Work Text:
“You must be really bored,” Clint says.
On his laptop screen, Bucky’s face blurs slightly, then reforms. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re calling me.”
“Yeah.”
“About nothing.”
“Yeah.”
“Just to talk.”
Bucky sighs. “You’re right,” he admits. “I’m bored, this mission sucks, and I haven’t seen another human being in almost three weeks.”
“That’s rough.” Clint flips into a handstand, balancing perfectly as he looks at Bucky upside down. “Why call me, though? I thought you liked to sit alone and brood. Isn’t that your thing?”
“That is my thing,” Bucky says. “This isn’t normal for me. I figured I’d call you to remind myself why I left.”
Clint laughs, moving to balance on one hand, a task made slightly more difficult by him being on the bed. “I don’t know if I should be offended by that.”
“Probably,” Bucky says, grinning. It’s really unfair how attractive he is, honestly—even upside down and through a computer screen he’s probably the hottest person Clint’s ever met in his entire life. “So how are things?”
“Things are fine.” Clint swaps hands. “Tower’s kinda empty right now. Everyone’s out on missions.”
“Except you?”
“I hit my head last time.” He lowers himself back to the bed and sits up, tugging his shirt back into place. “Three days ago. Concussion. Natasha told me if I left the room, I’d sincerely regret it.” He shivers. “She did the smile, too. The I’m pretending to be friendly but if you disobey me I will murder you kind of look.”
Bucky grimaces. “Yikes. How would she know?”
“JARVIS is a tattletale, that’s how.” He scowls up at the ceiling. “Bastard.”
“I am merely following orders, Agent Barton.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Clint waves a hand. “Anyway. So I’m on temporary forced leave. I’m just…killing time.”
“If you have a concussion, should you really be doing handstands?”
“Nope.” He tilts the screen up and grins. “Shouldn’t be doing screen time either, according to Dr. “I’m The One With A Medical Degree, Agent Barton” but I am anyway. I’m bored too.” He flops back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. His head does hurt, but he’ll never admit it. “When are you home?”
“Next week, I think. Depends on if this fucking target ever shows up or not. Fury keeps telling me to get ready and then stand down. I’m about ten seconds from shooting him and calling it a day.”
Clint snickers and sits up. “I’ll tell him you said that.”
“Good.” Bucky sighs and leans back in his chair. “Hey, can we go for pizza when I get back?”
Well, that’s not a question Clint was expecting. He tilts his head, studying the pixelated image on the screen in front of him. “What, like a team thing?”
Bucky shrugs. “I’ve been living off MREs for three weeks,” he says. “I just want something decent to eat before my intestines decide to strangle me in my sleep.”
Clint has a sudden image of taking Bucky out for pizza, just the two of them, before walking along the streets of the city together, finding some back alley and making out, Bucky pushing him against a wall—
He shuts that thought down hard. Bucky’s hot, but there’s absolutely no way he’s interested in Clint, and Clint should not be fantasizing about being fucked against a wall when Bucky’s just calling to have someone to talk to. Three weeks is a long time to be alone, even for an brooding overgrown bat.
Dirty thoughts later, he tells himself, and refocuses on Bucky. “Yeah, we can do that. I know a place a couple streets over, just opened. I’ve been wanting to try them.”
“That would be good,” Bucky says, sounding happy. “Gives me something to look forward to.”
“I’m sorry you’re stuck there,” Clint says. “I’d be crawling the walls.”
“Well, that’s why it’s me and not you.” Bucky flashes a sly grin. “I have the patience to sit and wait.”
“I have patience,” Clint protests. “I just like things being done in a timely manner. Sue me.”
Bucky laughs. “Alright. I’m sorry.” He stretches, muscles under his t-shirt visible even through the screen, and Clint swallows. Seriously unfair, no one should be allowed to be this attractive—
“There’s not even any books here,” Bucky says, bringing Clint back to the moment. “Whoever stocked this safe house should be fired.”
“I can send you some,” Clint says. “Nat’s got a good online collection. I can give you access.”
Bucky makes a face. “I don’t like e-books.”
“You’re so old,” Clint tells him. “It’s the future, Bucko. Nobody has real ones anymore. It’s all digital.”
“I like holding books,” Bucky says, and a sly smile crosses his face. “Sue me.”
Clint snorts. “That’s my line.”
“Mm.” Bucky stretches again. “Fine. Send them to me. I’m desperate. There’s literally nothing to do here.”
If I were there you could do me, Clint thinks, then just about smacks himself across the face. Get your fucking mind out of the gutter, come on. Guy just wants someone to talk to. Stop making this weird.
He tilts the computer up a little more, making sure Bucky can’t see the erection forming in his pants, and nods. “I’ll do that.”
There’s a faint buzzing noise, and Bucky reaches over, disappearing from view for a moment. “I have to go,” he says, sounding annoyed. “Fury’s calling.”
“Tell him to fuck off,” Clint says, suddenly unwilling to let him go. “We’re bonding.”
“I’d rather talk to you,” Bucky sighs, and Clint can’t stop a stupid smile from spreading over his face. “Thanks for humoring me for a bit. It was nice to talk with someone.”
“Anytime,” Clint assures him. “If you want to chat, I’m always around.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Bucky says, and he gets up, walking out of view.
Clint stabs at the disconnect button and sighs, flopping onto his back again to stare at the ceiling. Now he’s hungry for pizza, and kind of turned on, and weirdly pining for a guy he’s pretty sure has zero interest in him.
He lays there for awhile, drifting, letting himself fantasize anyway. Bucky’s probably not interested, but Clint can still dream. Can still think about what if would be like to take Bucky to bed, to feel that metal hand sliding over his skin, flicking at a nipple, dipping down to wrap around his—
“Fuck it,” he says, and sits up, yanking his shirt over his head. He’s hungry, he’s horny, and he’s lonely. Two of them he can’t do much about, but one of them he can fix right fucking now.
The shirt catches on one of his hearing aids, so he pulls those out too, carefully dropping them on the nightstand before chucking his shirt across the room in the general direction of the hamper. His pants follow a moment later, and then he’s scrambling through the nightstand drawer, grabbing the lube. He could go get a toy, but those are all in the closet, and honestly, he’s feeling himself more than anything artificial right now.
Clint snickers at his own stupid pun, then sprawls across the bed, shoving the laptop to the side. It’s been a while since he’s had a chunk of free time like this—he’s gonna fucking enjoy it. Gonna work himself up nice and good, make it last, take his damn time. If he has to be on forced leave, he might as well enjoy it.
“Lock the doors,” he calls to JARVIS as a precaution—he really doesn’t want a repeat of that one Saturday—and he drags his fingers along his hipbones, breath catching at the dual tickling sensation. He’s already turned on from talking to Bucky, and it feels so good, the light touch making him shiver.
He lets his mind wander. Thinks about Bucky touching him like this, one hand cold and smooth, one hand warm and calloused. He wonders what Bucky’s like in bed. Intense, probably, with a sniper’s focus. It would be amazing, to be underneath him, pinned in place by those blue eyes. He pictures Bucky’s soft lips curving in a smirk, stubble scraping over Clint’s skin as he leaves a trail of kisses down his chest.
“You’re real pretty,” he’d murmur. “Pretty, and all mine to play with.”
“Yeah,” Clint whispers, his hands sliding up his body, He wets his fingers in his mouth, pinching and rolling one of his nipples. “All yours.”
“Could do anything I want to you,” Bucky whispers in his mind. “Tie you up, make you wait. Get you real close and then stop. You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
God, he would. He’d let Bucky do anything. What can he say? He’s got a danger kink a mile wide, and he’s been thinking about Bucky fucking him ever since he first saw footage of the Winter Soldier murder-strutting down the hood of a car. He’d watched it with his mouth hanging open, a mix of that guy is fucking dangerous and yeah, but he’s fucking hot warring in him. And then Bucky had murder-strutted into the Tower like three weeks later, glaring at everyone and everything in sight, and Clint had maybe melted a little bit onto the floor the moment those blue eyes locked onto him.
So, yeah. Anything.
Clint drags one hand down his body, the other one slowly wrapping around his throat. He’s imagined this too, Bucky holding him down, metal hand where his own fingers are now. God, that’d be so hot, one hand around Clint’s dick and the other around his neck. Bucky would work him right up to the edge, letting in just enough air.
His own fingers tighten, picturing Bucky watching him intently, all of his focus on Clint. His dick is so fucking hard, throbbing in time to his heartbeat, and he just wants to touch, to come—
No. Bucky wouldn’t let him. Bucky would make him wait, make him cry for it, especially if Clint asked him to. He’d probably like it. Bucky’s a good man, a caring man, but there’s a sadistic streak somewhere in him. Clint’s so damn sure of it, and he wants it. Wants Bucky to hold him down on the bed and make him lose his goddamn mind.
Clint wraps his fingers around his leaking dick. He doesn’t really need it but he grabs some lube anyway, the slick wet glide of his own hand making him whimper. He closes his eyes, lets his head fall back. God, it feels good to touch himself, even with his hand moving at a glacial pace. He squeezes the base of his dick, and oh—
It’s like an ache, a low warmth spreading through his gut. He lets out a low moan, stomach muscles tightening, and has to let go before he comes all over himself. It’s too soon, he wants to stretch this out, make it last. He rubs his thumb over the head as a low, “Fuck me,” escapes him, He thinks about Bucky’s hand, how it would feel touching him, warm and calloused. His voice in Clint’s ear, filthy and heated, whispering about all the things he’d like to do. Clint loves listening to Bucky talk, even for boring mission debriefs. There’s something spine-tingling about his voice, low and rough and perfect. Clint doesn’t like taking orders, but he’ll take them from Bucky, when he gets that edge of command in his voice. It’s almost involuntary. Bucky could order him to his knees in a hallway and he’d fucking do it.
Fucking hell, there’s a thought. Clint on his knees in an office, Bucky’s hand in his hair. Door closed but unlocked, potential for someone to walk in and see them. He bites his lip and moans again as his hand moves a little faster. His breathing is ragged now, bordering on frantic, and there’s a desperation to the way he’s touching himself as he pictures the scene. He wants that, wants it so badly.
“Please,” he says, imagining looking up at Bucky, asking for his cock. “Please, I want it—”
He imagines Bucky smirking down at him, an amused tilt to his mouth. Prove it to me, sweetheart.
And he would, fuck. He’d prove it so good, with his mouth and his words and his body, begging with everything he’s got. He wants it, wants Bucky’s cock in his mouth, wants to make him feel good, wants to hear him moan and know that Clint did that.
His breath hitches, dick twitching under his hand. He’s not going to last much longer, there’s no way. It’s too much, thinking about this. He’s desperate for all of it, for Bucky’s hands and his voice and his cock and—
He comes with a gasp and can’t stop himself from moaning Bucky’s name as he does so. His body feels electric, like a fire sweeping through him, sparking along his veins, burning him from the inside out. Clint works himself through it, and then a little beyond, stomach muscles clenching as it starts to get oversensitive, starts to be too much. He wonders if Bucky would do this to him, make him come and then keep going, push him through this and work him up a second time—
Clint lets go, hand falling limply to the bed as he tries to make himself breathe, blinking tears out of his eyes. “Christ,” he mutters. He’d take that from Bucky, but he’s not entirely sure he could make himself do it.
Well. He would if Bucky asked.
He lays there for a bit with his eyes closed, letting himself float, muscles loose and languid. He hasn’t come that hard in a long time, and it’s nice to just revel in the feeling, blissed out and happy.
When he opens his eyes, the light above his door is flashing. Clint blinks blearily at it, then stretches over to the nightstand, fumbling at his hearing aids. “J, what’s up?”
But it’s not JARVIS who answers him. There’s a moment of silence, and then he hears Bucky’s voice from the other side of the bed. “Uh…Clint?”
Clint freezes, then slowly turns to face his laptop.
His open laptop.
He stares at the green light by the camera, and then at Bucky’s face, which is some mixture of embarrassed and sheepish. There’s a moment where they just look at each other, eyes locked, and then Clint dives for the computer, slamming the lid shut.
“Fuck,” he says, and buries his face in his hands. “Fuck—oh my god.” He looks up at the ceiling, barely peeking through his fingers. “JARVIS? Was that open the whole time?”
“I’m afraid so, Agent Barton.”
Clint groans and flops backwards on the bed. “Fuck.”
“I did try to get your attention sooner, but you were…otherwise occupied.”
Clint rolls over and shoves his face into a pillow, debating the merits of leaving the country right this second. He knows people in Yemen. He could disappear. Spend the rest of his life fishing by the river and never, ever think about this moment again.
His phone buzzes, and Clint glances at the screen. Fuck. Of course.
Answer it, you coward.
He hesitates, then groans again, grabbing it. He can’t pretend this didn’t happen. As much as he wants to just disappear into the earth forever, he needs to be a big boy and own up to it. Shit happens. It’s fine. He’s fine. Just something embarrassing. That’s all.
He answers the phone. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Bucky says quietly, and Clint rolls over, shoving his face in his pillow again. If the earth could just open up and swallow him whole, that would be great.
But it doesn’t, and after a moment, he lifts his head. “Uh. So.”
“So,” Bucky echoes, and there’s an awkward silence. “We should…talk.”
“Do we have to?” Clint asks, rolling onto his back again. Except this is one roll too far, and he ends up tumbling onto the floor on the opposite side of the bed, tangled in the sheets. He lets out some kind of undignified shrieking noise, and flails a little bit, trying to free his legs.
“Clint!” Bucky yells, and Clint manages to flop a hand onto the bed, snagging his phone.
“I’m fine,” he says, pulling it down and giving up on his legs. He’ll just lay here on the floor forever. “I didn’t embarrass myself enough earlier, so I decided to fall off the bed.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then Bucky starts laughing. “Only you,” he says, but the tone is fond, and it’s enough to crack a smile on Clint’s face too. “Are you okay?”
“My pride hurts,” he says. “And I kind of want to curl up and die somewhere, but yes. I’m fine.”
Bucky laughs again. “I tried to tell you,” he says. “And I couldn’t—I didn’t see anything. The camera was on your stomach, so I couldn’t—I really didn’t see anything, I swear.”
“I’m sorry,” Clint says. “I thought I ended it; I should’ve checked to make sure it was off.”
“Yeah, well.” Bucky sighs. “I’m a big boy, I can figure out tech. I should’ve disconnected from my end.”
Clint nods, then pauses, a thought occurring to him. “Why didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Disconnect. When you…you know. I mean—it was kinda obvious. What I was doing.”
Another silence, long enough that Clint checks to make sure they haven’t lost the connection. Then Bucky says, “I was on the phone. I really only caught the end of it.”
“So? You still could’ve—”
“You said my name.”
“I—” Clint stops, suddenly remembering. “Oh.” His face flushes red, and he looks at the window, debating if JARVIS would let him open it and jump out.
“I liked it,” Bucky says, the words tumbling out in a rush. “The way you said it.”
“Oh.” Clint’s hand is clenched around the phone, he couldn’t let go if he tried. “I’m—uh—”
“I want to make you say it again,” Bucky says, still talking fast. “I—I’ve liked you for a long time. I was going to ask you out, when I got back.”
“Ask me out,” Clint repeats.
“Yeah. To coffee.”
“To coffee.”
“Yeah.”
Clint stares at the window, wondering why everything outside is staying upright when his whole world is turning upside down. “You…like me?”
“Yes,” Bucky says. “Of course I do. I—Christ, Clint, I’ve liked you since our first mission together. I just…didn’t think you felt the same.”
“But I—” Clint decides not to go into the beginnings of his infatuation. He’s already embarrassed himself enough for a lifetime, he doesn’t need to add to the pile. He clears his throat. “Yes. Yes to all of it. I like you. Fuck, I like you so much.”
“Really?” Bucky sounds delighted now, happier than Clint’s ever heard him, and he suddenly has to see him. He fumbles the phone for a moment, poking the camera button, and a second later Bucky’s face appears onscreen.
“Yes,” he says again. “I like you so goddamn much I don’t even know what to do about it. Which is stupid and sappy of me but it’s true and I just—” he gestures wildly with the hand holding the phone, which results in him dropping it, and he scrambles to pick it up “—I would love to get coffee with you.” He hesitates, then adds, “And if you wanted to make me say your name…I’m down for that too. Like, anytime.”
Bucky’s grinning at him, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You realize your camera’s turned the other way, right?”
“What?” Clint looks at it, and then— “Oh fuck me.”
“If you ask nicely,” Bucky says, and Clint gets the camera flipped onto his face in time for that statement to register. He blushes hard, although he doesn’t know why. Bucky’s now seen him masturbate, heard him fall off the bed, and just got an eyeful of his junk, all in one day. Clint’s really not sure what there’s left to be embarrassed about at this point.
“Okay,” he says, and the grin gets wider. “Coffee. Name yelling. Anything you want. I—I want it too. I want all of it.”
“Good,” Bucky says.
They beam at each other like a couple of idiots, and then there’s another buzzing sound. Bucky scowls, the grin disappearing from his face. “I’m going to kill Fury,” he says, sighing. “He’s calling again.”
“Tell him you quit.” Clint tugs the sheet over his lap in case he drops the phone again. “Tell him you quit and then come home so we can have pizza.”
“I’ll let him know,” Bucky says. “I gotta go.”
“Bye,” Clint says, and despite being disappointed they can’t talk more, there’s a joyful note in his voice that he can’t hide. Bucky smiles again, wide and brilliant, then cuts the call.
Clint makes sure his camera is off this time, then gets to his feet. “J, order some pizza for me,” he says, then pauses. “Am I allowed to go get it?”
“I will have it brought to you,” comes the response, and Clint sighs. Still on house arrest, then. Not that he thought JARVIS would say anything else, but still. He’d hoped.
He’s halfway through the pizza when his phone buzzes with a text. He picks it up with his free hand, pausing the television with his foot.
BB: still bored
BB: Fury says I can’t quit
CB: booo
CB: sry ur bored
CB: send me a pic
BB: of what?
CB: you
BB: why?
CB: cuz i want it
BB: I don’t do the selfie thing
CB: so send a dick pic
BB: …why?
CB: so i can see what i’m getting myself into?
CB: also, fair’s fair. You saw mine.
There’s a hesitation, and then a few minutes later, his phone buzzes again. Clint opens it and lets out a low whistle. “Nice.”
BB: that pass approval?
CB: absolutely. 10/10 would sit on
BB: looking forward to it
CB: Same, buddy.
He drops his phone on the bed, then looks up at the ceiling. “Am I allowed to have beer?”
“You are not,” JARVIS says.
“How am I supposed to celebrate without beer?”
There’s a pause, and then JARVIS says, “Master Stark has your favorite ice cream in the freezer. If you return to your room within five minutes, I will not alert Agent Romanov.”
“Yay,” Clint says, scrambling to his feet. Pizza, and ice cream, and the promise of something amazing down the road—he’s so goddamn happy he feels like he might burst with it.
Best medical leave ever, he thinks, and slips out into the hallway.