The Greatest Bastard || Bucky Barnes x OC

The Frenchman

"What you working on?" the voice interrupted Bucky's deep focus. He looked up, finding Clint standing over him.

"Portrait. Another one of these when you get a chance?" He mumbled, wiggling his empty glass as his friend.

"Another portrait? You're really getting into bed with these people, eh?" Clint laughed, pouring him another glass of Guinness.

Bucky laughed and shook his head, chewing on the toothpick a bit faster.

"They pay me what I ask, no questions." He shrugged, his eyes holding a glimmer of mischief as he winked at Clint.

"I'm sure they do. But I was speaking in literal terms, of course" Clint cackled. His loud laughter was recognizable anywhere.

"Alright, that's enough, Barton," Bucky laughed with him, sipping his bear.

"Come on, Bucky...You fuck all the women who sit for you." Clint teased as he wiped down the counter.

"I do not...." Bucky reacted, offended, "....fuck all of them.." He rolled his eyes and scoffed, bowing his head down as Clint broke out into laughter again. He was right. But he would be stupid not to take advantage of the bored high class women who hadn't had a proper fuck in ages. Most of them were older, forgotten wives who had uninterested husbands who couldn't care less. There was the occasional daughter of some aristocrat that was looking for ways to rebel and feel in charge. Who was he to say no to their pining requests and longings for something quick that made them feel oh-so-alive? He considered it all an art. Everything from the painting to the fucking. And he thought himself extremely talented at both.

"Who's this one, then?" Clint leaned over the counter, taking a peek at the sketch.

"Commissioned portrait by a...Mr. Rumlow" Bucky leaned back, stretching out his back and neck.

"Rumlow? Brock Rumlow?" Clint looked wide-eyed for a second.

"No...uh, Isaac? I think. Why?" Bucky looked at his friend confused.

"Oh, nothing. They just own half of London, the Rumlow's. Isaac's his boy." Clint still looked a bit cautious, and he seemed to have lowered his tone.

"Well, he's paying me a fucking fortune for this portrait. So, I'm not surprised. You should see his fiancée. The rock on her finger looks like it costs more than every building on this street combined." He scoffed, amused.

"Fiancée? Finally got himself a girl?" Clint looked surprised.

"Seems like it" Bucky shrugged. "Why do you look so surprised?" He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes and whispering playfully.

"Oh– No...I just hear things you know. That's what happens when you pour the drinks" Clint chuckled, but there was still an air of unease about him. "That's her then?" He leaned a bit further over the counter to get a good look at the sketch.

Bucky nodded, sipping his beer.

Clint flipped the sketchbook around, inspecting the drawing.

"You spending a lot of time on this one" Clint looked up at his friend curiously.

"No, I just..." Bucky shrugged, but caved when he was unable to escape Clint's interrogating gaze. "She's got a good face" He chuckled. "There's a lot going on there," He whispered.

"Just do me a favor, will ya?" Clint sighed. "Don't fuck this one. You don't want to get on Rumlow's bad side".

When Bucky went back upstairs that night he looked over his sketch. The light from the street was shining in through the large window, and the crates beneath his bed creaked each time he moved against the mattress.