This fills my “aggressive flirting” square for @winterhawkbingo!
3371 words, PG-13.
“You must be Bucky,” he hears.
Before his brain can consciously process the words, his body is reacting, grabbing the switchblade from his hoodie pocket and launching himself at the stranger, shoving him up against the wall and holding the blade to his neck.
There’s just the faintest flicker of surprise on the guy’s face — the guy who he realizes very quickly must be Hawkeye.
Hawkeye barely blinks. His eyebrow ticks up a fraction. His eyes flick down, glancing at the knife, and his throat bobs as he swallows. Other than that, though — the Winter Soldier is holding a finely-honed weapon to his throat, and he’s not afraid. He’s not even ruffled.
Bucky should probably let him go now.
Hawkeye gives him a cheeky little grin, showing off white teeth and goddamn dimples, and he says, “You tryna flirt with me right now, Barnes?”
Bucky is so flustered he almost trips in his haste to back away.
In which Clint and Bucky try to let go of the past and start thinking about the future. They also celebrate the holidays, juggle knives, assemble furniture, see a musical, adopt a few strays, and rescue each other repeatedly.
In which the universe repeatedly tries to push them together, but the universe is drunk and its aim is off.
Bucky x Clint / mature
This chapter fills my “dog walker au” square for Winterhawk Bingo.
Walk of Shame is sitting on the second step, slouched over with his head in his hands. He looks like the hangover might be starting to set in.
Clint sits down next to him, offering the book of matches. Walk of Shame puts the cigarette between his lips, turning toward him, so Clint does the honors, sparking one up and cupping it in his palm. While the guy’s attention is on the flame, he takes a moment to stare unabashedly at the sweep of his long dark lashes. He’s absurdlypretty.
“Thanks.” He exhales and gives Clint a slow curl of a smile.
“Rough night?” Clint asks.
“Nowhere near rough enough. That’s sorta the problem.” That startles a bark of laughter out of Clint, and Walk of Shame winces slightly before saying, “Sorry, TMI. I might still be a little bit drunk.”
Clint kicks off his boots and heads for his bedroom. Then he stops short and just about swallows his tongue.
“Took you long enough,” Bucky says, husky and smug.
He’s sprawled out in Clint’s bed, legs splayed, completely naked as he strokes himself slowly — and he’s smirking up at Clint, one eyebrow raised like it’s a challenge as he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. He squeezes the base of his cock, spine arching as he sighs with pleasure. He’s slick and shiny with lube, and Clint can hear the filthy wet sound of him fucking up into his fist.
“‘M gonna shower real quick,” Clint says, tugging off his shirt, but he can’t stop staring, riveted.
Clint’s been missing his dick all goddamn week. It’s fat and perfectly curved, and the head is even fatter, with a sharply articulated ridge that feels goddamn incredible dragging inside him. Now that Clint can see the wet swollen head, flushed purple-red and glistening in the circle of Bucky’s fingers, he wants it inside him five fucking minutes ago.
He tears his eyes away, looks back up at Bucky’s face, and finds him studying Clint with an uncomfortably perceptive glint in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, though, just gives himself another squeeze and then gets up, sliding off the bed to prowl slowly toward Clint.
“Couldn’t fuckin’ wait for me, huh?”
“Saw the press conference,” Bucky says. “You’re in a goddamn mood.”
Clint flushes, biting back an automatic denial. “Yeah, and?”
His lips curl into a sly smile. “Figured I’d take the edge off, cause you clearly need to get fucked stupid.”
“Don’t do me any goddamn favors.” Clint goes to unbutton his pants and finds that his fingers are shaking.
Bucky sidles into his space and slides his hand around the nape of Clint’s neck to kiss him. It deepens immediately into something wet and filthy, and Clint’s mouth tingles as Bucky sucks and nips, teeth and tongue doing devastating things. He sucks Clint’s lip roughly, and Clint can’t help the low sound that catches in the back of his throat, or the way his hips rock forward — Bucky lets out a growl of appreciation, sliding both hands down to squeeze his ass and drag him closer.
Bucky rubs his eyes a few times, but apparently this isn’t a hallucination.
“Barton,” he grunts. “The fuck are you doing?”
“Putting googly eyes on everything in the fridge.”
“It’s three in the morning.”
“Yep! Wanna help?”
Bucky blinks away the afterimages of that smile, thinking vaguely about moths — powdery wings beating against glass — and says helplessly, “Yeah, okay.”
+++
Much later, when he shuffles back to his room, he pulls the notebook from its hiding spot in his closet and adds a few new items.
Googly eyes
That noise Sam made when he opened the fridge
People who don’t ask stupid questions when I say I can’t sleep
