Maybe something about Clint being flexible (circus training?) and Bucky appreciating it immensely. || Thank you for all the amazing stories you've written, love your writing.
Bucky watched as Clint scaled the side of the building, ignoring the rusted and precarious fire escape in favour of fingertip holds on windowsills, impossible footholds, improbable stretches.
“Guy’s flexible,” he said, off-hand, to Natasha.
“You’re having a thought,” she said, amused. “A lot of people have that thought. Then they get to know him.”
Late night commiserating over nightmares with ice cream and crappy TV. Post-mission banter and paper airplane wars. Trick shot battles at the range - which Clint always won, of course, ‘cos Hydra didn’t exactly value the ability to shoot while upside down.
Bucky started to value time spent with Clint over any other activity. Started to value Clint’s smiles over any other sight. Three months in he leaned against a wall next to Natasha, thoughtful silence between them.
“You’re still having a thought,” she said.
“If you hurt him,” she said, and he almost half-smiled, ‘cos he’d given the few dates Steve’d ever managed that talk, too. “I’ll wait for him to be done with you,” she said, “and then kill you.”
“He won’t kill me?” Bucky asked, amused.
“He likes you,” Natasha told him. Bucky looked at her sidelong, put a little offended into his tone.
“I don’t love you,” she said, and he blinked, blinked again.
“His balance is exceptional,” she said, “but he falls fast and hard. Don’t get into this if you’re not ready for that.” She pushed away from the wall, continuing without looking around him, at the mess of confusion that currently showed on his face. “Don’t hurt him.”
“I don’t wanna hurt him,” he said, soft, low, more revealing than he meant it.
“That’s not even nearly the same thing,” she said.
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