Winterhawk Writing

Fifteen

10!
Ah, shit. The count down had already started and Bucky had completely lost track of Clint, who he had been planning to be conveniently positioned next to. 
9!
"Fuck," he twisted around, straining to see over he crowd for straw colored hair and cornflower blue eyes.
8!
He pushed through the crowd that was gathered in front of Stark's unnecessarily large flatscreen and moved towards the back. Maybe all the noise was irritating his aids.
7!
Growing a bit desperate, and making eye contact with a few more sensual winks than he'd like, Bucky shoved his way down the hall and ignored the calls for his attention.
6!
Dammit Barton, always wandering off, he thought as he finally made it to the door that led onto the terrace.
5!
The click of the door behind him sealed off most of the noise, the countdown was on the speakers.
4!
He looked up to see a figure sitting on the stout wall surrounding the terrace, overlooking the city. Clint.
3!
He lurched forward, focused only on the slumped silhouette.
2!
Clint, finally having picked up on the scuffle of shoes behind him turned. "Bucky? What are you do-"
1!
Bucky grabbed the sides of his face and crushed their lips together as distant cheers and whoops filled the New York streets. Clint had his hands on Bucky's shoulders and quickly relaxed into his touch.
"Happy new year," Bucky said, grinning as he pressed forward once more.