I'm going with the first thing that popped into my head -- Bucky and Clint lose a beat and have to dress as Buttercup and Dread Pirate Roberts and at first they're super pissed bc seriously Tony? but then they get into it and quote it
“Ugh,” Clint said, hoiking his dress up to around his knees so he wouldn’t trip on the damned thing, again, and pulling flyaway strands of wig away from his mouth. “That is just not fair.”
‘cos of course Bucky had claimed Dread Pirate Roberts while Clint was still gaping at his cards, at Tony’s cards, at the complete betrayal they’d dealt him. And of course Bucky looked hot as hell in the loose black shirt, the tight black pants, the close-tied mask. Even the little mustache was doing it for him, which he was hoping like hell wasn’t gonna be reflected in his porn habits any time soon. JARVIS kept an eye on that shit, he was pretty sure, and no way was he gonna let Tony think it was about him.
Tony was looking pretty good, actually. He’d come as a Nascar driver, possibly? Something that involved a close-cut suit covered in various patches of Stark subsidiaries and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Steve, on the other hand, had kinda missed the whole ‘sexy’ aspect of most costumes and had come as a giant freakin’ mushroom, and honestly he was freaking Clint out. It made him feel a little better about his own disastrous drag act, anyway, although even if he could only see half of Bucky’s face it wasn’t exactly difficult to notice that the asshole was laughing.
“The boots make the outfit, doll,” he said, and Clint made a face at him.
“You really want me to take on gravity with heels?” he asked, and Bucky - who had been making an effort, if his bitten down lips were any indication - bust out into a fresh round of cackling. The boots Tony’d provided with his outfit had actually been flat and red and pretty kickass, but Clint had broken the laces within five minutes of touching them and just shoved his feet into unlaced combat boots instead.
“Aw screw you, and your sexy bandit thing,” Clint said, waving a dismissive hand and headed for the kitchen, where the beer lived.
Couple hours later found him sitting, legs splayed, on the couch, a freshly opened beer dangling from his fingers and resting against his inner thigh. His wig was somewhere - last he’d seen, Bruce’d been wearing it, doing quietly hilarious impressions of Thor - and his dress was unlaced halfway down his chest. Bucky rounded the edge of the couch - still looking impeccable, of course, ‘cos that was just the kind of asshole he was - and almost tripped over himself when he caught sight of Clint.
“Save it,” Clint said, lifting his beer and tilting his head back for a long swallow. “Heard it all.”
“Fuck,” Bucky said, soft and sounding a little shaken, and Clint let his beer dangle between his knees again, watching curiously as Bucky followed the motion with his eyes, as he visibly swallowed hard.
“…seriously?” he asked, genuinely astounded. “This is what gets you?”
“I fuckin’ -” Bucky’s voice was low and gravelly and oddly breathless, “Jesus, Clint, you got no idea, I -” he swallowed again. “I got to get my mouth on you, okay, you gotta let me -”
His voice died away as Clint pushed himself to his feet, managing to do it without losing his balance even a little, and stepped in close enough that he could tease the barest kiss across Bucky’s mouth.
