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Bucky’s been in the tower for a few months now. The Winter Soldier was in the tower for two months before that and, if Clint’s being honest, he kinda misses him.
Don’t get him wrong. There’s a lot of things Clint doesn’t miss about the Winter Soldier. He doesn’t miss the way Natasha would get all tense when he was in the room, or the way Tony would shoot death glares at him. He certainly doesn’t miss the pain in Steve’s eyes when the Soldier would lapse into Russian or forget where he was for a day or two. He definitely doesn’t miss the eerie blankness in the Soldier’s eyes on nights when Steve couldn’t even talk him into going to bed. No, it’s not that Clint feels a hole in his heart now that the Soldier is gone and Bucky Barnes is here.
It’s just that Bucky Barnes is a problem.
Clint thinks the issue is mostly his fault for the first month of Bucky being in the tower. There’s just something about the way that Bucky moves once he’s regained a bit of his legendary swagger and charm. If Clint’s being honest, Bucky starts getting distracting pretty much as soon as he manages to hold conversations without lapsing into creepy stares, but Clint doesn’t really want to acknowledge what that says about his standards.
But then, around the one-month anniversary of when the Soldier moved out and Bucky moved in, the problem becomes so, so much worse.
Clint’s sitting in the communal kitchen. He’s only wearing sweatpants because he lives here and he can do what he wants and no, Tony, he totally has clean shirts he can wear if he so pleases so shut up and let him live his life. Bruce was puttering around the coffee machine with some elaborate array of spices set out on the counter when Clint stopped by earlier, so he had decided to skip whatever weird hipster shit was brewing in the pot and head straight to the range. He had actually made it through the entire hour he usually spent in his morning practice before the caffeine withdrawal got to him, so he’s counting that as a win. Now the coffee machine is gurgling away and he’s slumped on one of the barstools, bow slung over his back and sockless feet thudding against the cabinets below the counter. That’s when Bucky walks in.
He’s upsettingly put-together for so early in the morning. If there’s one genuine thing Clint liked about having the Soldier as a neighbor, it’s that he wasn’t the biggest hot mess living in the tower. But Bucky’s dark wash jeans and white tee are making Clint feel self-conscious about his no-shirt situation in a way that Tony’s griping never could. He’s got his hair pulled back in a messy bun-type thing that Clint would hate if it didn’t show off his stubbled jaw so well. Bucky gives him a short nod of acknowledgment before crossing to the cabinets and pulling out a box of frosted flakes. He pauses in front of the coffee machine, turning to Clint with an approving grin as he realizes it’s already on.
“Thanks, doll,” he says, and Clint feels himself blush all the way down to his bare feet. Bucky doesn’t seem to notice that Clint’s poor decaffeinated brain is short-circuiting, and he goes back to making his breakfast. When the machine beeps, he pulls two mugs from the cabinet and fills them up, the steam filling the kitchen with the smell of coffee. Clint hopes to god his face isn’t still red when Bucky slides his mug across the counter to him, but by the way Bucky’s eyes catch on him, Clint’s pretty sure his cheeks are noticeably pink. His brain is torn between coming up with a casual excuse for his blush and telling Clint’s mouth not to drink the scalding coffee, so it compromises by doing neither. Clint makes a very undignified yelp as the coffee burns his tongue, and Bucky laughs at him, leaning back against the counter and picking up his own mug and bowl of cereal. “Careful, sweetheart. Don’t burn those pretty lips.”
Clint’s mouth falls open and he lets the mug thud onto the counter, barely feeling the burn of the drops of coffee that spill onto his hand. He tries to say something, but only manages a sort of strangled noise of confusion. Not that it matters, because Bucky is already gone.
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“And he just left?” Natasha asks, smirking at him over her latte. Clint frowns into his own drink, fully aware that it’s her wow-Clint-your-life-is-so-amusingly-banal smirk. He’s pretty sure the only reason she’s started buying him coffee every week like this is to get her regular dose of amusement from the lives of mortal men. It’s like when Thor takes him out for a beer.
“I feel like you’re not taking this issue seriously.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Natasha rolls her eyes at him. “Clearly getting sort-of hit on exactly once by a guy whose flirting techniques are still stuck in the thirties is giving you some sort of crisis.”
“It kind of is,” Clint mutters. Natasha fixes him with a sympathetic look.
“I know. I wasn’t being sarcastic. We’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes and you haven’t brought up how much you hate Starbucks yet”
“It’s so expensive,” Clint groans. Natasha rolls her eyes at him again.
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The Problem doesn’t come back up until a week later when Clint is in the range at the tower. Tony, Natasha, and Steve are on some Avengers thing that didn’t need the whole team, so Clint is taking advantage of the empty training floor. Well, empty until Bucky Barnes walks in.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the wall and watches Clint sink a few arrows into the targets he has set up across the room. Clint can feel his eyes on him as he nocks the next arrow. A stray panicked question of whether he combed his hair this morning flits through Clint’s brain, and he lowers his bow with a sigh.
“Don’t stop on my account,” Bucky says from his spot. Clint glares at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Woah, hostile. Stark said I could use the training floor if I wanted to. I’m not breaking any rules.”
“Why aren’t you training, then?” Clint isn’t really sure why he’s taking an offensive stance right now. He’s more mad at himself for getting distracted. Bucky shrugs and shoots him a lopsided grin.
“I like watching you shoot. You get all intense about it. It’s hot.”
Clint isn’t aware that the arrow has slipped out of his fingers until he hears it hit the floor. He feels his face go red.
“I- wha-” Clint can’t stop the stupid sounds from coming out of his mouth. He scrambles for his dropped arrow, feeling indignant as Bucky laughs at him. “That’s not- you-”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” Bucky’s voice is closer now, and Clint actually stumbles backward when he straightens to find him only a foot away. Clint tries to protest, but he can’t get his voice to work right. Bucky steps forward a little more, firmly encroaching on his personal space, and Clint wonders if his super-soldier hearing can pick up his crazy heartbeat. Maybe not, because Bucky steps back then, turning on his heel and heading back for the elevator. “Keep at it, doll,” he calls over his shoulder.
Clint’s voice finally starts working again once the elevator doors close, but he’s glad Bucky’s left by then because the only noise he’s able to make is a frustrated whine.
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“That seems a vexing problem, indeed,” Thor says, rubbing his jaw contemplatively. Clint stares morosely at the dark wood of the bar. It’s been a week since the training floor, and Bucky’s flirting has only gotten more blatant. Clint’s ability to respond hasn’t improved at all. “Do you return his affections? Oh, barkeep! Another pint for my friend.”
“Do I what?” Clint gapes at him. “I- He’s Bucky Barnes. This man’s been a pants-dropping legend since the thirties. Obviously I’m into him. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be.”
“But do you return his affections?” Thor repeats, nodding encouragingly towards the cold beer the bartender has just set in front of Clint.
“I think something is lost in translation here. He’s not- This isn’t an affection thing. He’s trying to get in my pants.” Clint picks up the bottle, pressing the cold glass against his cheek. “He’s seen me pour coffee into my cereal. He knows I’m not life-partner material.” Clint tries not to think about why those words leave his chest aching, focusing instead on the condensation dripping down his jaw.
“I think not, my friend. If he is as smooth as you say, it seems Barnes would have bedded you long ago.”
“Thanks,” Clint says flatly. “Your faith in my standards is really inspiring.”
“I mean only to be realistic,” Thor continues. “He’s lived with you for nearly a half year. I doubt Barnes has any doubts as to how simple it would be to bring you to bed, yet he continues a long courtship.”
“You’re lucky I like free beer,” Clint mutters, drinking from the bottle before the blush on his face can turn it too warm.
Thor pats him on the back hard enough to make him choke on his drink, his eyes sparkling in the dim light of the bar.
“Worry not, friend Barton. I think the problem here is simpler than you believe.”
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Clint just wants to watch Dog Cops in peace.
He’s got almost the whole season backed up on his DVR, and after nearly a month of failed attempts and confusing settings menus, he’s finally managed to access it through the Tower televisions. He’s ready to kick back for a few hours and blast through the latest adventures of Sergeant Whiskers, but apparently the universe has other plans for him. Wet, dripping plans in the shape of one Bucky Barnes.
“What’s this?” Bucky asks, leaning one barely covered hip against the arm of the couch. Clint jumps nearly a foot in the air, pressing a hand to his chest like a grandmother clutching her pearls.
“Wha- Jesus Christ. Don’t do that! We need to get you a fucking bell or something.” Bucky just gives him a smug smile, eyes glued to the TV as the theme song plays.
“You want to collar me, Barton?”
“I- I don’t- I would never -” Clint splutters, his brain finally registering that Barnes is wearing nothing but a towel and dripping all over the floor. Clint’s eyes catch on the water droplets making their way across his abs. “Why are you wet?”
Bucky shrugs, pushing a hand through his damp hair.
“Took a shower. Thought I’d grab something to eat. I wasn’t expecting the floor to be occupied. If I’d have known you were here, I would have asked you to join me earlier.”
It’s not like it’s incongruous, but it’s certainly the most blatant Bucky’s been yet. Clint’s jaw snaps shut with a click, and he scrambles up from the couch.
“I have to- Tony needs me in the- Bye,” he manages, ducking around Bucky’s glistening back and making a beeline for the elevators.
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“Socket wrench,” Tony says, holding out a hand. Clint presses a tool into it, frowning down at the machine that’s disassembled all over the workbench.
“I just don’t know what to do.”
“So you said. Have you tried just- Barton this is an adjustable wrench. I said socket wrench.”
“Have I tried just what?” Clint asks, digging a different wrench out of the toolbox and swapping it for the one Tony is waving at him.
“This is an open wrench. Do you even know what I’m doing here? Give me my toolbox back.” Tony lunges for the box, grumbling as Clint holds it out of his reach.
“I’ll give you the toolbox after you give me advice,” he says, using his free hand to push Tony back by the chest.
“Really mature, Barton. I get what Barnes sees in you.”
Clint blushes, glaring at Tony.
“Do you want your socket wrench or not?”
“Okay, fine. You want advice? Why don’t you just talk to him about it.”
“That’s terrible advice,” Clint says, but he hands Tony the wrench. Tony glares, waving the tool in his face.
“This is an Allen wrench. It doesn’t look anything like a socket wrench. Get out of my goddamn workshop.”
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It’s nearly an hour later before Clint finally leaves the workshop. Well, until Tony succeeds in barring him out. He still never got any better advice out of him, although in retrospect asking Tony for romantic advice was not his best call.
His head’s still swimming by the time the elevators ping open, so it takes Clint walking directly into Bucky’s still bare chest to realize his path is blocked.
“Can we talk?” Bucky asks, arms crossing over his now dry but no less distracting muscles. At least he’s got pants on now, although the threadbare sweatpants seem to be riding lower than his towel, if possible.
“Oh no. You talked to Tony too,” Clint manages. Bucky gives him a puzzled look.
“What? No, I- No. I meant about us. What did Tony do?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Clint says, eyes scanning for a quick exit. He’s absolutely not ready for this.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Bucky says, and his mouth is all Winter Soldier frown but his eyes seem sincere in a way that tugs at something in Clint’s chest. “I know I’ve been coming on strong, and I was just joking at first, but the way you reacted.” He pauses, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “I thought maybe there was something there. Maybe you felt the same way I did and-” Bucky makes a frustrated noise, covering his face with his hands. His next words come out muffled through his fingers. “I didn’t want to mess that up, so I tried everything like I remembered it working back before. And. And I did mess it up because it’s not the goddamn thirties and you mean more to me than anyone I hooked up with back then anyway.” Bucky huffs out a breath through his fingers that blows a lock of hair out of his face. Clint blinks because this has turned a corner from hot to cute, and hot Bucky can break his brain but he’s getting the feeling that cute Bucky can break his heart.
“What?” he croaks out, and Bucky’s hands slide back to tug at his hair in frustration.
“I’m sorry. I’ll just leave.”
“No!” Clint shouts, and it’s louder than he meant. Bucky winces and Clint’s heart skips a beat because now is not the time to be emotionally inarticulate. “No, I mean, I am interested. I’m so unbelievably interested. I just- I thought you just wanted to get in my pants. I thought you were looking for a quick fuck, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t. Because I am interested.” It’s not the best as far as confessions go, but with Clint’s record, it’s not half bad. Bucky’s looking at him oddly now, all kinds of uncertainty written across his face, and Clint knows how to handle this part.
He takes an awkward half-step forward, eyes dropping down to Bucky’s lips. Bucky sucks in a breath, his face going a little red, but the body language unmistakable, inviting and genuine as Clint closes the distance.
And maybe Bucky Barnes has forgotten how to flirt since the thirties, but he sure as hell hasn’t forgotten how to kiss.
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