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ojerasgigantes · 13 days

Text

Muevete bien (que nadie como tú me sabe hacer café) CHT. 8

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Clint Barton

Characters: Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, PTSD, Alpha!Bucky Barnes, Omega!Clint Barton, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Young!Clint Barton, Explicit Sexual Content, True mates-ish

Words: 42.5k

Fic Summary:

So, nothing dangerous is happening, just so you know." Bruce said reassuringly. "It just seems that you two, genetically speaking, align very well, almost perfectly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that your body is more inclined to want to reproduce with him, because your compatibility level is extremely high.” Bruce explained, and after a moment smiled. “Or would I dare to say, you two are true mates."

AO3 LINK

The person in the mirror looking back at him vaguely resembled Clint. The difference was enough that he had to look twice to reassure that it was actually himself in that reflection.

Damn, he looked weird as a blond.

Hill had stopped him an hour later after their meeting, only to hand him a hair bleaching kit. At the time, Clint almost wanted to protest, but after thinking before speaking, he decided to shut his mouth instead. He didn’t want to make himself look even less cooperative after the little outburst he had had in front of her.

The thing was that Clint was blond already. A dirty, less blinding shade of blond, but blond nonetheless. So, looking at himself sporting the same color he had when he was 3 years old was a little unsettling to say the least.

“You look like you are a member of NSync.”

Clint looked past his own reflection to see Natasha standing at the door of the bathroom. Hewanted to be mad at her for the trick she pulled on him, but couldn’t. Not when it had actually been helpful. He didn’t want to think about how his heat would’ve gone if she hadn’t brought him Barnes’ hoodie.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Clint said, and fixed his hair in the mirror. After a moment he scrunched his face, still not used to how he looked like, “I’m surprised I didn’t end up bald.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t send you to a professional stylist, with the amount of money they carry around.” Natasha added.

“Do you think I would’ve sat down for more than an hour while doing nothing?” Clint asked, raising one brow at Natasha through his reflection.

“No.” She said, and cocked her head to the side.

Clint turned to face her. Natasha’s eyes raked through his hair, admiring the work he had done.

She smirked, “He likes blonds, you know?”

Clint felt his eyes roll into the back of his head so hard he saw spots.

“I was already blond.”

“Not like this, though.” Her grin grew wider.

Clint agreed with a hum, and leaned back against the sink. After a second, Natasha left her spot at the door, walking closer.

She waited for Clint to make eye contact before she spoke.

“You should talk to him.” She said, serious.

Clint opened his mouth to retort, hands up, ready for a fight. But, he had run out of excuses for himself and his behavior. And whatever he could think of at the moment, would not fly by Natasha for even a second.

He let his arms fall back down, his right hand gripping the side of the sink, “I know.” He sighed, running his other hand over his face.

“You have been acting like an idiot these past weeks.” She stated, giving him a knowing look.

Clint hung his head, and groaned “I know.” .

He looked up at the ceiling, and sighed, a bit tired from having woken up at 4:30 am. He didn’t sleep as well as he would’ve liked. The knowing pressure of anxiety plaguing his chest and trying its best to keep him awake.

“What are you doing up, anyway?” Clint questioned her, “I know you are a morning person, but this early?”

Natasha looked away for a second, and she bit back a smile, “Can’t I say goodbye?”

Clint huffed, “Like you don’t disappear for months without telling me.”

When Natasha didn’t say anything to him, he turned his whole attention to her. She had her arms crossed, and was looking at him, fond behind her eyes. But most of all, Clint knew she was assessing him.

Clint offered her a bright smile.

“Don’t tell me that you are worried.” He said, mocking her just a little.

“I’m not.” She answered, although her smile said differently, and both of them knew she was lying.

“It’s okay.” He said, and walked around her towards the door, “I’m glad to know that you love me.” He taunted her.

Natasha sighed, a little disgruntled, “I do.” She admitted.

Clint felt the smile on his face soften, his heart clenching a bit. Her scent heightened, a little bit warmer, and Clint wanted to wrap himself with it. The idea of staying in the compound, in the comfort of what he knew, made itself known in Clint’s mind. But he discarded it quickly.

Instead, he went to hug Natasha.

He embraced her, clutching onto her a little too hard. Natasha accepted it gladly, fitting herself against Clint’s frame, hands around him.

“I do too, Nat.” He mumbled against her hair. He scented her, trying to keep her smell close to him.

If Natasha did it back, he didn’t notice. She let the hug happen for a few more seconds, and then squeezed him before stepping away.

“Take care of yourself.” She said sincerely. The ‘please’ went unsaid.

Clint nodded, rolling his eyes. Then, was immediately startled by Natasha’s grip on his face as she forced him to look at her.

“And don’t do anything idiotic.” She ordered, expression hard, the smile she had gone.

“Okay, okay!” He relented, pulling away from her hands.

Before he left the bathroom, he turned to take a last look at her and wave her goodbye. It was going to be hard to contact her for however long this mission was going to take, and a wave of uneasiness rolled over him.

Either way, Clint forced himself to walk away. A helicopter was waiting for them outside, ready to take them to the airport. The clutch he had on his duffel bag tightened the moment he caught sight of the helicopter.

He knew his reaction in that meeting was overblown, so he was still feeling a little embarrassed about it. And, on top of everything, he really wasn’t looking forward to spending time in a confined space with Barnes.

As he approached the helicopter, Clint inhaled deeply. The humid scent of the morning mist filled his nostrils. He was taking advantage of the fact that he was outside and the air was yet to be tainted by Barnes. He made sure to take in his fill, knowing that he would barely catch a break after the mission started.

Clint was the first to arrive, and he greeted the pilot with a nod, waiting obediently a few meters away from the helicopter. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait that much. He heard footsteps approaching towards where he was standing and Clint raised his head to greet Barnes only for the words to get stuck in his throat.

Bucky had gotten a haircut.

Clint almost didn’t recognise him. The long hair he had gotten used to was completely gone. Now, his hair was in an almost military style. The haircut faded seamlessly into his beard, enhancing his jawline and leaving his neck exposed.

Feeling himself getting a bit flustered, Clint couldn’t help the tiny noise that escaped his throat. He was glad that it was low enough that it could only be heard by himself.

Bucky looked good. Too good. So good that the tight grip Clint had on his sanity wavered just a bit.

When Bucky finally stopped in front of him, his eyes were busy on the phone in his hand. Clint swallowed thickly, and shook his head.

“I see they butchered your hair as well.” Clint commented, voice tad hoarse.

At that Bucky looked up, seemingly to retort at Clint’s insult, but froze. His eyes frantically jumped between his hair and his face, wide and shocked.

Ouch. Clint had thought for a millisecond that he actually looked hot with that shade of blonde. He felt the need to explain himself, that this wasn’t his choice either.

“I know its kinda odd-“

Clint stopped mid-sentence, Bucky’s scent reaching him abruptly. He smelled him properly for the first time since yesterday, the outside wind had done a good job at hiding it. Thicker and heavier than he expected, it wrapped around the both of them, the taste of arousal unmistakable.

Wide eyed and surprised, Clint looked back at Bucky astonished. He felt the back of his neck warming up as his gaze didn’t peel away.

“What the fuck.”

Clint snapped towards the voice, and found the pilot staring at them, hand over his nose and mouth.

Holy shit.

This apparently had also broken Barnes’ stare, and Clint saw him look away as his scent toned down. Barnes’ lips thinned, his metal hand harshly clenching the handles of the bag he was holding.

Barnes went inside the helicopter without further comment, leaving Clint outside to fester in his stupor.

“Noted.” Clint muttered to himself, and followed him a few seconds after.

Clint and Barnes stood there, and looked at the apartment building in front of them as the taxi that took them there squealed away. Clint thought how it honestly didn’t look half bad. Sure, it was old, and looked a bit ugly, but Clint had been used to sleeping in places that looked much worse for wear than this one. Places where you could hear rats scratching the walls from the inside, and occasionally see a roach or two scurrying on the floor. Where people high out of their mind were passed out right at the front door of the building or in the middle of the hallway.

This was definitely run down, but it was fine.

Barnes went ahead of him, and walked up to the main entrance without saying anything. Clint bit his cheek at the obvious avoidant behavior, staring at him for a moment before following him. It’s not like Clint had any right to be annoyed at it, since he was the one who started that.

He could understand it on a certain level. To their detriment, they flew commercial, given that they were going undercover. And being in a confined space with Barnes only one seat away from him was almost torturous. The constant smell coming from him never really dissipated as much as he had hoped for, and spiked every now and then. It made Clint want to gouge his eyes out in frustration. His nails were almost bitten to the hilt by the two hour mark. At that point he decided to ask the flight attendant for the strongest alcohol they had. When she brought him a small bottle of vodka, he thanked her, and just held the open lid of it right under his nose for the rest of the flight.

But, even then, he was expecting Barnes to be more talkative than this. The helicopter ride, four hour flight, and the one hour and a half drive down to the apartment, had been a long awkward silence. After the first words Clint had said to him, Barnes never bothered to speak. He sat at the opposite side of the helicopter, and even wore a surgical mask throughout the whole flight. Every now and then, Clint would ask a question, are you sure this is the right gate?, or make a superficial comment, look at the price on these fucking water bottles . But all he would get back would be a small hum in agreement.

It was driving him insane to be on the other side of the coin.

Anyway, if Barnes was being infuriating on purpose, Clint was not going to fold backwards to meet his need to act like a pussy. Nevermind that that was exactly what Clint had been doing for the past 2 weeks .

Their apartment was located on the highest floor. They had easy access to the roof, the height of the building could be used as a vantage point to survey the streets below, and, if they were compromised, it would give them a longer time to escape through other means.

Barnes’ opened the door unceremoniously, and the inside of the apartment was as mundane as someone could imagine. An open floor plan and it wasn’t as small as Clint had imagined. On the right there was a full kitchen, equipped with an oven, a microwave, a full-sized fridge, and even a simple coffee machine, which he was glad to see. The kitchen faced a square wooden table with 3 chairs sitting around it. And on the far right was a long couch facing a TV pushed against the wall. The living space opened to a hallway, and Clint could see it led to three doors, which he assumed were the two bedrooms and the bathroom.

“Fridge and pantry are full.” Barnes’ said, and Clint almost jumped, not expecting to hear his voice. He looked back at him, and noticed he had already opened all the cabinets in the kitchen, “And we are fully stocked.”

Clint peered from where he was standing near the couch, where he had dropped his belongings. Barnes had moved aside, the door of what seemed like a pantry closet opened. Guns and weapons of all shapes and sizes were hanging off the wall inside.

Clint made a low whistle before heading to the windows. Sliding one open, he tested the locks. Firm, but breakable under someone who knew what they were doing. He pressed his hands against the window pane, and then knocked on it.

“Windows are bullet-proof.” He commented.

He was met with another one of Barnes’ hums.

They swept the apartment, checking every nook and cranny. Clint would like to think that they were meticulous, looking for anything out of place, like tiny mics or hidden cameras. When they found nothing after almost 30 minutes of looking, Clint went to grab his bag from the couch.

“I’ll take the room at the far end.” Clint said, and headed for it.

The bedroom was as boring as the rest of the apartment, with a double bed in the middle, a night stand on each side and a closet up against the wall. As he arranged everything in the drawers, he took a deep breath. He was already feeling overwhelmed and on edge, but grateful that Barnes’ scent was not invading the small space of the bedroom. Still, he eyed the gap between the door and the floor, and made a note of clogging it with blankets to ensure that it stayed that way.

It was gonna be a long couple of weeks.

He cracked the window open for good measure.

___

It took them less than an hour to settle properly in the apartment. And Clint, not being able to handle staying there with the crushing tension of their unresolved problems, told Barnes that they should check out the neighborhood and look into where this bar was.

If anything, Barnes was efficient, so he didn’t hesitate to accept the request and a couple of minutes later they were strolling out on the streets.

The neighborhood they were staying at was similar their building, lower-middle class in every sense of the word. Lots of small alleys and old housing decorated the streets. Littering seemed to be a norm of sorts. The smell of burning trash clinged to his nostrils, and Clint wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not.

They had a bit of a more pressing manner, people were staring at them, him to be precise. An old lady shot him a dirty look, literally clutching her cardigan and making a disapproving noise, loud enough that they could hear as she walked by them.

At that, Clint followed her with his eyes as she moved further down the street.

“What the fuck is her problem?” He asked, annoyed.

He turned to Barnes, who hadn’t even turned to look back at the old woman, and he shrugged, looking tired.

“We are in the south.” Barnes answered simply.

Ah.

Clint wouldn’t necessarily call himself sheltered, he was from Iowa after all. But spending most of his late childhood to the end of his teenage years in the non-judgemental world that is a circus. And then immediately being recruited by SHIELD, where no-one really gave a shit about who you were, might have put him inside a bubble.

Literally and metaphorically, he got shielded from most discrimination connected to his second gender, even if he knew about it, even if he witnessed it whenever he spent too much time in public with Tony. He thought of how most omegas used suppressants, not because they needed them, but because they were highly pressured to use them. Clint was just lucky enough to have his heats be mild enough that he never even gave them a second thought, and to have his doctors be ones approved by SHIELD.

Although now he wondered if they would help his situation with Barnes. He made a mental note to text Bruce about it later.

In places where people were more conservative, Omegas commonly wore things to hide their neck, like necklaces, collar, scarfs or turtleneck shirts. It was a traditional and primitive way of ‘protecting’ their virtue, and Clint was not fond of it at all.

Clint, who was wearing a hawaiian shirt with the first 4 buttons undone, chest half exposed to try and combat the summer temperatures, and was now getting some odd looks by the old locals.

“Damn hag.” Clint muttered, feeling more bothered by the comment than he expected. He picked up his pace and caught up to Barnes.

They did a proper sweep of the neighborhood, and concluded that it just was a common rundown lower class one.

Even though the encounter had unsettled Clint, it didn’t really throw him off. Atleast, no more than the prospect of spending his time here tiptoeing around Barnes. So, he made sure to extend the outing by going directly to the garage as soon as they came back.

The drive to downtown was mostly silent, with Clint humming to the songs playing on the radio while tapping on the the wheel. The car they were given was a pick-up truck, one that many people in Arizona seemed to have, inconspicuous and ugly.

Barnes sat next to him, map in hand and window completely down. Clint didn’t even try to start idle conversation anymore, he was just glad that Barnes at least was being cooperative enough to direct him through Albuquerque.

“It’s in the next block, stop here.” He said, leaning forward.

Clint did as told, parking in front of a random Dollar General.

They walked until they saw the recognizable “Merlin” sign. Pulling up his phone to compare it with the picture they had, Clint let out a sigh of relief. This bar, for being as popular as it seemed to be, didn’t exist on any maps, review apps, or sites. It was almost like it was deliberately wiped off of the internet, only being mentioned on some obscure subreddits about nightlife. It looked mostly the same, they might have painted the outside a deeper shade of purple, but the image was identical, so Clint was sure they were at the right place.

“This looks like a sex club.” Barnes commented.

“It might be,” Clint said, and scoffed, “Who knows what shit they get on in the VIP areas.” He went to take a step forward, but was stopped by a hand going around his waist.

The sudden touch and closeness made him jump, Barnes’ scent invading his space hastily. Immediately, Clint’s body reacted, and he felt himself melt a little towards him, his brain purring happily at the contact.

Before he could decide whether Barnes was going to keep his other arm, he looked up towards the building, searching for the camera, and noticed one right above the sign pointing at the street. Clint glanced at Barnes quickly, and kept a neutral face as he wrapped his own arm around his shoulders.

The warmness creeping on the back of his neck was obviously caused by the heat.

They walked closer to the building, Clint could make out a paper plastered on the inside of the glass door. He leaned closer to Barnes.

“I can see they have the schedule of their opening hours on the door.” Clint said, voice low and a playful smile plastered on his face.

Barnes closed his eyes for a second too long, before opening them and giving back a small smirk to Clint. “Let me get closer.”

Barnes’ left the space next to him, and Clint immediately became a bit cold, even though it was 95 degrees. He now vividly remembered why liking someone was just fucking annoying.

After a couple of seconds of him looking at it, he was back at his side, his hand fitting where it was before. Clint tried to ignore the way his own body relaxed.

“It opens from Thursday to Sunday night.” He said.

Trying not to curse at the fact that it was a Wednesday, Clint smiled lazily, “They do not care about the lord’s day.” He chuckled.

They continued walking down the street, unsure whether a camera could still be pointed at them. The moment they turned the corner of the block, Barnes separated himself, creating at least a meter of space between them.

Clint chose not to say anything about that, knowing that it was partially his fault that things had ended up like this. Still, it stung like a bitch.

They ended up going around the block to get back to their truck. The silence on the way back to their stay was even more deafening than before.

-----

Bruce: We could look into that.

Clint groaned and put his phone down, not liking the vague answer he got. The TV was on some local channel, and they were showing reruns of ‘El Autentico Rodrigo Leal’. So, Clint was trying his damndest to enjoy this extremely dramatic telenovela, not that he was being very successful at that. It was almost 10pm, and he wasn’t sure how well he was going to sleep anyway.

Barnes had been in his room since they came back, and to be completely honest, Clint was glad. It gave him the time needed to think about how to deal with this. He was honestly done with the silent treatment they were giving each other. The mission was going to last for who knows how long, and Clint would rather eat his own hair than continue to walk on eggshells around the only person he was going to be with for the time being.

He was wracking his brain on how and when he should broach the subject when he noticed Barnes blocking partially the TV. Clint, stunned at seeing him, looked up in confusion, and saw that Barnes was holding a cup of coffee towards him.

Clint blinked, not completely sure how to react, but took the cup anyway a moment later. Most of all he was surprised, given that he hadn’t realized Barnes had left his room, or that he had been making coffee right behind him. The apartment already reeked of him, so Clint only noticed his scent getting stronger once he was near. But the fact that he didn’t hear him, or saw him coming from the hallway was worrying. Was the TV that loud? Or was his mental state that bad?

Clint held up the cup to his nose to take a whiff. He couldn’t help the small smile at how nice it smelled.

“At this time of the night?” He asked, and took a swig of it.

Barnes took a seat at the other side of the small couch.

“Like you give a shit about that.” He said, another cup in his hand, “I was going to offer you a beer, but I don’t think alcohol is a good idea.”

Clint nodded in agreement. He wasn’t certain how to take this sudden approach from Barnes. He welcomed it, given the fact that it just made things easier, but he was still wary.

“What even is on?” Barnes asked him, gesturing at the TV.

Clint cleared his throat, and sat up straighter, “‘El Autentico Rodrigo Real’, a Colombian soap opera.” He said, “I can’t watch any episodes I haven’t watched before because Natasha would kill me if I did, but this channel is re-running episodes from the first season.”

Barnes tried to focus on what was going on the show, and then turned to Clint, a little confused, “Do you even know what they are saying?”

“Enough to understand what’s going on.” Clint answered, and shrugged, “Spanish is not so different from Italian.”

“You speak Italian?” Barnes asked, a bit astonished. Clint tried not to take offense to that.

He gave him a cocky smile, “Fluently, actually.”

Barnes hummed in response, and then didn’t say anything else. Clint was happy to pay attention to his soap opera, but as the silence stretched longer, he couldn’t help but remember the last time Barnes had made him coffee. He turned the now half-empty cup on his hand, and decided that maybe he could take the higher road this time.

Turning his whole body towards Barnes, he breathed deeply before speaking, “Is this…” Clint started, and raised the cup towards him, “another peace offering of yours?”

Barnes offered him a sincere smile, “If you want it to be.”

Clint looked back down at his cup, swirling its contents around as he thought about what to say next. There were many things he could say. Clint had made mistake after mistake, and had acted in ways that had just steered things in the wrong direction. All those times he had brushed Barnes away or answered him curtly, just made the problem worse. Or even back when they had found their precarious condition, and Clint had just wanted to deny its existence.

He had a lot to make up for. But Clint was not a noble nor virtuous man. All he knew was to face his problems with raised fists and bloody knuckles. And when that was not possible, he would always push them away, pretend that they weren’t there and hoped they would simply disappear.

Thinking about the easy smile Bucky had been giving to him all those times they would just sit and banter, made Clint’s heart stutter. Bucky’s scent being warm and smooth, wafting naturally as they interacted, untainted by the smell of anxiety. He was capable of admitting to himself that he missed it. That he missed their awkward and weirdly comfortable conversations. The slow loosening of their friendship, as it became more relaxed and simple.

And on top of it all, he knew Bucky deserved better than Clint’s severe communication issues.

In the end, he came to the conclusion that he wanted to start with a simple apology.

With his eyes closed and head hanging low, because he was a bit too much of a coward to look him in the eyes while saying sorry, Clint braced himself before speaking.

“I- “

“I wanted to apologize.”

At Barnes’ voice interrupting him, Clint looked up, gaze connecting with his.

“Okay.” He said, frozen on the spot and uncertain, not sure if he heard him correctly.

Bucky shifted on his seat, and left his cup at the coffee table. He clasped his hands together, with his elbows resting on his legs, “I shouldn’t have insulted you.” He continued, “I know I said I was angered, and to be honest, I still am, a little.”

Clint nodded at him, still in a bit of disbelief. The words he was gonna say stuck at the back of his throat.

“But, even then, you didn’t deserve that.” Bucky said, sincerely, “So, for that I am sorry.”

Clint looked away. Needing the bitter taste of the coffee to clear his head, he drank from his cup. He tried to remember when was the last time someone had apologized to him with words, and unsurprisingly he came up with nothing.

“I would say that it’s fine, but-” He started, and Clint decided to ride the train of sincerity, since they were already on it, “Not gonna lie, it did bother me.”

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, and sighed, “I know.”

Clint finished his coffee in one go, just so he could have some time to articulate his answer properly.

Although the fight was both of their faults, they wouldn’t have gotten to this point if it wasn’t for Clint’s need to be aggravating and petty. Sometimes, having the last word felt too good, especially when he felt like he needed retribution. Looking at how long he dragged this out, Clint was sure that this was more than enough.

Clint breathed deeply before speaking, “Well, I wanted to apologize too.” He said, his voice steady, “I wasn’t being fair to you, and just… made the situation worse by acting like an asshole.”

The self-deprecating joke at the end was an attempt at lightening the mood.

A small smile formed on Bucky’s face, “I thought you only admitted your mistakes to your therapist.”

Clint snorted and let himself relax into the couch, his head resting on the back of it. A sense of relief washed over him, and he felt a weight being lifted from his chest. God, he really had to stop being insufferable just because of his wounded ego. If not for the sake of others, for the sake of his own peace of mind.

“Sometimes I have enough presence of mind to understand when I have to take my head out of my ass.” Clint muttered back.

Bucky huffed, and didn’t answer anything back. Thinking that the conversation was over, Clint turned his attention back to the sound of the soap opera.

“I… um-“

Clint’s attention bounced back to Bucky, who looked nervous.

“I also wanted to tell you that, what I saw in the common room-“

Oh God .

Clint jolted up-right.

“Please, don’t-“

Just the mere mention of it made him nauseous.

“Clint-”

“It’s fine-” He felt as it became difficult to get the words out, the shame of what happened clawing its way through his throat.

Barnes, although hadn’t moved an inch, looked increasingly more concerned. At that, Clint almost reacted violently, the thought that what Barnes was showing could be pity, immediately making anger start to simmer.

Instead of letting that brew, he focused on his own breathing, and tried to appear calm.

“Can we just forget that ever happened?” Clint asked him, “Please.”

Barnes didn’t look completely convinced, but he must’ve seen something in Clint’s expression, because after a moment, he sighed and looked away, letting it go.

Clint let his eyes close, his heart rate finally slowing down. He threw himself back onto the sofa, wishing that Barnes had brought him that beer instead of the coffee that was already gone.

“What did Steve tell you?” Barnes asked abruptly, after a minute or so of silence.

Clint, knowing very well what he was asking, frowned at him, “What does Steve have to do in all of this?”

Barnes just stared at him. Clint stared back blatantly, partially because he did not want to say anything, and mostly because he still liked being abrasive. When Barnes didn’t look away, or seemed inclined to take back his question, Clint sighed.

“He just wanted to know what happened between you and me.” Clint stated the truth, feeling tired of lying. He then snorted, looking back at Bucky with a smirk, “And… you are right, he unironically thinks we should hang out more often.”

“That’s all?” Bucky retorted, edging Clint to speak more.

Clint’s eyes shifted to the ceiling. He thought back to the conversation they had, back to Steve’s attempts of comforting him. It hadn’t helped as much as Clint would’ve liked it to, in the end it had served to deepen the hole he had been burying himself in. Steve had basically said that Bucky was rejecting him, that he didn’t want him, and that the idea of wanting him was out of the table. Maybe not explicitly, but it definitely felt like that was what he meant.

And that was the reality. This whole situation was caused by something out of their control. They were thrusted into a too small of a cage, forced to circle each other at the edges, clawing at the walls until one of them caved into the helplessness of it. It wasn’t anyone's fault, neither of them had wanted to be there. And it wasn’t Bucky’s fault that Clint was the one to give in first.

It’s the way it has to be, right?

“He said that you were ashamed of what happened.” Clint stated, matter-of-factly, still staring up.

“Ah.”

Clint turned his head back towards Bucky, cheek against the couch, eyebrows scrunched together. Bucky’s scent had gone from mostly neutral to having an undertone of mustiness, of guilt. An anxious feeling settled on Clint’s guts.

“So, it's true.” He said, hating how the hurt in his voice betrayed his stoicism.

“Yes.” Bucky admitted, and Clint didn’t flinch, “But, not in the way you think.”

“Help me here then,” Clint urged, “before I get more offended.”

A silence stretched between them as Bucky seemed to ponder what to tell him. The smell of must continued to grow between them, and Clint had to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking him if he was ok.

When Clint thought that maybe Bucky was never going to speak, he finally did .

“I lost control.” Bucky muttered, voice low.

Clint’s mind went blank for a couple of seconds.

His head left the back of the couch, and he sat up, turning his whole body towards Bucky’s. He frowned deeply, eyes wide.

“What?” Clint asked, a bit confused.

Bucky didn’t seem to look relieved at Clint’s bewilderment, or less guilty. Instead, he just looked down to where Clint’s hands were resting on the couch.

“I wasn’t… present, not completely.” He explained. “Everything seemed muddled, and I could only focus on your scent, on your body…”

Bucky’s whole body was rigid, his fingers digging into his thighs. His jaw clenched as he swallowed forcefully. It looked like speaking at the moment was as if someone was pulling his teeth out.

“I was already on top of you when I came back to my senses.” He said, voice strained, “And, I could finally feel the grip I had on you… the strength behind it.”

Pulling his hands up to inspect them, Clint had a flash of their incident on the mats. A vivid memory of Bucky on top of him, face close enough that his breath tickled Clint’s nose, came to the front of his mind. Clint recalled the small moment in which Bucky had tightened his hold on his wrists, it had lasted less than a second.

Clint shook his head, wrapping a hand against his wrist, moving it around.

“That’s nothing, they're barely bruised.” Clint tried to reassure him.

It didn’t seem like it worked.

“Clint, I wasn’t using that much strength-“

“I sure fucking hope so. I don't want broken bones.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood,

His mouth shut harshly when he was met with the hard gaze of Bucky’s expression. Clint averted his eyes.

“I’ll shut up.” He mumbled.

“I didn’t realize. At least I don’t remember that I did.” Bucky said, defeat and shame dripping from his words, “And I don't know which one I find more worrying, the possibility that I didn’t use that much strength and I still bruised you, or that I was so out of it that I didn’t register it.”

If the expression on his face wasn’t enough, a hint of a metallic smell, hidden between Bucky’s scent, reached him. And Clint froze, trying to process that what Bucky was feeling was fear.

As always, he tried to play it down.

“Don’t you think you are being a little drama-“

“Look, I am strong, at least 10 times stronger than you- that’s not an insult- and it’s not like I haven’t had sex since I stopped being The Winter Soldier, but I always have had to have a certain level of control over it.”

Bucky deflated, and hid his face with one of his hands. He just looked tired, shoulders hunched, and looking somewhere distant. Another type of weight settled on top of Clint’s chest, tying his tongue.

Bucky exhaled long and deeply, before locking his gaze with Clint’s.

“And I don’t have that guarantee with you. At all. If being in the same room as you is already a test of my self control…” Bucky continued, “I have no idea if I’d be able to do it in another… circumstances. And I can’t go through that, not again.”

The last part sounded almost like he was begging. Taking in his whole demeanor, Clint understood that what had happened at the gym, had shook Bucky deeply. That it scared him.

“So, when I said I didn’t want to risk it, I meant it.” He told him. “It could’ve taken a turn for the worst…”

Clint looked away, feeling that Bucky’s stare was too much to handle at the moment.

Being part of a group of extraordinary people sometimes gave Clint imposter syndrome. He was constantly among the strongest, smartest, and weirdest people in the world. It wasn’t a surprise that people like him could easily go under the radar, especially in comparison to the big shots that surrounded him. But he wasn’t weak. He had earned his place working for SHIELD for several reasons, and the fact that Bucky was acting like he was easily breakable didn’t sit right with Clint.

He bit his tongue so he wouldn’t start another argument, his ego wounded again by Bucky’s implication.

Clint gave into a coy smile, willing to forget the insult in order of getting over their discussion.

“I’m just saying, you don’t know if I’m into freaky stuff-”

“Clint-“

“I’m joking.” Clint relented, laughing, his smile not faltering.

Now that Bucky had his hair short, he could see the slight flush that had appeared on the tip of his ears. And Clint wondered if they were like that whenever he would make a pass at him, conveniently hidden underneath the mane that he used to have.

Bucky still seemed a bit unnerved, his jaw tense and scent still a little musty.

Clint’s smile turned softer, and he felt the recognizable emptiness filling his stomach.

“I understand very well the need to keep shit under your own control.” Clint added, voice knowing.

Bucky hummed in agreement, “A side effect of brain-washing?” He quipped.

Clint barked a laugh, smile widening, “Amen.”

Bucky laughed with him, and Clint couldn’t believe he had been so stubborn when he could've evaded weeks of tension and bitterness. When he could’ve had this, Bucky’s scent finally ridding itself from that invasive undertone. At that, Clint felt himself relax a little more. And in that moment of relief he found that he didn’t care that much about it.

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