Steve notices first, by accident, three days after Bucky ditches him on the sixth run. In a row. So he’s not trying to spy or anything, really, he’s not. But he sneaks on over to Bucky’s half level, and he’s…
Not shocked, not really.
Hurt, maybe?
“Why didn’t Bucky tell me he and Clint were dating?” He asks Tony.
Tony drops the welder and spins, eyes bright and hand twitchy. “They’re WHAT?”
Steve nods, “JARVIS, if it's not too invasive please show us where Clint and Bucky are currently.”
JARVIS hums at him, but the screen pops up. “Misters Barton and Barnes are currently enjoying Dear John. I feel obliged to let you know this is for the sixth time this week.”
Steve ignores the judgment in the AI’s tone, even if he feels it too. But there they are, Clint and Bucky, curled up under a horrible, pea-green afghan that’s probably hulk sized, sharing a slice of triple chocolate mousse cheesecake and a bottle of vintage cherry wine.
Tony eyes the scene critically. “So that’s where the cherry cordial went. But that’s not exactly proof they’re dating.”
Steve waffles a little bit. “Ok it’s not solid proof. But that’s Bucky’s post date hoodie.”
It’s true, the green and pink tie-dye crop monstrosity that Steve promises looks more like mold than art is riding up Bucky’s belly where the afghan isn’t covering him.
Tony nods, like having a post date cropped hoodie is normal. “JARVIS?”
JARVIS snorts as best an AI can, “Sirs, that’s for you to sort out yourselves.”
-
“Clint?” Bucky hollars out. “Clint!’
Clint jerks ip off the couch, chocolate frosting smeared halfway up the left side of his face. “Huzzwha?”
Bucky smiles at him, soft and mocking. “You seen Steve or Tony?”
“Nuh,” Clint manages. “Should’ve’I?”
“No,” Bucky sighs. “It’s just I skipped out on a run again but Steve isn’t around to pester me. Kinda odd.”
Clint leans up on his elbows, finally somewhat awake. “Are you… do you want him to bully you into a run?”
Bucky snorts. “Not even a little. It’s just strange.”
Clint lets himself fall back into the couch, chocolate cake plate falling to the floor. “Oops,” he tells Tony’s pristine cream carpet. “They’re probably on a date.” Clint wrinkles his nose, not quite missing the pained look in Bucky’s eyes.
“Oh,” Bucky says.
“Wanna go get pizza?” Clint asks. He watches as Bucky debates it. They have had cake a lot lately, and he knows the soldier is feeling twinges of guilt over not running. “We’ll walk to Shady Tim’s Sliceria?”
Bucky grins at him, and it’s a bright, blinding thing. “Yeah, ok. Gimme five?”
Clint snorts. “Go primp, princess.”
Bucky shoots him a bird, but Clint can see the flush licking around his collarbone.
-
“Clint, darling, there’s nothing blue on our entire floor?” Bucky groans.
“Exactly!” Clint burst out, “That’s why we NEED the fridge!!”
Bucky shakes his head, eyeing the 50’s style fridges. It’s not that the blue isn’t beautiful, it’s that it’s already an cacophony of mismatched colors and funky, irreverent decor. “It’s just… it’s very blue.”
Steve walks by them, Tony pressed into his side. “Oh! Hey Bucky, that yellow one matches the fridge we had! ‘Member? It’s a lot nicer than ours was, not so beat up.” Steve opens it, sniffing around. “And it doesn’t smell like fish-rot either. You should get it.”
Clint deflates as he watches Bucky. His eyes go all Steve-shaped and nostalgic and Clint knows before Bucky even turns to him.
“Sure. Whatever. Yellow is cheery.”
Bucky hesitates, “You sure? I mean yellow doesn’t really fit either…”
Clint waves a hand, “No it’s fine.”
He feels Tony’s eyes on him and he studies the short genius.
“Shawarma?” Tony invites.
Clint shakes his head, “Nah. We’ve got tickets to the Nutcracker and then reservations at Ari’s “
Tony double takes. “I can’t even get a table there!”
Bucky grins all sly and Clint. “Well, I was persuasive.”
Tony growls and throws his hands up. “If you don’t bring me back some rum baba I swear to god I’ll evict you.”
Clint chews his hand a little, considering, “You mean from the tower, the team, or both?”
Bucky slaps him on the back of the head, “Seriously, Clint? Obviously he means the team. He can’t kick us out of the tower. You’re disabled and I’m a damn war vet.”
Clint laughs for a moment, and then says. “Okay, We gotta buy the fridge and get rolling.
“Go on, you take so much longer to get ready,” Bucky says. “Which is insane because you have so little hair.”
“Rude!”
Bucky slaps him on the ass, then pushes his shoulders. “March on princess, catch a ride with Steve and Tony. And try not to vomit at the love fest.”
-
“It’s blue,” Clint says. He’s peeling off his bowtie. It’s crumpled, and there’s sauce on it, but somehow he’d managed to leave it on through a two hour ballet and a dinner that ended up taking three hours.
“Uh huh,” Bucky says putting Tony’s dessert into it. “Hey, we still going to the museum tomorrow or do we want to trade it out for the dog park?”
Clint drops his coat onto the floor, pulling at Bucky’s collar. “The fridge, Bucky. I thought you wanted the yellow one?”
“Well, kinda, but Steve really wanted it and uh, you didn’t so,” Bucky goes all flushed. “Dog park or museum?”
“And what?” Clint demands. He’s got that look on his face, like when he’s itching for Shady Tim’s but everyone else wants something… not sketchy.
“I dunno, it’d just feel sort of weird, ya know?”
“Having a yellow fridge?” Clint’s brows furrow. Bucky’s eyes track them.
“No! Just, having that weird reminder. It’s not mine ‘n Steve’s place anymore. So it’d just be weird.”
Clint nods, and then says, “Dog park. I don’t wanna have’t’a get up early enough to beat the crowds for the museum.”
Bucky nods and says, “Coffee on the way or drink Tony’s stuff.”
“On the way, for sure.”
-
“A picnic,” Steve says.
“It’s not a picnic,” Bucky snaps. “It’s just…”
“A picnic,” Steve crows with glee. He pokes at a sandwich. “Are these Dot Hill’s cucumber mint bites? Where’d you even get the recipe?”
Bucky slaps Steve’s hand and gives him the plate he’d set aside for him. “Steve. Some of us aren’t neanderthals and actually managed to learn a few things. And retain basic self care shit.”
“After a lot of brain poking,” Steve grumbles. But he eats the sandwich like it’s… Bucky doesn’t know. Something better than a sandwich with cucumbers and mint. “Just sayin’ these were date sandwiches.”
Bucky can tell Steve is poking at something, but he’s not entirely sure what. “Shut up. All I needed was beer. You got the budweiser?”
“Piss in a can,” Steve grumbles.
“Stop talking Tony out your ass,” Bucky snipes back. “I gotta go, Clint’s already waiting.”
“Give him a kiss from me,” Steve says. There’s a sour note to his tone and Bucky doesn’t get it but he also doesn’t have time.
“Bite me.”
-
“Lucky!” Bucky cries. “Clint, get your bottomless pit out of the picnic basket!” He mentally tells Steve to shut up.
Clint laughs as he plops onto the blanket, wrestling the yellow mongrel out of the wicker. “Oh! Is this cheese ball? When did you even have time?”
Bucky snorts. “Didn’t. Stole the one I made for Steve and Tony’s anniversary.”
“Oh, that is cold,” Clint chirps with glee. He swallows a sandwich in about two bites, and gives a groan that makes the mother two trees over glare at them. “God I love the dog park,” he sighs.
Bucky leans back, uses Clint’s broad form as shading. “Good creatures, good food, good breeze,” he agrees. He yawns loudly and his jaw cracks a little.
“Seriously,” Clint says. He brushes a few strands of sweat-damp hair from Bucky’s cheek. “How early’d you get up?”
“Not very,” Bucky says. Then he admits, “I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“If you’d told me,” Clint begins.
“You needed your own rest, Clint. You haven’t really been sleeping either.”
“Yeah,” Clint says. “Which is what these triple red-eyes are for.”
He leaves Bucky alone though. They lay side by side, drifting in and out of semi-consciousness. It’s a really warm day, with a soft breeze. A few families loiter around them, and occasionally Lucky will go chasing after chipmunks of whatever.
Mostly though, Bucky thinks it's a nice afternoon of relaxing, beers, and random foods.
-
“You’re burning.”
Clint jerks hard, a snore caught in his throat. He coughs on it for a second, and then his eyes clear and he’s staring at a clear blue. Clearer and bluer than the sky. “Time’z it?”
Bucky smiles at him, something soft, something secret. “Time for more sunscreen. And we should probably think about food soon. I think the sandwiches have soured.”
Clint smiles at him, and he thinks he’s probably a little drunk still or something. His cheeks still feel all tingly and he can’t stop staring at Bucky leaning over him. Bucky doesn’t really seem inclined to move.
Not until Lucky barks, takes off, knocking over a half empty can of beer that splashes across Clint’s shirt. “Aw, warm beer. Gross.”
Bucky helps him stand up. Clint starts things up and Bucky chases Lucky down and puts the leash on.
“So,” Clint says as they head towards the park entrance. “Food?”
Bucky laughs. “Let's take Lucky home and shower, and then we will deal with your bottomless pit.”
“Pizza,” Clint decides.
“No,” Bucky groans.
-
“I didn’t-” Clint begins.
Bucky is still curled under the pea-green afghan.
“Should I get Steve?”
There’s some sort of pained whine under the cloth and Clint takes that as a “no.” “Should I leave?”
Bucky throws out a hand, pulls his fingers in a few times.
“Well, you gotta make space then,” Clint sighs.
Bucky wiggles like a half-dead fish, and creates an opening far too small for Clint. Clint manages to squeeze himself into it, wrap himself tight around Bucky. He strokes his fingers through the silk hair, scratches his nails over his back.
“I’m sorry,” he says to the lump.
The museum had been a good idea. In theory. Normally going to an art museum and poking fun at the paintings and status and dicks was solid Tuesday entertainment.
“No one told me,” Clint grumbles.
“Me neither,” Bucky’s lump hisses.
No one had really thought to mention the special exhibit of Howling Commandos art.
“Didn’t even know half of them drew,” Bucky admits.
And yeah, Clint hadn’t exactly read that in any of his history text either.
It’s not that he really understood what Bucky was going through. It couldn’t have been easy, walking in and seeing some of the darkest times of his life displayed in charcoals and graphites.
“You gonna be ok?” Clint asks a few hours later.
Bucky nods, but his hands tighten around Clint, squeeze tight and he’s shaking. Clint can feel the damp spot growing around his pectoral. “Yeah, ok,” he whispers into the air. “I’ll stay.”
-
Bucky sneezes again, and sighs. “We’re missing the Nutcracker!” He groans.
“We went last year,” Clint consoles him. He sneezes too, “Plus we’re sick.”
“This is your fault,” Bucky moans. “We just had to go ice skating.”
Clint pokes him in the side. “Naked midnight skating was your idea.”
“Okay, yes,” Bucky begins.
“ANYWAY,” Clint interrupts. “They’re gonna get stuck doing meet and greet shit and also getting food.”
“Okay?” Bucky demands.
“So, Tony forgot to lock the liquor cabinet in his haste.”
Bucky’s eyes light up. “You mean…”
“Yup,” Clint confirms. “50 year old Glenfiddich, all for us.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow. “You realize that bottle is forty thousand dollars. If Tony makes us pay for it, we never will.”
Clint shrugs. “Just a taste, Buck! Finish up that leftover lobster, order some tiramisu. I know for a fact Pepper left rose petals in the upstairs closet she has most certainly forgot about.”
“Do I want to know the hows or whys of all of this knowledge?” Bucky demands.
“Nope!” Clint answers with a cheerily popped “p.”
“Fine,” Bucky groans. “You get the booze and rose petals. I’ll handle ordering dessert and not giving us seafood poisoning.”
-
“What do we do with them?” Clint asks.
The rose petals are red. Very very red. And fragrant.
“Are they real?” Bucky gasps. “Who keeps bags of real rose petals just lying on hand?”
“Tony, for special random events and for us to steal to have fun with,” Clint supplies helpfully. “Where do they go?”
“Everywhere,” Bucky decides. “The couch, the table, the fucking tv stand.”
Clint pops the bag and they spend several minutes turning Bucky’s living area into a very perfumed, petal draped nightmare.
“Oh, my god.” Bucky says gleefully.
“It looks like a porno,” Clint claps.
“A serial killer porno!” Bucky amends. “This is fantastic. Why aren’t rose petals everywhere, always. Why don’t more people just throw them around for any old event?”
He tips the bottle of Glenfiddich to his lips, licking the scotch off. “This is so so good. No wonder Rhodey makes Tony supply it.”
“Is it?” Clint asks. He turns so Bucky can pour some into his mouth. “I dunno man, 40k for this? It’s good but 40k good?”
Bucky giggles, “You’d be just as happy with cheap gas station liquor.”
Clint licks garlicky butter off a plate. “No, that’s pizza. You get cheap liquor from sketchy mini-marts.”
Bucky squints his eyes, trying to think. “Oh yeah. Hey, we got any more chocolate cake?”
“No,” Clint moans. “Is sads.” He picks at the frosting on his shirt.
Bucky eyes it, or, tries to. “It’s hot in here.”
“No, is me,” Clint grins at him. He unceremoniously rips his shirt off and throws it at Bucky. “See?”
“Huh,” Bucky considers. He pulls his own shirt off and pokes his chest. “Think it’s me, actually.” He presses his metal hand to Clint’s hipbone. “See? Warm.”
Clint’s eyes go dark and he shivers. He yanks down his jeans, pulling the boxers with them. “Ok, yes. You.”
Bucky takes another huge gulp of Scotch, and then passes out.
-
“Are you KIDDING me? What the actual MOTHER FUC-”
“I told you!” Steve crows. “I TOLD you they were dating! See!” He winces at them, tosses a blanket over the bare asses. “I mean, you guys coulda told us it was an anniversary instead of faking sick but-”
“Steve!” Tony shrieks. “Steve my Glenfiddich! They drank my Glenfiddich!”
“Well,” Steve hedges, “Only about two thirds, really.”
“Oh, my, god,” Bucky groans. “Oh my god, shut up before I’m sick all over you’re stupid face.”
“Uh-huh,” Clint agrees beneath him. “‘Sides, we aren’t dating. Bucky’s still in love with you.”
Bucky manages to leaver himself up, though his face does turn a horrible green shade. “Uh-nuh. We aren’t dating because Clint told ‘Tasha he’s aramatintic. Aromatic. Aromatastic.”
“Aromantic?” Tony suggestS helpfully.
“Tha’s it,” Bucky agrees before collapsing back down.
“Huh?” Steve asks as Clint goes, “Excuse me?”
“Hey, uh, Steve. We might want to leave them to this conversation,” Tony says. “At least long enough to burn their post-sex asses out of my brain.”
“Didn’t make it to that,” Clint grumbles, sounding truly despondent.
“What. The. FUCK,” Tony gasps, voice going high and tight. “You drank two-thirds of my very expensive and very very old scotch and didn’t even have SEX?”
“Isn’t polite to take advantage,” Bucky says.
“We passes out,” Clint corrects.
“I'm going to,” Tony starts hyperventilating. “Steve, I’m going to pass out.”
“Yeah, ok. C’mon. Let’s let them talk and get you to the lab.”
-
“I’m not in love with Steve,” Bucky says hours later. He and Clint are showered, teeth brushed and in clean sweats. Natasha had come by with steaming bowls of suspish “hangover cure” soup. It had worked well enough that they didn’t ask any questions.
Clint is sitting awkwardly in the recliner, eyes glued to the black screen of the tv. “I mean, I get it, if you are,” he says gently. “It’s okay to tell me.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says slowly. “Yeah, I know. But I’m not in love with him. Like, trust me. We tried the whole relationship thing once. Even got to the bedroom stuff.” He crinkles his nose, shuddering in disgust. “Well, we got to the bedroom, anyway. Trust me, Steve ain’t nothing but a brother to me.”
Clint eyes him warily. “I dunno, you always go a little misty eyed at him.”
Bucky feels his frown soften a little. “Well, I mean. Look, we’re about as alien as Thor is. The only two from our time, really. Or, from out of our time? Look, whatever. You don’t really get to go through what we did without some kinda unhealthy sibling connection.”
Clint chews on that for a while, working the skin around his thumb. “What were you talking about me and ‘Tash, and aromantic?”
Bucky blushes, a pretty red that sinks all the way into his t-shirt. “Look, it’s nothing ok. I’m not gonna try and make us a ‘thing’ or whatever. I like our bromance. Don’t need the extra romance.”
“Right,” Clint says slowly. “But what were you talking about.”
“I didn’t mean to snoop,” Bucky admits. “But remember last summer, when we were going to the desert rave?”
“Ya,” Clint says.
“Well, I got ready way faster than you. And so I went to see if you and ‘Tasha were almost done. ‘Cept you guys weren’t even close. And I was gonna walk away because the conversation looked serious.” Bucky looks down at his own hands, flesh fingers picking between metals plates.
“But?” Clint prompts.
“Well, then I heard ‘Tasha asked if I’d asked you out.”
“Oh,” Clint says.
“Uh-huh. And you told her you’d never really thought about that.”
“And she asked if I’d read anymore about the aromantic stuff,” Clint supplies.
“Yeah,” Bucky admits. “So I left, and waited for you to come find me. And you know, I didn’t ask you out and buried all that stuff.”
“Wish you’d stuck around.” Clint says softly. He gets up from the recliner and pushes into Bucky’s space, settling right into his lap. “Because you’d have heard me tell her that yeah, I’d read it. And before you, I’d have probably thought it was me.”
“Are you saying…?” Bucky tries not to get his hope up.
“I’m saying ‘Tash also told me about this demi-thing. Where like, I only get those butterfly feelings for exactly one whole moron in the whole world.”
“I’m not a moron,” Bucky pouts. He tilts his chin though, because Clint presses his lips to a soft, sensitive spot.
“Sure, sure,” Clint says. “So anyway, since you’re not still pining over Steve and I’m totally romantic for you, you gonna ask me out or whatever?”
“You’re in my lap,” Bucky points out.
“This is so not our anniversary,” Clint decides.
-
“ Jesus,” Steve moans.
“Nope, just me,” Clint grins beneath Bucky.
“Pants,” Tony begs. “Pants and shirts and oh my god. I’m leaving. ”
“Just,” Steve’s face is an entire plum colored, twisted mess of pride and disgust. “Look, just, we promised the kids and we gotta go in like, two minutes.”
“Yeah, ok.” Bucky says. “Give us five.”
“But-” Steve begins.
Tony yanks him out just as Clint leans down to kiss Bucky deeply and enthusiastically.
“Happy anniversary,” Clint grins.
Bucky flicks his chin gently. “You know, everytime we steal Glenfiddich doesn’t mean it’s our anniversary.”
Clint just grins and kisses him again.