[ ORAL ]: sender goes down on receiver. ( from clint 8 ) )
nsfw prompt. | @heroesoath
even on the best of days, barton annoys and needles barnes like no one else; his personage and all those annoying half-truths, half-veils, made bucky itchy with irritation. on his worst days, bucky considered finding the musculature in barton's voice box and pinching it shut with his metal fingers. this engaging fantasy was so cruel that bucky could revel in it whenever clint managed to get under his skin and send a fervent ache through the bifurcated parts of his mind, and so incredibly unkind that when he watched him play with lucky (kate's dog, he says), guilt steepled in him like a diffusion of blood.
he shouldn't feel bad about responding to his own grooming, his formation into a weapon to strike. he shouldn't feel guilty about the way his anger flushes like saline, how it lies in the bed his handlers refined, but he'd made. bucky, from indiana, bucky, from brooklyn, was angry even then; though the posters gave him a charming, perfect smile, his time on the field was not so gilded and marked by heroism. steve taught him not to kill a surrendering man, but he remembers the winter soldier felt no such mercy, even when one of his targets had clutched at his leg and wept for it in slurred russian, please, my daughters..
and, of course, it was just like bucky to poke at the abscess of tension with a hot knife. he wanted his pain and frustration to be gone; this would have to do in it's stead. when clint beds his hands into bucky's flank and hips, feeling the sharp jut of hard bone beneath, barnes efforts to shove him back. the metal arm does most of the work, knocking him hard enough that his back meets the edge of his countertop.
baby? he sounds kicked, teetering on the edge of slipping back into the antagonistic facade that bucky was so familiar with. barnes turns away from him for a moment, collecting himself. it wasn't about the touch. it was about--
' what am i to you? '
he can feel hawkeye's stare at the back of his head, the quiet pause, like he was debating on what to deliver--bare sincerity or another one of his grating, flippant rebuttals. evidently, he decides on honesty, which earns him a point of approval. what the hell? he grunts, a real air of uncertainty painting his tone in such a way bucky could visualize his expression without seeing it. bucky's real hand passes over his prosthetic one, thumb rolling into one of the heavy plates of metal, a self-soothing gesture. ' i know that you saw bobbi recently. ' he admits, looking at the distorted image of his reflection in the glass of his apartment window. clint shouldn't be here, he thinks, glancing at alpine soundly asleep on his little couch. she always liked it better back in indiana, but bucky didn't have the luxury of going home often; work was centered here. ' clint, there's not much that's gonna pass under my nose. ' barnes informs with a huff, making a half turn to give barton his attention.
carefully, with inexperienced hands that articulate with a bit of shakiness, he signs, ' i won't be the other woman. '
whatever shock grips barton is finally broken, wide blue eyes narrowing. bucky watches him adjust his hearing aid just slightly.
buck, he says, and for a second, bucky wants to rough him up, to hiss, only steve calls me that, it's bucky, you fool, but he restrains himself, flexing his fingers into his palm instead. i wasn't seeing her. i was asking her about the infinity serum and the super-soldier shit, so i could.. understand how it works in you. you don't like talkin' about it, but she doesn't mind. 'bucky stiffens. he feels--like an idiot, vindicated, and a little angry, all at once. his mouth settles into a line. ' i don't like talking about it because the majority of it was done against my will, clint. ' before clint can return with an i know that, bucky lifts his hand to quiet him, and continues, ' why? what were you trying to learn? '
hawkeye shuffles in place, moving in a way that reminded bucky of a little kid, the way he'd get when he was put on the spot or knew george was going to be upset at something he'd done--usually picking fights with other boys. after a hefty pause, barton returns, sanctioned by barnes' uncharacteristic patience, last time you stayed with me, you were havin' nightmares. bad ones. i wanted to know if i could help. if it was different, since.. i'm just hawkeye, you know. there's a lot cap never talked about that i know you two did.
bucky softens. he sighs, rubs his hand over his face, presses his thumb into the area above one of his eyes and below his brow. idiot, he thinks.
when clint tries again, bucky doesn't push him away, lets his hand wander around his side and dig into his loose undershirt. bucky was still in calisthenic tights, the shirt thrown on earlier in the day when he'd known clint intended on stopping by. he doesn't tell him he'd been doing ballet again, more than afraid of a response that frustrated him enough to knock out a few teeth. clint is close enough now bucky can smell his shampoo, a cheap lotion or cologne, a bit of fast food. he can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
let me help. barton says, insistent, needy. bucky thinks of pushing him away again, but the thought dissipates the instant he feels clint's mouth on his neck. it's easy for clint to get at him, reach any part of him, for their height difference; bucky's hand flies to his shoulder to maintain his balance and give him a good grip if he changed his mind, some of his own weight buckling the instant barton pulls the skin into his teeth. that hickey will bruise in only a few hours.
a held breath gutters, and bucky groans a demand. ' you gotta tell me, ' he insists, maintaining a slight distance (suddenly clint reminds him of that dog he loves so much, the way lucky would extend his face beyond ones palms to try to express his affections, and barnes almost laughs), ' i'm the only one you want. not bobbi.. not karla.. not even natasha. ' that bloody and furious chapter was closed. he would love her forever, but it had cemented into a comfortable partnership, a friendship that plugged all the wounds and scrapes that his love for steve and sam and daisy and sharon could not. ' don't run away again, clint. ' the mean, angry part of bucky turns over, bred not of the winter soldier, but the skinny jewish kid in a sea of nazis. it's all you do, it thinks, cruelly. ' tell me you'll love me, and not just fuck me. '
bucky, clint breathes, like he could inhale all of him into his lungs. the archer's hands collect at the sides of his face, the squarest part of his jaw. he sees sweat, shiny, subtle, around clint's brow where his hair had been cut a few weeks earlier. bucky can see the beating heart of him break through the veneer he always puts on, and those gripping, chain-link fears; insecurity, self hate, a loathing that perpetuated commitment issues. finally, clint whispers, you're so mean to me. it works me up. his hands peruse barnes' spine, feeling the bone and muscle through his shirt. bucky doesn't budge.
of course i love you. clint finally admits it like it hurts, his voice catching in his throat. then that shaking fear folds over, and clint's strong hands furl open to grip at the round of his ass. lemme show you just how much.
