Clint grinned, a cocky little smirk really, and stood at attention while Bucky retrieved his darts. His face remained passive as he walked back to the line, but his eyes took in the long lines of Clint's body as he stood poised and ready to throw. Clint looked good, dressed down in a nice pair of jeans and a t-shirt so soft looking it made Bucky want to reach out and touch.
As soon as Bucky was safely behind him, Clint shifted his weight and threw his three darts in quick succession. As they had each time before, the darts landed solidly in 20, 19, and the bullseye. Another perfect round, and Bucky wasn't even mad about being beaten twice now, not when Clint looked so good doing it.
"Who knew darts could be so sexy," Bucky said, voice a low drawl pitched for only Clint's ears. He got a slow devastating smirk in reply and a wink that said Clint knew exactly how good he looked and Bucky was suddenly glad they weren't playing pool. All that cocky confidence and skill plus Clint bending over the table, pool cue sliding between his fingers...well, parts of Bucky were already taking interest just thinking about it.
"I mean we could do three out of five if you want, but..." Clint kept on smiling and spread his hands in what could be conveyed as a gesture encompassing the futility of it all. "I'd say I could handicap myself somehow on account of your distraction, but I'm ambidextrous so I'm just as good with my left hand as I am with my right."
Bucky nearly whimpered because all he could think about was something else Clint might be good at with both hands. God he needed to get a handle on this.
They returned to the table and took seats opposite from each other, eyes catching and holding gaze for a second too long before they directed their attentions to their companions.
"So, how bad did bird boy here beat you?" Sam asked, slinging a companionable arm over Bucky's shoulders. Bucky had met Sam five years ago now at the VA. They'd clashed at first, though in Sam's defense Bucky had been clashing with a lot of people at the time, his personality resembling the most coarse sandpaper more than anything after he'd lost his arm. Now though they were good friends, it didn't always sound that way to people who didn't know them with the way they sometimes slung insults at one another, but it was all meant in jest and said with a strange sort of affection.
"Perfect rounds every time," Bucky shook his head and grinned in a self deprecating manner. It was uncanny how on target Clint was at all times. Last time it had been mini golf (easily the most shit-talking-wager-taking-no-holds-barred round of mini golf in the history of the sport) that had seem him make impossible holes in one at each hole leaving the three of them all playing for second place.
"And that's why he's called the Amazing Hawkeye," Steve said, holding his hand out to the side for a fist bump. "My man!" he grinned. "Now we're up four to three."
"We need to do something more cerebral next time," Sam mused. "Nothing with vectors and angles and anything that lets him use his uncommon sense of aim."
"I think you're just jealous of our physical prowess there, Sam," Steve returned.
"C'mon Stevie, no one likes a sore winner." Bucky admonished, "And besides that name is what, ten years out of date?"
"I'm wounded," Clint said, holding a hand to his chest. "My name, like my skills, will never go out of style."
"Sure, sure," Sam waved his hand at the duo across from him. "Laugh it up, fuzzball."
"Oh! What about playing that space-chess game from Star Wars?"
"Dejarik," Clint said quietly, though loud enough that the three of them heard.
"Dejarik!" Steve enthused in his cheerfully tipsy manner. "Wait, can you even play that?"
"How does he even know what the name of it is?" Sam asked and Clint's ears went a little pink. He wasn't drinking any alcohol so Bucky knew it had be from embarrassment for knowing something so dorky and he took a drink to cover just how desperately wanted to press a kiss to each ear, being mindful of the aids in them, and hold him close.
But he couldn't.
"He's just that good," Steve said, clapping a hand to Clint's chest and fairly beaming at him in pride. "What about that Tri-dimensional chess from Star Trek?"
"Why don't we just start with regular chess instead?" Sam asked, an innocent question which soon after turned into a friendly argument about chess versus checkers between he and Steve. That argument then went on to include other various board games and Clint and Bucky kept sharing knowing looks with each other over the rims of their respective drinks as the twosome kept it up. No one was quite as opinionated as Steve, but Sam sure as hell could give him a run for his money. Eventually they let Clint and Bucky back into the conversation and it and the beer flowed freely for another few hours until finally Steve just about cracked his jaw on a yawn.
"Okay, time for this pumpkin to turn into a char-no wait, the other way around." Steve got a confused look on his face for a second before gesturing with his finger.
"You're wasted, which I didn't think was possible," Sam said with a laugh. Sure Steve let himself get tipsy but he famously had the constitution of an ox - not to mention the fact that he also wasn't known as the type to let himself go. Something about the latest case he'd had had affected him greatly however, Bucky knew though he didn't have the details.
"Hey, hey Bucky, can you see Clint home?" Steve said as Sam went to pay both of their tabs. "That is if you want to stay out still?" he turned his attention on Clint.
"I wouldn't mind a bit longer," Clint replied with a quiet little smile.
Anticipation coiled in Bucky's stomach. "I think between the two of us we'll be good getting home." He'd switched to water himself half an hour ago and though he was still pleasantly buzzed he wasn't near as drunk as Steve. In fact, he was sobering up rather quickly actually.
"Great!" Steve beamed. "Good job today Clint," Steve placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tomorrow's a mandatory off day but..." he trailed off as Sam returned.
"Friday then," Clint finished for him.
"Yeah, Friday." Steve looked like he wanted to say more but he somehow held his tongue - no mean feat giving his general demeanor and the alcohol in his system. Steve then fixed his eyes on Bucky and he had to swallow when he saw the emotions swirling in them. "You're my best friend and I love you, you know that right?"
"Course I do you idiot," Bucky replied. "Feeling's mutual." What was Steve getting at?
"Have a good night Buck," Steve smiled at him and leaned in for a hug, which Bucky accepted readily. "His curfew is 10am," Steve whispered into Bucky's ear before pulling away.
Time stopped for a minute and Bucky barely registered Sam wishing them a good night before guiding Steve away from the table, the latter's hand slipping quickly into the back pocket of Sam's pants as they walked away.
His eyes were drawn to Clint as he smiled nervously then took a sip of his water and Bucky was pretty sure the nervous feeling was mutual at this point.
"Yeah," Clint breathed and Bucky stood on autopilot, Clint joining him a second later. They were silent as they made their way to the bar to pay, and silent on the ride back to Bucky's apartment.
The silence lingered, was in fact a palpable thing, as Bucky closed the door behind them. He turned to face Clint, letting his eyes roam over his body openly the way he always wanted to. Clint did likewise, eyes traversing Bucky's body, want written plainly in them.
Bucky took two steps forwards so he was nearly brushing against Clint. Brushed his left hand against Clint's and sighed when Clint tangled them together. They swayed closer still, breaths intermingling for a second before a first tentative slide of lips against lips. Eyelids fluttered shut at the second press of lips and then the silence was finally broken as Bucky made a helpless noise and opened his mouth to Clint. His right hand came up to thread into Clint's hair at the first slide of tongue against tongue, both of them groaning as the kisses deepened from there, became something wetter, something more. They kissed and kissed and kissed until they were left panting and straining against one another mere feet from the door.
"Take me to bed," Clint murmured, lips red and kiss swollen, eyes hooded. Bucky was powerless to deny him anything so he tugged on their still tangled hands and led Clint to his bedroom where they undressed each other slowly, reverently, soft kisses and gentle caresses covering newly exposed skin. When Clint was finally spread out naked and beautiful beneath him Bucky took a second to both thank and curse God for the sight before him.
"Please Bucky, please?" Clint said, biting his lip and stroking himself.
"Anything," he murmured against Clint's mouth before kissing him deeply. "Anything," he whispered against his neck as Clint's legs raised to wrap around his waist. "Everything you want," he moaned as he slid home inside of Clint.
"Want you," Clint said as they thrust together. "Need you," he cried out as Bucky hit his prostate. "Make me feel, Bucky, make me feel you."
They didn't last long, anticipation coloring every move they made, heightening every sensation, and soon enough they were both coming with soft cries, Clint first and Bucky following seconds later. The come down was a quiet affair full of gentle kisses and more soft caresses. It took a while before Bucky was able to tear himself away from Clint long enough to even grab and wet a soft washrag to wipe each other clean with.
They huddled together, gazing lovingly at each other but neither willing to speak, until they both nodded off.
The following morning Bucky woke to Clint rubbing against him and he turned over and had him again, this coupling full of laughter and lingering almost melancholic touches that were at odds with it.
They showered and Clint wore a pair of Bucky's sweats and a t-shirt while his clothes were in the wash. They share breakfast and it started well enough but by the end a certain tension filled the air and it was with a heavy heart that Bucky pulled Clint's clothes from the laundry.
"You look good in my stuff," he said quietly as Clint undressed.
"I felt good in your stuff," Clint replied and once he was dressed they shared more coffee, pressed tightly together on the couch.
10am which had once seemed so far away now loomed like a physical presence and all too soon they rose and headed for Bucky's car. The drive was a quick one and Bucky circled the block housing Clint's building, parking on the far side of it so they could share several desperate and frantic kisses.
"Don't cry," Clint said as Bucky sniffed heavily, as several tears slipped out of his own eyes.
"I love you," Bucky whispered fervently against Clint's lips before wiping his tears away.
"I love you too," Clint replied, pressing one last quick kiss to Bucky's mouth before steeling himself and pulling away. "Go ahead baby, do it."
"Reverie," Bucky said tearfully, wanting but unwilling to look away as everything about the man he loved drained from his face and his eyes.
"Bucky!" Clint said as if he was just now seeing him. "Hey Bucky! Wait, this isn't my room." Clint looked around the car for a moment. "Did I sleep at your house last night?"
"Sure did Clint," he replied, a tear escaping his eyes as he tried to put on a brave face.
"Aww Bucky what's wrong, why're you sad?"
"Oh I'm just missing someone is all," he replied, pulling himself together a little more.
"I'm sorry. Hey, did we have fun last night?"
"We had the best night ever," Bucky said, smiling sadly at the innocent happiness on Clint's face.
"Me too," Bucky said as he opened the door. "Me too buddy. C'mon, lets get you back."
"Okay!" Clint chirped, stepping out of his side of the car and following Bucky obediently around the block to the Center. "Sitwell!" he said happily as they entered and were greeted by one of the agents in charge. "Sitwell, I had a sleepover last night!"
"That's great Clint," Sitwell replied and Clint beamed with pride.
"Bye Bucky!" He said before walking away, Bucky's heart breaking a little at the fact he didn't look back.
"Rogers was supposed to have him back by 10 this morning." Sitwell said cooly.
"Well Rogers is hungover after celebrating closing that case of theirs last night and besides I'm cleared to be a handler too you know. And," Bucky glanced at the clock, "it's 9:50."
"Whatever," Sitwell waved it away, and Bucky realized he was being dismissed. He cast one last look in the direction Clint had vanished before heading back out the door and escaping to the comfort and safety of his car. He didn't cry but it was a near thing, instead he stared off into the middle distance for who knows how long, lost in his thoughts until his phone pinged with a text message.
Meeting at Steve's asap the text from Sharon said and Bucky breathed deeply once, twice, before starting his car. Now was not the time to wallow, not when it would take all of them operating at their best to figure out how to free Clint.