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“You’re not coming in here, Buck!” Clint yells, back pressed tight against the door. The fancy shoes Nat made him wear have almost no traction so his feet just keep slowly slipping forward, making his barricade mostly useless, but he’s doing it anyway. Not that it would stop Bucky from coming in if he really wanted to, but Clint’s nothing if not stubborn.
“Clint, c’mon, this is dumb. Is fifteen minutes really gonna mean a damn thing?” Bucky asks, the exasperation in his voice is clear, even through the thick wood of the door. “I’m pretty sure the world ain’t gonna end if I see you before some stupid rule says I can.”
Clint sighs, slumping forward; his shoes slide another inch along the hardwood. “Just-” he huffs, feeling like an idiot all of the sudden. “I’ve done this a few times, alright? And it’s always ended pretty damn bad for me, so I just, I don’t wanna risk it, okay? Don’t wanna mess it up. Even if that means following stupid superstitions.”
There’s a thump, and Clint would bet his new fancy shoes it was Bucky’s forehead hitting the door. “Clint. You can’t mess us up, I promise you that, okay.”
Scrubbing a hand down his face, Clint pulls himself up, turning to face the door, leaning against it like he would Bucky. “I know, Buck, I know.” He lets his own head fall forward, closing his eyes on a sigh. “But I’m still not letting you in.”
Bucky’s heartfelt groan makes Clint grin. “I just wanna see you!”
Clint laughs. “You’ll see me in, like, ten minutes!”
“Too long.” Is the quick, and adamant, response Clint gets to that.
Grinning, Clint says, “Didn’t your mama ever teach you patience?”
There’s a loud puff of air. “Of course she did, you’ve met my Ma. But there are some things a guy just can’t be patient about. Like seeing his fine as hell as hell boyfriend in a fitted tux.”
Clint rolls his eyes, but can’t help the flush that starts to make it’s way up his neck. “I think you mean fine as hell fiancé, Buck, and I suggest you reign it in. Ten minutes.”
Bucky sighs, disappointed, but Clint’s not fooled, he can hear the smile in his soft voice. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart.”
“Ten minutes, Buck.” He says, voice quiet.
There’s silence on the other side, Bucky says nothing, and Clint waits, hoping he’s not messed it up already, despite what Bucky said.
Finally, after an anxious moment of nothing, Bucky finally says, “Seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds, Barton. Don’t be late. And you better not leave me at the altar.”
Clint lets out a shaky breath, and can’t help a small smile. “You’d only be so lucky, Barnes.” Bucky scoffs loudly, a denial probably already on his lips, but Clint goes on before he can make it. “Love you, Buck.”
“Love you too, asshole.” It comes through muffled, like he has his mouth pressed to the wood, but no matter how it sounds Clint will never get tired of hearing it come out of Bucky’s mouth.
“You better get going before Nat comes back and finds you trying to sweet talk your way in to see me.” Clint says, secretly hoping she’s already there to manhandle Bucky away, because that would just make Clint’s day.
“Yeah yeah, I’m goin’.” The wood creaks as Bucky presumably pushes off of it. “See you in seven minutes, future Mr. Bucky Barnes.”
Clint’s heart flutters in a way he’d be way more worried about if Bucky hadn’t just said what he did. Smiling, Clint responds, “You got it, future Mr. Clint Barton.”
“Damn straight.” Bucky says, his voice quieter, further away. Clint stares at the grain of the wood, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths instead of swing the door open and call Bucky back. Once he tamps it down, he pulls out his phone, counting down the minutes to when Nat will collect him, and he’ll finally get to marry the asshole of his dreams. Six minutes and fifty-one seconds couldn’t happen fast enough.
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