Winterhawk Writing

Twelve

"Aw, Bucky, no," Clint is stretched across counter, staring at the fluorescent lights that dotted the ceiling of the kitchen.
Nat gives a soft snort. "I can't believe you're just now realizing. Steve and I have been making bets since you two first had a shooting contest."
Clint feels his cheeks flare with warmth and he tosses an arm over his eyes. "I- yeah, that's fair," he sighs.
Nat hums, because, duh, she's always right. "So, what're you gonna do about it?"
Unable to help the laugh, Clint shakes his head. "Probably just gonna pine 'till I get over it."
Natasha rolls her eyes. "Christ, Clint, get over yourself. You had a divorce, big deal, you can still have healthy, mutual relationships."
That kinda stung. His marriage had ended years ago but it had ended roughly and now Clint had zero desire to get his heart broken again, 'specially by someone as beautiful as Bucky. That man- fuck, he was going to be the death of Clinton Francis Barton.
"Please stop fantasizing about Barnes while I'm trying to eat," Tasha delicately scrunches her nose.
"Ugh, Tasha, but his thighs-"
"My thighs? Here I was, thinking you had something for my ass," an amused voice says from the entrance of the kitchen.
That motherfucker is as quiet as a goddamn cat- maybe if Clint didn't move he'd think he'd died and would just walk away.
He heard Tasha mumble something to Bucky as she made her escape from the room. Traitor. And right after he'd finally made her some of his famous pancakes.
"Are you gonna talk to me?" Bucky coos, right next to his ear.
"Please fuck off," Clint says, desperate and embarrassed, into the soft skin of his elbow.
Bucky easily pries Clint's arm away from his face 'cos he's a fuckin' super soldier. Clint makes a stupid pathetic sound sound, and Bucky -ever the asshole- laughs.
"Aw, Sweetheart don't be embarrassed. If I knew you had a thing for my thighs I would've been wearing tighter pants this entire time," grin turning wicked, Bucky winks.
"Aww, now you're just being mean," Clint strains his face away from Bucky's.
"I'm not, honest." Bucky isn't able to keep the smile off of his face as Clint weakly tries to pull his arms away. "Sweetheart," Bucky drawls.
Aw, pet names. Clint feels his guts go to mush at the sound of Bucky's deep Brooklyn accent. He stops -his very weak- attempt at pulling away but keeps his eyes adverted.
"Clint, I'm not gonna do anything until you say it's okay," Bucky, reasonable and calm, says.
"What do you want to do?" Clint asks, a bit boldly on his part.
Bucky's answering grin is sharp and wolfish and he leans in a bit more just to make Clint blush. "I'm thinkin' I wanna first, kiss you." He says lowly. "Then maybe things get a little too heavy for the communal kitchen.."
Clint's breath hitches.
"And we gotta move to my room, which is just one floor up," Bucky smirks at the furious red staining Clint's cheek. He rubs his metal thumb against one, enjoying the way Clint's eyes flutter. "And maybe we don't come down for the rest of the day. How's that sound, Sweetheart?"
"Fuck," Clint says, desperate and needy, so he lurches up to grab the back of Bucky's neck and forces his face down to his.
The kiss is messy and mostly teeth 'cos Bucky was caught off guard and Clint's too horny at this point for it to be anything but harsh. Bucky's quick to recover and easily slips his tongue through Clint's lips to scrape behind his teeth.
"Bedroom?" Clint asks, panting and red and needing more.
"That's the plan, Sweetheart," Bucky grins deviously and pulls him off of the counter.