hear over the noise of the crowd, and sauntered over to Clint, weaving his way easily through the throng of people standing in front of the bar.
"So, if it isn't the Amazing Hawkeye," Bucky drawled, looking Clint up and down with a hungry look in his eyes.
Clint would have blushed if there was any blood running through his veins.
"Winter Soldier," he said, giving Bucky what he hoped was a cool nod and not a degranged head bob. It was so hard to tell these things when you'd had centuries of not being able to look in a mirror. Or at least, not being able to look in a mirror and glean any useful information about your expressions.
"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. "I feel like you've come with a specific aim, dressed like this," Bucky said, running a finger down the embossed roses along Clint's flank. When Clint didn't react he placed his entire palm along Clint's side and ran his hand back up the corset.
Clint drew in a sharp breath. "You'd be right about that," he said, biting his lip.
Bucky hummed, moving his hand across Clint's chest to drag his fingers across the laces criss-crossing the front of the corset. "And what might that aim be, that you're here in your ruffles and bows, tied up like a present?"
Clint gulped. "Can we take this somewhere more... private?"
"Oh, he wants privacy," Bucky chuckled, giving Clint a half smile to expose his fangs. "I've heard about you, you know. How do I know you're not here as a paid assassin?" He dragged his fingers lower, pausing briefly when he reached the bottom of the corset and then moving further down to fondle Clint's crotch through the thin fabric of his pants. "Is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
Clint twitched and Bucky laughed, stepping back and pulling his hand away.
"Sure, we can go somewhere private," he said, looking back at Steve and the Howlies. He gave them a nod and a flicked his head towards a door set behind one of the tables in the corner. "Follow me," he told Clint, putting his hand on the small of Clint's back and guiding him across the room.
Clint walked slightly ahead of Bucky, weaving his way through the crowd and trying to ignore the gentle pressure on his back to focus on the task at hand. He was afraid he was not particularly succeeding. If he'd still been human he'd probably be sweating.
Bucky leaned around Clint to push the door open, turning his face to give Clint an indulgent smile as he herded him into the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut Clint whirled to face Bucky and pressed him up against the wall, one hand at his throat and a knee wedged between his legs. Bucky's eyes flickered with mild alarm, but he didn't make a move to free himself.
"You hurt Tasha," Clint snarled, fangs bared.
Bucky's eyes widened slightly, but he continued to stand motionless as he spoke. "Not a paid assassin, then. It's personal for you. Three hundred years is a long time to hold a grudge."
"It's no time at all when it's someone you love."
"No indeed," Bucky said with a savage grin. He wrapped an arm around Clint's back and pulled him into a kiss.
Clint released the hand around Bucky's throat to curl it around the back of his neck instead, fingers twining around Bucky's long hair for better purchase. He leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth until it was all teeth and tongue and wild abandon. The nice part about not needing to breathe was, well, not needing to breathe, so Clint wasn't sure how long they were locked in the kiss before he pulled away.
"So did you have a nice few decades without me, then?"
For @winterhawkbingo Round 4, Square N4: Stuck in an elevator
Ao3 Link
Elevé:
"I told you we should have taken the stairs," Bucky said to Clint with his hands on his hips. "I said it looked like a death trap and we'd be lucky if we only got stuck instead of plummeting to our deaths and look, here we are. Stuck. And possibly about to plummet to our deaths."
Clint leveled him with a glare. "Bucky, I am on crutches. I wasn't going to take the stairs when there was an elevator right there!"
"You've been on crutches for like a month now. Two flights of stairs isn't going to kill you," Bucky countered. "This elevator might, on the other hand."
Clint rolled his eyes. "Would you stop being so dramatic? We're not going to die in an elevator."
"How do you know that? We might get stuck here forever and starve to death. They won't find our desiccated corpses until they finally get around to condemning the elevator because we're the only fools who decided to use this deathtrap."
"Oh, I see we're being extra dramatic now," Clint said dryly.
"I'm just being realistic."
"Riiiiight." Clint rolled his eyes again. "Because nobody from the company is going to notice that we're missing? It might take longer for them to notice I'm not there since I'm not expected at the rehearsal tonight, but you're kind of a lead in one of the acts. Pretty sure they'd notice if you don't make it. I'll pay good money that Steve is here trying to rip the elevator doors from their hinges within the hour."
"Given the state of this elevator, he'd probably manage it," Bucky grumbled.
Clint was about to open his mouth to complain about Bucky's complaining when there was a loud thud from the top of the elevator. It sounded like something heavy had landed on the elevator.
"Ten bucks says that's Steve," Clint said, looking up at the ceiling.
Bucky smirked. "You're on. That's way too heavy to be Steve."
There was a scraping noise as one of the ceiling panels was dragged off. "Hellooooo," Wade called, sticking his head through the hole in the ceiling. "Did someone call the cavalry for a rescue?"
Clint sighed heavily as Bucky held out his hand. He reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet and handed Bucky a ten dollar bill.
"Told you it was too heavy to be Steve," Bucky said smugly.
Wade gasped theatrically. "Are you calling me fat?" he wailed, breath hitching in an obviously fake sob. "I climbed into an elevator shaft to rescue you and you, you thank me by calling me fat? Oh, the injustice!"
Clint rolled his eyes at Wade's dramatics while Bucky put his face in his hands.
Wade took that opportunity to swivel around on top of the elevator and drop in, feet first. He brought a large cloud of dust and dirt with him.
"Ugh," Clint coughed, waving his hand futilely as he tried to clear the air. "Did you have to bring an entire dust storm with you?"
"I mean, this deathtrap has probably never been cleaned," Bucky grumbled, holding his sleeve over his mouth and nose.
"Would you stop it with the deathtrap thing?" Clint snapped.
"Nah, he's right," Wade said, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. "This thing really is a death trap. There are things I saw in that elevator shaft that cannot be unseen. It's a cursed knowledge. I'll never be the same man again. If we even make it out alive."
"Are you kidding me right now!?"
Clint couldn't believe Wade was siding with Bucky. Well, except for the fact Wade always sided with whatever caused the most chaos, so Clint supposed he could believe Wade was siding with Bucky. He was still going to be mad about it, though. "Also, how do you propose to get us out of here?"
Wade looked at Clint guiltily.
"You wanted us to climb back through the ceiling, didn't you?"
Wade looked at his feet. "Uhh, maybe?"
"I. Am. On. Crutches," Clint said, thumping the floor of the elevator after each word with said crutches for emphasis. "Why is this so difficult to remember? I got pulled from the entire season; I think that would be pretty noticeable."
"Out of sight, out of mind?" Wade supplied, then clapped his hands over his mouth when Clint leveled him with a glare. "Sorry, uhhhh..."
"I didn't forget you're on crutches," Bucky said when Wade clearly couldn't find an answer. "I just knew this thing was a deathtrap and figured you'd rather hop your way up a couple flights of stairs than die in an elevator. Clearly I was mistaken."
Clint let out a long-suffering sigh. "You could have taken the stairs without me."
"And let you get trapped in an elevator alone? What kind of friend do you think I am?"
"The kind that's hoping for a little dick action when you get stuck in the elevator?" Wade suggested.
Both Clint and Bucky stared at him with horror.
"I mean, don't let me stop you," Wade said, waving his hands in the air. "I'll cover my eyes even, if that'll make you feel better."
"Wade," Bucky said, closing his eyes briefly, "we are not having sex in a malfunctioning elevator. We were never planning on having sex in this elevator. I don't know where you get these ideas."
"I mean, why else would you follow Clint into an elevator that looks like it's gonna fall apart at any minute?" Wade asked like it was the most reasonable question in the world.
While Bucky was opening and closing his mouth like some kind of overgrown koi fish, Clint asked Wade, "why did you climb through an elevator shaft into this elevator, then?"
Wade frowned as if confused by Clint's question.
"To watch you two boning in the broken elevator, of course."
Bucky made a choking noise.
"I mean, I'd also be down for a threesome if you're interested," Wade added, rolling his hips in what was probably the least seductive manner in existence.
"Oh my god," Clint muttered, wondering vaguely if he was having a really vivid nightmare right now. "We're not having sex in an elevator, and we're definitely not having a threesome in an elevator."
"You sure?" Wade asked, wiggling his eyebrows in a manner about as seductive a manner as his hip shimmy.
Clint couldn't decide if he was more insulted or horrified that Wade thought he'd be attracted to that.
"Very sure," Bucky told him.
"The most sure," Clint seconded.
"Your loss," Wade said with a shrug, tossing his head. He didn't have enough hair for a hair flip, but it was clear what effect he was going for.
Clint blinked slowly. "I think I can live with that," he said.
"I know I can live with that," Bucky said, edging as far away from Wade as he could get in the cramped elevator.
The three of them were all staring at each other with varying degrees of horror when they heard a loud clang from outside the elevator. A scraping noise began outside the elevator doors, and the three of them stared at the doors with anticipation.
"Ten bucks says that's Steve," Clint said, looking at Bucky.
Bucky shook his head. "I'm not taking that bet. Ten bucks says he gets through the doors of this deathtrap in less than five minutes."
Clint considered that for a moment. "You're on," he said, figuring it would take Steve at least five minutes to pry the doors apart with whatever random tool he'd found for the job. "The deal is negated if he got help from the fire department or something, though. If there are professionals involved, that doesn't count."
"Deal," Bucky said, holding out his hand for Clint to shake.
They had just finished shaking on it when the elevator doors slid open with the ear-splitting scream of rusty metal.
"Hey guys," Steve said, sticking his head through the opening. "You need a hand?"
Clint looked at the mismatched floors of the elevator and the hallway. The floor Steve was standing on was higher than the elevator by at least a foot.
Before Clint could answer, Wade yelled, "yeah, 'cause they refuse to have a threesome in this elevator with me, which I'm finding rather hurtful".
"Okay, I'm out of here," Bucky said, rushing to the elevator doors and scrambling out as fast as possible.
Clint was left standing there with Wade, feeling a little bit betrayed. It would have been nice if Bucky had stayed to help him out of the elevator instead of running away at the first opportunity. It wasn't like Clint had forced him to get in the elevator in the first place.
"I, uhh, could actually use a little help," Clint admitted, shifting his weight from side to side.
"Don't worry, I got you," Wade said confidently, sidling up next to Clint. "I'm a pro at this, after all."
"You're a pro at breaking into elevators and getting stuck with the people you're trying to rescue?" Steve asked with wry amusement.
Wade stuck his tongue out at Steve.
"No, I'm a pro at sweeping handsome and well-built men off their feet," he said, picking Clint up by the waist and depositing him on the floor outside the elevator.
Steve grabbed Clint's arms to steady him while he recovered from the shock.
"A little warning next time?" Clint snapped at Wade who had hopped out of the elevator behind him.
"I thought that was a warning," Wade told him with a frown. "Why else would I tell you I'm a pro at sweeping men off their feet?"
"Because you're a maniac with no sense of decorum?" Steve asked, letting go of Clint's arms to look at Wade thoughtfully.
Wade spluttered indignantly. "I can't believe you would spread such lies about me!"
Clint rolled his eyes and whacked Wade's leg lightly with the leg of his crutch. "You're the one who suggested we have a threesome in the elevator. Repeatedly."
"You wound me," Wade gasped, hand splayed over his heart dramatically. "Physically too," he wailed, reaching down to grasp his leg where Clint had bumped him and putting the back of his other hand across his forehead like some kind of tragic Victorian maiden. He hopped around like this for a few seconds, clutching his leg and making woeful noises until Steve grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him out the door.
Clint was still staring out the door, trying to figure out what had just happened when Steve said, "I can't believe Bucky followed you into that elevator".
He turned to look at Steve, who was studying him with intense concentration. It felt a bit like Steve was trying to stare into his soul.
"What do you mean?" Clint asked, suddenly nervous for reasons he couldn't explain. Something about Steve's expression and Bucky taking off like a rocket was setting off quiet alarm bells in the back of Clint's brain.
"Clint," Steve said, looking directly into his eyes as Clint tried not to fidget, "Bucky's claustrophobic. He hates elevators."
"Oh," Clint said, more of a sigh than a statement. That... that made sense, he thought as memories slotted into place. The deathtrap comments, and Bucky running off, and the way he always took the stairs if he could help it. The way he always paused before stepping into an elevator, the way he maneuvered himself to be on the outside of the couch when they cuddled, it all made sense now. How had Clint missed that?
"But why would he get in with me, then?" Clint mused.
Steve stared at him for a long moment before looking around.
You know how sometimes you see a picture and the words just fall out? Yeah... My hand kinda slipped on the keyboard here...
“You know, folks used to look down on the Howlies for being an integrated unit,” Bucky said. “For all that we had Captain America, they’d sneer at us for having Gabe and Jim, even Jacques sometimes. They’d look at us like they knew something we didn’t; as if racism was something to be proud of.
“We had some press come through once, a coupla reporters from The Daily Globe who thought they were being brave, trekking out to the edges of a war zone and acting like they were behind enemy lines. After the interviews they decided they wanted some pictures with the team. Something to take back home, you know? Show folks in the bar, maybe brag to the grandkids how they met Captain America.
“So Steve - ever the little shit, even after he became a big shit - decides that he’s tired of everyone cropping out the, well, darker members of our team, and maneuvers everyone so that Jones and Morita are between him and the reporters so they can’t crop ‘em out without cropping Steve too. He does it in his big Captain’s voice, just orderin’ everyone around like it’s some kind of military drill, not just a dumb picture for some newspaper reporters, so they can’t say anything. We all knew what he was doin’ of course, and maybe they did too, but the only ones who argued with Steve back in those days were the Howlies and some of the brass that were too dim to realize it wouldn’t do any good. Oh, and Peggy, of course, but she was pretty much a Howlie in every way that counted.
“So they got their picture, and Steve got his way, and if the rest of the reporters that came through stopped bein’ so keen on takin’ pictures with the team, well, that was just a bonus.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Clint Barton was finally living a blissfully uneventful life as a biosystems engineer on the space station BOBs2 when an unexpected encounter finds him on the run with a stranger who strangely doesn’t feel like a stranger.
Bucky Barnes spent the last seventy years in cryosleep after crashing into an asteroid and woke up to find himself being chased by the same group he was on the run from seventy years ago. The problem is he can’t remember what they want with him or why he has all these memories that don’t make sense.
-
Written for the 2022 Winterhawk Big Bang, with art by the amazing @noxnthea
I didn’t manage to get a bingo, but this event provided the inspiration and motivation to get me back into writing again. I have no idea why that inspiration mostly took the form of a ballet AU, but I did quite enjoy seeing how many of the squares I could force into a ballet shape.
Thank you to the amazing mods @winterhawkbingo for putting this event on!
Fills under the cut:
B1: Jewish Bucky Barnes
Challah, T rating - 869 words
Clint comes home to find Bucky making challah and thinking about the past.
I1: Messy Hair
Pas de deux, (Sautes and Arrows, Ch. 1), G rating - 1045 words
The start of That Ballet AU. Bucky and Clint are dancers with the Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo and Bucky's hair isn't long enough for a ballerina bun.
G1: Eddie Brock
Changement de pieds, (Sautes and Arrows, Ch. 2), T rating - 1958 words
That Ballet AU: Clint steps in as Bucky's partner in the middle of a performance when Eddie isn't feeling well.
I3: Dressing Fancy
Développé, (Sautes and Arrows, Ch. 3), G rating - 705 words
That Ballet AU: Clint is excited about the costume designer for their performance of Iron Man.
Clint pushed open the door to the studio and was a little disheartened by how comfortable he was getting using crutches. As a professional dancer, this was not a skill set he had hoped to become proficient at. Unfortunately, as an aging professional dancer nearing his mid-thirties, this was probably where his future was headed.
Clint was greeted by a chorus of groans and declarations of sympathy from the rest of the company when he entered the studio.
"Oh no, Clint!"
"How bad is it?"
"I'm so sorry, not again!"
"What did the doctor say?"
"Sweet purple crutches, dude."
The last comment came from Tony, who was, of course, always focused on the fashion. Endlessly trendy and always color coordinated, that was Tony.
After his last round with the "crutches of doom" as he had so fondly dubbed them, Clint decided to spring for a pair of those forearm crutches with the cuffs. Accidentally dropping his crutches on the floor every time he tried to demonstrate a port de bras got old really fast, so this time he was using a set it was harder to drop. And if he was getting fancier ones, he was surely going to get them in his favorite color. He might not be as fashionable as Tony, but it wasn't hard to be color coordinated when everything he owned was purple.
"I'm so sorry, Clint," Bucky said as he approached. He put a hand on Clint's shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
Clint had been texting Bucky the whole train ride home from his doctor's appointment, so this wasn't news to him, but it was the first time they'd seen each other since Clint found out he'd sprained his ankle badly enough to need surgery and would need to be off it for a couple of months.
Clint held his arms out for a hug and Bucky immediately obliged. "Thanks, Bucky," he murmured into Bucky's hair, squeezing the other man tightly. "This really sucks."
Bucky was rubbing circles on Clint's back when Artistic Director Fury clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
"Okay everyone," Fury said once all eyes were on him, "as you can all see, Clint won't be able to perform for a few months, so with that I've decided to make some changes to the upcoming performances."
Everyone glanced at Clint before looking back at Fury expectantly. Clint had been featured heavily in the upcoming season, both as the main Captain America as well as covering the roles of Thor and Winter Soldier for many of the performances. Fury could easily fill in Clint's roles with the understudies - that's why they had understudies after all - but it seemed like he was planning to change things up on them.
"Since our understudies for both the Captain America and Winter Soldier roles are both of the... shorter stature," he said, looking pointedly at Steve and Bucky, "I'd like to remove the Captain America Act I pas de deux from the season and replace it with the Act III pas de deux from Captain America and the Winter Soldier."
The entire room drew in a collective breath at this announcement. That pas de deux was an explosion of physicality. A brawl between two super soldiers, it was know for its explosive jetés and high flying cabriolles.
It required the two dancers to showcase both their expressive repertoire as well as their sheer strength. It also required an incredible amount of stamina and it was the perfect piece for Steve and Bucky.
"Holy shit, dude," Clint whispered quietly in Bucky's ear.
Bucky looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head when Fury said, "Steve will be dancing the part of Captain America alongside Bucky as the Winter Soldier."
"Oh my god, you're both gonna die!" Wade shouted from where he was sitting on the floor.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Steve said dryly while Bucky still looked shellshocked.
Clint nudged Bucky. "You doing okay there?"
"Umm, yeah," he said, sounding dazed. "Actually no, but I'll get there after a bit of panic."
Clint laughed. "What a mood. You got this, though. If I can dance the Winter Soldier, you definitely can. You're going to be amazing."
Bucky turned wild eyes on him. "What are you talking about? You're a way better dancer than I am."
"Only because I've got years of extra practice under my belt," Clint said, patting his arm. "You're better than I was when I was your age. Your coupe jetés are a thing of beauty and Fury's clearly taking full advantage of that fact."
Bucky didn't look like he believed him, but Fury called him to the center of the floor before he had a chance to answer. Clint just gave him an encouraging wave before heading over to the barre to stretch.
*
Despite Clint's reassurances, Bucky was still anxious about the new piece weeks later and asked Clint to run through it with him privately a few days before they were supposed to debut. Clint wasn't complaining - the more time he got to spend with Bucky the better - and it just felt good to be in the studio, even if he couldn't dance.
When they got to the studio after a particularly grueling morning class, Clint was surprised to find Steve not in attendance for their practice.
"While I'm happy to help you out with the piece, I can't exactly partner you right now," Clint said with a small frown. "What's going on?"
Bucky bit his lip and looked away. "I can't find my Winter Soldier," he whispered. "I know all the steps, but the characterization always falls flat. I... I need help figuring out what the Winter Soldier looks like."
Clint paused for a few seconds, really considering what Bucky was asking for. He could give him the flippant answer - "he looks like you but with more eyeshadow" - but Bucky deserved a serious answer. Bucky needed a serious answer if he was going to find himself in this role in the next few days.
"Okay," Clint said, levering himself up from the chair he was sitting in and slipping his arms through the cuffs of his crutches, "you've danced the Black Widow role before. Remember that the Winter Soldier is a product of the Red Room too. You can take some of the characterization from the Black Widow and build on that."
Bucky nodded thoughtfully and turned his head to follow Clint as he made his way across the room.
"They're both trained assassins, but with the Winter Soldier you need to bring more force to the role. The Black Widow is light and sneaky, while the Winter Soldier is all about showing his strength. He uses intimidation to complete his missions."
"Intimidation and a machine gun," Bucky laughed.
"That too," Clint said. He pulled out his phone to plug it into the stereo system in the corner of the room and scrolled through his music until he found the Captain America and the Winter Soldier suite. "I'll make you listen to the whole ballet later, but for now we can just walk through the pas de deux."
Buck groaned. "Don't we don't hear this enough during rehearsal? If listening to the piece was going to help me find the Winter Soldier, don't you think I'd have gotten it by now?"
Clint put his hands on his hips. "You asked for this, and we're going to find the Winter Soldier in there somehow. Come on, fifth position now," he said sternly, imitating their dance master Coulson.
Bucky rolled his eyes, but took his position in the center of the dance floor. Clint started the music and Bucky did a saut de basque.
"Okay," Clint said, pausing the music after a few measures, "what is the Winter Soldier thinking here?"
Bucky frowned and chewed his lip. "Murder?" he asked.
Clint laughed. "Okay, yes, pretty much always, but what else?"
Bucky repeated the saut de basque he'd just completed and continued frowning. "He's confused," Bucky answered, expression equally confused. "Captain America just claimed to know him and he's refusing to fight back. This isn't how his missions usually go, so he's confused under the murderiness."
"Yes, good!" Clint encouraged him. "The Winter Soldier is confused, so you can really play up the turbulent choreography here. The saut de basque are there to show how conflicted and off-balance he is!"
Clint skipped back on the track to play the section over again. "Do you hear the violins? How discordant they are? That's his confusion coming through in the music, so you need to match your steps to that."
Bucky nodded, repeating the saut de basque again, but jerkier and without the smooth grace he'd shown the first time.
"Yes, perfect!" Clint said, clapping his hands together in satisfaction. "Okay, so in the next part Captain America is showing off, trying to get the Winter Soldier to recognize him, so you have a short moment to breathe before you have to pick him up in the pas de chat lifts. Then it's the three lifts right in a row, but the choreographers added in the fake drop on the second lift. Steve will go off in a huff, so the third lift gets skipped, and then you come back together for the jetés."
Bucky nodded, walking through the steps as Clint talked.
"I break the Winter Soldier character when Steve's having his tantrum, right?"
"Definitely," Clint answered. "Maybe do one of your 'what can you gonna do?' shrugs? Those are the best."
Bucky shrugged, raising his eyebrows and quirking his mouth.
"Yes, like that," Clint said. He started the music again and the tempo picked up, heavy with drums. "What's going on in the Winter Soldier's head now?"
Buck closed his eyes and listened for a few seconds. "He's angry now. We finished the jetés and I'm chasing Steve across the stage as he does a bunch of chaînés. I'm doing coupe jetés as I follow him."
Clint paused and skipped back on the track. "Right, let me see you do it from the jetés. Do it for real, full emotion, see if you can find the character in there."
Bucky nodded and walked to the side of the room where he moved into fourth position. Clint started the music and Bucky leapt into the air with a scowl. He repeated the move twice more, then spun, hands in front of him holding an imaginary gun. He did a coupe jeté and Clint frowned.
"I know you can get more height on that coupe jeté!" he called out.
Bucky did the coupe jeté a second time with a little more height, but less than Clint knew he was capable of. After he repeated the coupe jeté a third time and went into an attitude, Clint paused the music.
"Come on, Bucky, you're holding back," Clint said, thumping his crutch on the dance floor for emphasis. "I know you can bring more power to your coupe jeté. You're the Winter Soldier. You're not going for lithe and graceful here. This pas de deux is all about the power. The helicarrier is falling and the man you're trying to kill insists that he knows you. The different parts of you are torn, conflicted, but you've been made into this killing machine against your will and you've been tasked with the mission to kill this man."
Bucky gave him a stricken look. "I'm not good enough," he suddenly wailed, burying his face in his hands.
"What? No!" Clint said, hurrying over to Bucky as fast as he could and gently grabbing his wrists to pull his hands away from his face. "Look at me Bucky, you are good enough. Fury changed the whole season around because he knew you were perfect for this role."
"I'm not," Bucky insisted, sniffling miserably. "I don't know how to find this character. I don't know how I'm supposed to fill your shoes."
"Oh Bucky," Clint said softly, "it's not about trying to fill in my shoes. Don't focus on how I would dance the role; that's never a good road to go down. You need to bring your own fire to the role. Forget about me; forget about Fury. Just take your passion and really show people what Bucky's Winter Soldier looks like."
"I don't know how to do that! I'm not connecting the elements, I'm not connecting with the character - you can see it; I know you can. I don't know how to get that brute force across without falling out of the character. Look at me," he said, shaking his head, "I'm tiny. I'm one of the shortest dancers in the company. How am I supposed to make people think I'm this hulking assassin that kicks doors in?"
"Maybe don't think of it as just needing brute force," Clint suggested, rubbing Bucky's wrists. "The Winter Soldier is a character full of contradictions, and that's never more evident than in this particular pas de deux. Captain America is easy. He's a flat character - liberty and justice and all that. But the Winter Soldier has layers."
"Like ogres?" Bucky asked with a wet laugh.
Clint smiled. "Yeah, like ogres and onions. You just have to unpeel those layers to find the core of the character."
*
Three days later, Clint was dressed in his best suit with a bouquet of roses tucked in a bag slung across his shoulder. He shoved his way through the crowd, unafraid to use his crutches to clear a path through the swathes of people headed in the opposite direction. He gave a wave to the security guard, who did a double take before opening the door to the backstage area for him. By the time Clint got to the dressing room, he was breathing heavily. Why they had to put the dressing rooms up three flights of narrow stairs, he would never understand.
Clint walked through the open door of the dressing room and looked around for Bucky. Eddie smiled at him, halfway through wiping off his makeup, and pointed towards the back of the room where a cluster of dancers had formed. T'Challa and Scott must have heard him approach, because they turned and stepped aside so Clint could see Steve and Bucky at the center of the dancers.
Bucky looked up, still wearing his full Winter Soldier costume, and his eyes lit up when they landed on Clint. He had a bright smile on his face, and Clint took a moment to appreciate that Bucky had clearly taken his advice on how to achieve the smokey raccoon-eye look of the Winter Soldier before wading his way into the crowd of dancers.
"Ah, there he is," Clint said, opening his arms up for a hug. "I've been waiting to meet the Winter Soldier. I knew you'd be able to find him."
For @winterhawkbingo Round 3, Square B5: Lucky Causing Trouble
Ao3 Link
Pas de chein:
Clint was never really sure how he felt about photoshoots. He was vain enough to enjoy having his picture taken, of course. Anyone who thought differently would only have to take a glance at his Instagram to know he liked having his picture taken, especially when he was in full costume and makeup. But as much as he enjoyed having professional photos taken, it always took forever and ate into his rehearsal time.
Today’s photoshoot was special, though. The Trocks were teaming up with the Animal Care Centers of NYC to take pictures with their animals as part of their summer adoption fair. The goal was to show off and photograph the critters in a fun way and increase the number of adoptions.
The Trocks were set up in one of the playrooms at the ACC for the comfort of the animals joining the photoshoot and Clint was practically vibrating with excitement. This was always his favorite promo event of the year.
“I can’t wait to meet all the good doggos,” he said, grabbing onto Bucky’s arm.
“I’m more of a cat person myself.”
“Cats are good too,” Clint said quickly. He didn’t want Bucky to think he was a complete monster, after all. “Also birds. And hamsters. Frogs. Animals are great,” he rambled as Bucky raised an eyebrow in amusement. “One year they had a pig.”
“A pig.”
“Yeah, apparently someone with more money than sense thought it would be fashionable to get a mini pig but didn’t realize they still get up to like a hundred pounds and dumped poor Charlotte at the ACC when she got bigger than their dog. Wade was heartbroken when she got adopted by a hobby farm upstate, but it’s not like he could have kept a hundred pound pig in his studio apartment.”
Bucky gave him a look like he couldn't decide if Clint was full of shit. "Wasn't Charlotte the spider?" he asked finally.
"Well sure, but they didn't want to name her Wilbur because that's a 'boy's name'," he said, using finger quotes and making a face to show what he thought of that logic.
Before Bucky had a chance to question him further, one of the handlers brought out a one-eyed labrador retriever mix and Clint felt like his heart stopped.
“Oh,” he said, staring at the dog.
The dog met his eyes and started wagging its tail.
“Oh, you’re mine,” Clint said, dropping into a deep squat and holding out his arms. “You’re doing pictures with me. I’m calling it.”
The dog walked over to Clint and promptly shoved his head into his chest. Clint probably would have fallen over if Bucky hadn’t anticipated it and braced Clint’s back with his leg.
“Oh, you’re the bestest boy,” Clint whispered, hugging the dog around its neck. “Or girl,” he amended.
“This is Lucky,” the handler told him. “He’s six years old, and was brought in after being hit by a car.”
“Oh you poor, poor thing,” Clint murmured to Lucky, alternating stroking his head and ears and giving him kisses on the top of his head.
Lucky licked his face.
Clint was smitten.
“So, I was thinking you could be in a tutu for this one,” the photographer said as Clint was busy falling in love, “and sort of reach out to Lucky with a treat with your opposite leg in the air.”
Clint looked up from where he was cuddling Lucky and shrugged. “That sounds good to me,” he said, happy to agree to anything as long as he got to hang out with Lucky. “I’ll go change.”
Clint grabbed his tutu and went behind the changing screen someone had set up in the corner. He was halfway through lacing up the bodice when he felt something nudge his leg. He looked down as Lucky poked his leg with his nose again.
“Aww, hey there buddy,” Clint said with a smile as he reached down to give Lucky a scratch. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re the best dog here.”
Lucky gave a soft whuff and pawed at Clint's leg.
"Oh, no, no," Clint said, swiftly stepping back to get his leg out of the way. "No ripping my tights, pupper. Costuming would have my hide for that."
"Who are you talking to back here?" Bucky asked, pulling aside the screen and staring at Clint. "Oh, I see," he said, noticing Lucky.
Clint gave Bucky a guilty look and adjusted his tights. "Don't mind him. Could you help me lace up my bodice? I'd ask my bestest buddy here, but it turns out he doesn't have thumbs."
Bucky rolled his eyes, but finished lacing up the bodice and gave Clint a long kiss behind the screen for good measure. "For luck," he said with a wink and a smile.
The three of them stepped out from behind the screen and Clint and Lucky walked over to the area set up for the photographs.
Unfortunately luck didn't seem to be on their side, as Lucky was far more interested in trying to jump on Clint than he was in posing. Clint had to keep dodging his paws so his nails didn't get caught in the tulle of his tutu and rip it. The first few times this happened, it made Clint laugh and jump away dramatically.
"Maybe we can get a picture like that instead," he suggested to the photographer. "Forget the arabesque; get us both doing a jeté."
They tried a couple takes like that, but Clint jumping just seemed to rile Lucky up even more and the next thing they knew he was racing around the room and had somehow managed to knock over two of those giant umbrella reflector things and tear off part of the backdrop.
"Oh god," Bucky said wide-eyed in horror, and promptly held up his camera to take a video of the destruction. "Steve is never gonna believe this."
"Some help you are," Clint grumbled without any real heat as he reached over to pick up one of the fallen reflectors. He set it back upright while the handlers tried to lure Lucky back as he continued to dash around the room barking.
"I have a very firm grasp of my skill set," Bucky said primly, continuing to video the room, "and that skill set does not involve anything to do with large overly excited dogs."
Clint set the second reflector right-side-up and did a pirouette in response.
While he was in the middle of the spin Lucky came barreling towards him and jumped up, paws connecting with a rather sensitive spot, and Clint went down with a squawk. Lucky, who probably thought this was the best day ever, took that as an opportunity to stand on Clint's chest and proceed to wash his face with his tongue.
"Auuuugh," Clint groaned, trying unsuccessfully to cover his face with his hands. "I love you buddy, but no thank you. The dog breath kills it, dude."
"Don't worry, I got that all on camera," Bucky called, and Clint groaned again. Bucky was probably posting the video to Instagram as he was speaking. Clint was never going to live this down.
One of the handlers quickly came over and clipped a leash to Lucky's collar. "I'm so sorry!" they apologized as they dragged the dog off of Clint.
Clint wiped the slobber off his face with his hand and started to stand up. "No worri-oh fuck," he yelped as a sharp pain shot up his leg and his ankle collapsed under him.
"Clint?!" Bucky exclaimed, dropping his phone as he ran over to him.
"Ow?" Clint said weakly as he rolled over and prodded his ankle. "I think I twisted it when I fell," he told Bucky, who gave him a stricken look. "It's probably fine, just needs an ice pack," he reassured him.
Bucky raised an eyebrow and squinted suspiciously, but didn't comment, for which Clint was grateful. The last thing he needed was Bucky fussing at him while they were supposed to be working. Although if Bucky could fuss just enough to get Clint an ice pack, he'd appreciate that.
An hour later, Clint sat on the floor with his back to the wall and his head resting on Bucky's shoulder as they watched T'Challa try to hold a pose with a squirmy black kitten in each hand. He had a bag of frozen peas draped across his ankle and Lucky draped across his lap. He softly stroked Lucky's ears.
"I'm not sure about your name, Lucky," he murmured quietly.
Bucky turned slightly to look at Clint and gave him a soft smile. "Probably be hard to get him adopted if they named him Unlucky."
For @winterhawkbingo Round 3, Square O1: Mistaken Identity
Ao3 Link
Penché:
Clint didn’t make a habit of staying out late after performance nights, but tonight had been Bucky's first night dancing the title role in Act II of The Scarlet Witch and Wade had insisted the entire company go out to celebrate. Clint hadn't planned to stay out the whole time, but Bucky had given him such a betrayed look when he said he was going to head out that he'd ended up staying.
Now Clint was comfortably tipsy; not in danger of drunken shenanigans, but relaxed enough to be doing a penché on the subway.
Luckily, it was about one in the morning, so they had most of the subway car to themselves. There were only three other people in the car - someone in a rumpled suit slumped against the window and possibly drooling, a young lady with bright green hair scrolling on her phone, and an exhausted looking woman holding onto a stroller.
Bucky sat on the row of seats across from Clint, smirking as Clint held the penché and looked at him upside down.
"We should drag you out to the bar more often," Bucky said with a laugh. "I never thought I'd see you do a penché partnered with a subway pole."
"Good luck with that," Clint said, as if they both didn't know all Bucky had to do to convince him of nearly anything was to look at Clint with sad eyes.
Bucky raised an eyebrow and Clint righted himself. He reached up to grab the upper pole and hung loosely from it as the subway car swayed. "Do you know how hard it is to keep this hot ballet bod in top form?" Clint blithely continued as if they didn't both know Bucky'd had him wrapped around his little finger for months. "The only reason I agreed to go out tonight is because we're not performing tomorrow."
"Do you really expect me to believe a few nights at the bar are gonna reverse all those days practicing at the barre?" Bucky asked, holding an arm up to demonstrate which barre he was referring to. "We all know you'll work it all off the next day anyway."
"Sure, but I don't want to get into any bad habits," Clint said. He wondered if he could do a toes to bar on the subway pole. "It's fun to do once in a while, but I don't want to get to the point where I'm waking up in a puddle of my own vomit and Nata's dumping me into a cold shower."
Bucky's jaw dropped open in horror. "Has this happened before?"
"Not to me, but I live in constant fear," Clint explained. "I traveled with Nata back to Russia one time to see her sister perform in this grunge rock band, and - my god - the horror stories Yelena told. I mean, most of them were probably complete lies, but if even a quarter of them were true I don't ever want Nata seeing me when I'm drunk. Speaking of - we're going back to your place, right?"
"You sure you want that?" Bucky asked with a laugh. "I don't have a queen bed for a Queen, after all."
Clint pretended to give this some thought. "I suppose that is a drawback," he said, drawing out the pause before continuing, "but I think sharing a double is preferable to getting drawn and quartered by Nata."
Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes. "We're not that drunk. Besides, she likes me."
He did have a point, Clint had to admit. It was almost unfair how much his roommate liked Bucky. She got him house tickets to her performances all the time, and had even invited him to a few closed rehearsal sessions. Clint might have been jealous if it wasn't Bucky. He always wanted the best for Bucky, and it was nice that his best friend did too. He didn't know what he'd do if Nata didn't approve of Bucky. Cry, probably.
Clint had started doing more penchés with the subway pole when the doors opened and a young person of indeterminate gender stepped into their car. Clint gave them a sheepish smile as they stared at him with their mouth open. They were still staring when the train started moving, and Bucky had to throw a hand out to brace them as they lurched backwards.
“Oh my god, you’re Danny Rand!” they said, grabbing a nearby pole but still staring at Clint.
Clint sighed. “I’m actually not,” he said. He got that a lot, but he could never understand why. Sure they were both blond ballet dancers, but so were half the dancers he knew.
“No, you totally are! Your Iron Fist is magnificent!" they gushed. "I get tickets for your performance at New York City Ballet every year with my mom! You’re my favorite Iron Fist.”
Bucky snickered from his seat across the train and Clint shot him a glare.
“Can I get your autograph for my mom? Please? It would mean the world to her,” the person asked, digging through their backpack before pulling out a program for the New York City Ballet’s Iron Fist.
Clint blinked at the person slowly. “You just… carry that around in your backpack?”
“I mean… yeah?” the person said, holding out a sharpie hesitantly. "I mean, I've got Captain Marvel in here too, but I'm starting to think Natalia Romanova doesn't even take the subway. And I tried to stage door the last time I saw Captain Marvel, but she didn't come out."
"Nata takes the subway, but she doesn't stage door," Clint said absently.
"I knew it!" the person whispered loudly, still holding out the sharpie with a hand that was now shaking.
Oh fuck. He hadn't meant to say that. "Do not say anything," Clint said, pointing a finger at Bucky, who was grinning ear-to-ear.
Bucky raised his hands in surrender, still grinning like a maniac.
Clint sighed. “You know I’m not actually Danny Rand, right? This isn’t me,” he said, pointing to the ballet dancer on the cover of the program.
“Of course that’s not you,” the person said without missing a beat. “That’s Andrew Veyette. It’s not like they print out a different program for every performance.”
Clint looked more closely at the program and yeah, the person was right. The danseur on the cover of the program was indeed Andrew, not Danny.
"Okay, I'll give you that, but I'm still not Danny. My name's Clint."
The person gave him a disbelieving look. "Riiiight. You look exactly like Danny Rand, you can do a penché on the subway, you know Natalia Romanova, and you're telling me you're not him?"
Clint opened and closed his mouth a few times before Bucky finally looked up from typing on his phone and decided to come to his rescue.
“Hey kid,” Bucky asked, “you ever gone to see Les Ballets Trockadero de Monte Carlo?”
"The drag ballet?" the person asked with a dubious look. "I mean, sure, who hasn't?"
Bucky laughed. "There's over eight billion people on the planet, kid. I'm sure most of them haven't seen us perform."
The person huffed. "Fine, okay, I don't know what that has to do with anything, but will you please sign my program?" they whined, shoving the program at Clint.
"I'm telling you, I'm not Danny," Clint protested. This was rapidly going from awkward to annoying.
"Why are you doing this?" they kept whining. "You're the best Iron Fist I've ever seen."
"I've never danced Iron Fist before in my life," Clint told them, looking helplessly at Bucky who just shrugged at him before going back to typing on his phone.
"It's for my mom!" they wailed. A few of the other passengers looked up curiously as the person continued to press the program at Clint. "Please, my stop is coming up!"
Clint just gaped at the person. What was he supposed to do here? He wasn't the person they thought he was, but there seemed to be no convincing them of that. This is what he got for going out to the bar and doing penches on the subway.
"Maybe just sign it?" Bucky suggested.
"And ruin their program?"
Bucky shrugged again. "One-of-a-kind collectable? I got nothin'."
"Fine," Clint sighed, holding out his hands for the program and the sharpie.
"Thank you! Thank you!" the person said as Clint scrawled his name messily across the bottom of the program.
"Not sure if you should be thanking me," Clint said, handing the program back. "I just ruined your program. Tell your mom I'm sorry?"
"No, this is amazing," they said, clutching the program to their chest. "I can't believe I got to meet you; your Iron Fist is seriously the best. I love you so much."
"Uhhh..." Clint said, at a loss.
The train came to a stop and the person skipped out of the car, waving at Clint through the window as they walked away.
"What just happened?" Clint asked Bucky, who was now doubled over with laughter on the subway seat.
“No idea, but I’m telling Peggy that we need to add Iron Fist to the programming next year,” he said, straightening up and looking at his phone with a smile.
"You're planning on telling the entire company about this, aren't you?"
"Not planning on it," Bucky told him, unlocking his phone and turning it to face Clint. "Already did. The group chat is blowing up."
"Bucky, no!" Clint scrabbled through his pockets to pull out his phone.
Wade and Peter were giving him the most grief about it, to nobody's surprise. T'Challa was trying to give him helpful advice - a little late for that, man - and Steve was admonishing Bucky for not "simply explaining the situation". Clint sank into the seat next to Bucky, fingers flying over the screen as he tried to defend himself to his coworkers.
He was still trying to defend himself when they arrived at their stop and had to shove his phone in his pocket before he accidentally dropped it off the elevated platform or into a gutter or he walked into a car or something. Learning not to walk and text had been a hard-learned lesson.
"That was so awkward," Clint murmured, leaning into Bucky's shoulder as they walked to his apartment.
"Mhmm," Bucky nodded, eyes glued to his phone as he typed rapidly. Some people could walk and text without issue and Clint thought it was entirely unfair. "Nata says she can't wait to tell Danny about it at rehearsal tomorrow."
"Oh my god," Clint groaned, turning to bury his face in Bucky's shoulder. "Their entire company is going to come after me for impersonating one of their own. I'll never work again."
For @winterhawkbingo Round 3, Square O4: Snuggles + Cuddles
Ao3 Link
Brisé, Part II:
“Bucky, I’m bored,” Clint texted, lying on the couch with his foot propped on a pillow.
His phone dinged when Bucky replied a few minutes later. “Sorry? Watch a movie?”
“I tried, but nothing is interesting,” Clint texted back, frowning. For good measure he added three frowny face emojis.
“Read a book? Listen to a podcast?”
Clint groaned. Like he hadn’t already tried that? Bucky was so boring. “Booooooring,” he texted. “What are you up to?”
“Trying to fold laundry one-handed and texting my needy coworker,” Bucky replied with a sweat smile emoji.
“What? I thought you could stop using the sling this week!?!?!?” Clint texted back frantically. He hoped Bucky wasn’t having complications with his shoulder surgery. Needing to have the surgery in the first place was bad enough, but complications could derail Bucky’s entire dance career.
A few seconds later his phone lit up with an incoming call from Bucky and he hit the answer button before Bucky’s ringtone could even begin to play.
“What’s wrong? Is your shoulder okay?” Clint blurted out.
“Yeah, sorry to call but it’s easier than typing one-handed,” Bucky explained. “Apparently there’s been some research suggesting 'prolonged immobilization improves recovery time'," he said, clearly quoting a medical professional, "so my doctor wants me in the sling for another couple of weeks.”
Clint heard Bucky sigh.
“I know it’s for the best, but this just sucks. Especially with Steve being on tour right now.”
“Do you want me to come over and help?” Clint asked, sitting up on the couch as he spoke.
“What? No!” Bucky said immediately. “I’m not making you come out here on a broken foot to fold laundry. Are you crazy?”
“I mean, it’s been suggested,” Clint laughed. “But seriously, I can come over if you need help. Broken dancers stick together, remember?”
Bucky sighed again. “No, it’s fine. I’m just complaining. It’s not like anyone’s going to care if my leggings are a little wrinkly.”
“You should come over when you’re done, then,” Clint said, flopping back on the couch. “I’m bored and you’re moping, so you can come over and we can be bored and mopey together. I’ll make dinner or something.”
“Don’t you have a roommate?” Bucky asked.
“She won’t mind. Besides, she abandoned me to go to a performance.”
“What’s she seeing?”
Clint laughed. “She’s performing. I think they’re doing The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl tonight.”
“And she didn’t get you house tickets?” Bucky asked, sounding appalled.
“So… she may have stopped offering me house tickets after I told her I didn’t need to see her do the same things she’s done in the middle of the living room a thousand times, just in a better costume…”
“You didn’t!” Bucky gasped.
Clint grimaced. “Yeah, I kinda did.”
“You monster,” Bucky said with a laugh. “But sure, I’ll come over. I’m tired of trying to fold this laundry and I need to yell at you for insulting your roommate. Text me your address?”
Clint pumped his fist. Mission Convince-Bucky-to-Come-Over was a success!
“Will do,” he said, trying not to sound as excited as he was. He didn’t want Bucky thinking he was a creeper or anything. “I’ll see you in a few.”
*
Clint was in the kitchen stirring a pot of chicken stew when the front gate buzzer rang about twenty minutes later. He limped over to the door and hit the button for the intercom.
“Hello?” he asked.
“Hey, it’s Bucky,” Bucky’s voice crackled over the intercom.
“Awesome,” Clint answered, hitting the button to buzz Bucky inside. He’d been yelled at too many times by Nata for letting random people into the building when he was expecting pizza, so he was getting better about checking first now.
He opened the door and stuck his head out. “Hey Bucky! Do you mind if I don’t come down?” he called down the stairwell.
“Nah, stay up there!” Bucky called back, sounding a bit winded. Clint understood why a few seconds later as Bucky came jogging up the stairs. “Hey,” Bucky said, breathing slightly heavier than usual.
Clint blinked slowly. “You didn’t have to run up. I wasn’t going to shut the door on you.”
“I know, but I wanted the endorphins,” Bucky said with a grin. “And to yell at you sooner for being a monster who tells his roommate that he doesn’t want to see her perform.”
“That was years ago,” Clint protested, stepping inside so Bucky could come into the apartment.
“Doesn’t matter. Still a monster,” Bucky told him as he looked curiously around the apartment. “It’s less purple than I would have expected.”
“Yeah, well, Nata says she’ll kill me if I make her live inside of a grape. You can leave your shoes on the rack by the door. The kitchen’s this way,” Clint rambled, making his way back to the kitchen to check on the food. “I hope you like chicken stew.”
“You actually made me dinner,” Bucky said, following him into the kitchen and peering into the pot on the stove in amazement.
Clint blushed. “I mean, I said I would.” He stepped behind Bucky and wrapped his arms around his waist, chin coming to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. “You came all this way, and I figured stew was easy enough to eat one-handed.”
Bucky put his right hand over Clint’s and twined their fingers together. “Thanks Clint. That’s really sweet.”
“You say that before you’ve tried it,” Clint said with a laugh.
“Nah,” Bucky said, tipping his head back to knock gently against Clint’s face, “I trust your cooking. I still think about those blue cheese and fig tarts you brought to the holiday potluck two years ago.”
“Those were good, weren’t they? I got the recipe from Mary Berry Cooks.”
“Who’s Mary Barry Cook?” Bucky asked.
Clint’s jaw dropped. “You don’t know who Mary Berry is?”
*
An hour later found them snuggled up on the couch. Bucky was tucked up against Clint’s chest and Clint - who had remembered how much Bucky liked him playing with his hair the other week - was running his fingers through Bucky’s hair. The Great British Bake Off was playing on the TV, but neither of them were paying much attention anymore.
“I think I’m going to fall asleep if I stay here much longer,” Bucky murmured quietly. “I should probably get going.”
“What?” Clint said, jerked out of his reverie. “You don’t have to go. You can stay here tonight.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing! I invited you. There’s plenty of room. I’ve got a queen size bed even. A queen for a Queen,” Clint chuckled. “But seriously, you can stay. I don’t mind.” He paused, tucking a lock of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “Please stay?”
Bucky wriggled around to look at Clint. “You sure?” he asked, looking hopeful.
“Yeah Bucky, I’m sure.”
Bucky bit his lip, looking nervous, and Clint reached out to gently touch his lip.
“Hey,” he said softly, finger resting on Bucky’s lip, “don’t hurt yourself overthinking it. If you want to stay you can stay. No expectations. We can fall asleep on the couch watching Paul Hollywood critique people’s choux pastry if that’s what you want.”
Bucky’s eyes flickered up to Clint’s before looking down at the finger on his lip. It made him go a bit cross-eyed, so Clint moved his finger as he held in a laugh.
“I don’t know what a shoe pastry is, but I’d like that,” Bucky said finally.
“Don’t worry,” Clint said, wrapping his arms back around Bucky. “Pastry week is coming up.”
*
As Clint had predicted, both of them had fallen asleep on the couch when the front door opened and the harsh light of the hallway flooded into the apartment.
“Nata?” Clint mumbled groggily as keys clattered into the bowl next to the door.
“Did you fall asleep watching the TV on the couch again?” his roommate asked. He could practically hear the eye roll as she walked into the living room. She picked up the remote and turned off the TV where someone appeared to be having an existential crisis over some kind of cheesecake before turning to face the couch. “Oh, hello person sleeping on Clint,” she said, noticing Bucky.
Bucky blinked sleepily at her before jolting upright and elbowing Clint in the stomach.
“Oof,” Clint grunted.
“Clint!” Bucky hissed.
“Yeah?” he asked, rubbing his eyes and squinting at Bucky while Nata looked at them both, unimpressed.
“Your roommate is Natalia Romanova.”
“Yeah…” Clint nodded. Had he never mentioned that to Bucky?
“Principal dancer with the New York City Ballet at nineteen, Natalia Romanova.”
“Again, yeah.”
“And you told her you didn’t want to see her perform,” Bucky said, incredulous.
Natasha smirked at that.
“Unfortunately, also yeah,” Clint replied.
“Are you insane?” Bucky practically squawked.
“As previously mentioned, it has been suggested.”
“Clint!” Bucky wailed, flopping back on the couch and looking at the ceiling for answers that would never come. “How could you? You really are a monster!”
“I like you,” Nata said to Bucky. “You, I will get house tickets for. Would you prefer Squirrel Girl or The Avengers?”
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