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“What do you mean, Captain America isn’t available ?”
Bucky sighed, pinching his nose. Why he was in charge of answering PR calls for the Avengers, he had no idea, and yet.
And yet, there he was, answering phone calls for Avengers PR.
“I mean he’s not actually available to do any kind of charity events this week, or for the foreseeable future. He’s on an Avengers mission at the moment.”
The woman on the other end of the video call squinted at him irritably. “We made arrangements for this appearances months ago, we-”
“Well, unfortunately, Dr. Doom didn’t pre-book Captain America’s time,” Bucky said - snarled, really - before biting back the rest of his sentence. He was supposed to be improving the Avengers’ image, and this wasn’t going to do it. “Look, the photoshoot isn’t for a few more days, right?”
“It’s on Thursday afternoon, yes,” she begrudgingly admitted.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Bucky told her, and ended the call.
And well, that was rude too, but he was the Winter Soldier, no one really expected him to have a fun personality . When he turned around, Natasha was smirking at him from the doorway, just outside the range of the video phone’s camera.
“What?” he asked her, narrowing his eyes. She had that look on her face, the one that said absolutely no one was going to like what she had to say.
“I might have a solution for you,” she told him, and disappeared out the door.
Bucky sighed.
None of this was going to end well.
**
Bucky was wrong.
He could admit when he was wrong, unlike some big, blond, dumbasses named Steve, and this time he was wrong.
This was going to end very, very well.
It might end quickly, but it wouldn’t end badly.
“This is a terrible idea,” Clint said.
“Shut up,” Natasha told him, reaching up to scrub some kind of product into his hair.
“This is a great idea,” Bucky said, from where he was sitting quietly in his chair and trying to unobtrusively adjust himself.
“You shut up too,” Nat said, barely sparing him a glance. “Don’t even come near him - he’s going to the charity photo shoot and then you can do whatever you like with him when he gets back.”
Clint blinked owlishly at Bucky, and Bucky cleared his throat, feeling a flush climbing up his throat.
He hadn’t got it before, okay. Bucky had not understood America’s fascination with Steve’s Stealth Suit. Sure it was a nice navy, and it fit him well, but when Steve wore it, Bucky could only see that same dumbass who threw himself out of planes without a parachute and let the Winter Soldier beat the hell out of him while talking about how he was ‘with you to the end of the line, Buck’ and expected that shit to break through seventy goddamn years of Hydra programming.
The fact that it worked didn’t make it less stupid.
So no, Bucky didn’t get the appeal of the Stealth Suit. He didn’t know why it was on so many magazine covers and he didn’t know why so many women - and men - rhapsodized about it, and he definitely didn’t understand Tony’s remarks about how Steve’s ass in the suit was actually America’s ass.
Except Clint had just walked out of their apartment bathroom in the goddamn thing, and all of a sudden, Bucky got it .
Like holy shit, did he ever get it.
Like, he wanted Clint to hold him down and fuck him silly and make Bucky call him ‘sir,’ and there was absolutely no way he was ever going to be able to look Steve in the face again in the goddamn suit, regardless of whether Clint actually did all those things or not.
Bucky cleared his throat again.
The grin spreading across Clint’s face was positively delighted and absolutely filthy .
Nat smacked him on the cheek, grabbing his attention. “Later,” she hissed. “And don’t smile like that in the photos, you look depraved.”
“I think Bucky likes the suit,” Clint told her, happily.
Bucky groaned.
God, he was never going to live this down.
He shifted in the seat, pressing down on his stubbornly hard dick, and closed his eyes and tried to imagine all the times Steve had thrown himself out of a goddamn plane in that goddamn suit.
Unfortunately, Clint chose that moment to strap the back-up shield Tony had created onto the back of the suit with a metallic clang , and the sound made Bucky reflexively look up, made him take in the stretch of Clint’s chest and biceps as he reached behind his shoulders and-
Nope, lost cause.
Fuck, Bucky hoped this charity shit didn’t take long.
**
Bucky was carefully not touching himself and instead trying to concentrate Dog Cops when Clint came back.
He’d been gone a scant three hours, just long enough to take a few photos with kids, and honestly it was ridiculous how the press apparently couldn’t even tell Clint and Steve apart. They looked nothing alike to Bucky - beyond being big and blond and blue-eyed - and he was really just baffled as to how Clint had managed to slip into Steve’s suit to just… be Cap for a couple of hours.
Granted, he hadn’t really had to talk to anyone, just stand there and look pretty and have his photo taken with benefactors and children.
But still. Someone should have noticed.
Bucky kind of wondered what it said about him that he was fucking a guy that apparently looked so much like his best friend, and then Clint was standing over him by the couch and Bucky stopped wondering much of anything.
“Hi,” he rasped, looking up and up and up.
Clint was still grinning, though he’d managed to muss his hair and he’d lost the shield somewhere along the way. He was still wearing the goddamn harness though and-
“Hey,” Clint said, smile widening that much more, veering into smug and a little bit lewd. “Miss me?”
“Shut up,” Bucky snapped, reaching up so that he could hook his fingers into the straps of the harness and pull Clint down. “I can’t fucking believe you.”
“Can’t believe what?” Clint said, ducking Bucky’s lips and dragging his mouth along Bucky’s jaw instead, before biting down on his earlobe, making Bucky whine.
“You know what,” Bucky said, already breathless as he tilted his head.
“Finally figure out what everyone likes about the suit?” Clint asked, laughter coloring his tone. “You can just admit you like the suit - everyone else does.”
Clint knew, he fucking knew , how Bucky felt about the suit, how baffled Bucky was by everyone’s fascination with it - by Clint’s fascination with it, even - and how he had never, even one time, had a sexual thought about the goddamn Stealth Suit.
Until now.
“ I don’t like the suit ,” Bucky growled, pulling harder, until Clint toppled over the arm of the sofa and into a pile of limbs on top of Bucky.
“You do,” Clint insisted, showing off his flexibility as he maneuvered around until he was propped above Bucky, braced on his forearms. “You really, really like the suit.” Clint rolled his hips into Bucky’s, rasping the Kevlar against the erection Bucky’d been unable to will completely away while Clint was gone.
Bucky shook his head, biting his lip as Clint trailed his mouth against his throat, down to the collarbones that were peeking through the v-neck of his t-shirt.
“Okay,” Clint said agreeably. “You don’t like the suit. You just like me wearing the suit, is that it?”
Bucky grunted, neither confirmation nor denial.
Clint slid his hand up Bucky’s side, pushing the soft cotton of his shirt up as he went, scraping his calloused hands across the bare skin there. “Well if you don’t like the suit, I guess I should just take it off.” He lifted up, moving to get off the couch, and Bucky wrapped his metal hand in the straps of the harness and yanked him back down.
Clint laughed, dark and heated. “Or not.”
“Just- just fuck me,” Bucky demanded, threading the fingers of his right hand through Clint’s hair and pulling him into a kiss that was more teeth than anything. Clint groaned a little and rolled his hips again, sending sparks straight up Bucky’s spine. Bucky made a half-choked, needy sound he couldn’t quite bite back.
“Okay,” Clint gasped, tearing himself away. He leaned up, holding himself up with his core, abs flexing even through the suit, and looked Bucky over.
Bucky knew he looked an absolute mess. He could feel his hair falling out of its tie, his shirt askew, and his dick straining up against his jeans. His mouth felt sore and swollen where Clint had plundered it, where he’d chewed on it with his own teeth waiting for Clint to come home, and he felt hot - like his skin was itching and overheated, knew that he had to be flushed with arousal.
Clint didn’t seem to mind, just raked his eyes over Bucky thoughtfully, the red blush of arousal riding high on his cheek bones. If anything, his eyes darkened in response, and he bit down on his own lower lip, thoughtful. Considering. Like he had ideas for Bucky, and he couldn’t decide which one he wanted to settle on.
The look made Bucky even hotter.
And that goddamn suit . It made his eyes bluer, his shoulders impossibly broader, his waist more narrow. Bucky hated the fucking thing, he hated how hot it was making him, he hated how he was never, ever going to be able to look at Steve wearing it the same way again.
Clint reached for the neck of the suit, fingers digging under the collar for the clasps and Bucky-
“Leave it on,” he ground out, feeling his face flush even more.
Because he didn’t hate it enough to let Clint take it off.
“Oh is that how it is?” Clint asked, looking fucking delighted . He was going to be completely insufferable after this, and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to regret it even a little. Clint dragged his hands down Bucky’s chest, tweaking his nipples through the t-shirt, and across Bucky’s abdomen, hovering at the snap on his pants.
Bucky didn’t answer him, just arched into the touch with a low groan.
“You’re gonna have to tell me what you want babe, you’re kinda givin’ me mixed signals here,” Clint said, and then grinned like an asshole.
Like he didn’t know exactly what Bucky wanted.
But two could play at that game.
Bucky levered himself up onto his elbows and dragged his tongue over his lips, giving Clint the same appraising glance that Clint had given him. He couldn’t tell how hard Clint was - the suit had a cup unfortunately for this particular scenario - but he could tell from his breathing and his dilated pupils and how he’d turned red from his collar to his ears that he was just as into this as Bucky was.
Maybe Clint was just as turned on wearing the suit as Bucky was watching him wear it.
“I want you to fuck me,” Bucky told him, brutally honest, his voice rasping across his vocal chords, heavy with want. “I want you to hold me down and make me take it, and I want you to do it right. the fuck. now.”
Clint’s breath stuttered in his chest, and the flush on his face got deeper. He stood up, all the grace that was missing in his day-to-day life but always present anytime they were in a combat situation making him move fluidly, like the suit made him think fight , even while Bucky was making him think fuck .
Bucky rolled with him, sliding from the couch to his feet in one smooth motion, and Clint grabbed him by the back of his neck, tilting his head up and to the side so that he could kiss him like he was the one in charge here. His fingers were tangled in Bucky’s hair, fisting in the back of it and holding him in place so that Clint could ravage his mouth.
All of which was exactly what Bucky wanted, so he let it happen.
He let Clint tug him down the hall, too, a fist wrapped in his t-shirt and his mouth dragging along Bucky’s throat and jaw line; let Clint push him into their bedroom and onto the bed. Let Clint manhandle him onto his knees, forceful in a way Clint seldom was in bed, usually more than content to let Bucky run the show. Bucky smirked at Clint but let him do it anyway, loose and complacent like he was doing Clint a favor , like it wasn’t making Bucky hotter with every step, with every rough shove of Clint’s hands.
“This what you wanted?” Clint huffed into Bucky’s ear, even as he yanked Bucky’s jeans down around his thighs and shoved his shirt until it was bunched under his armpits.
“Yeah,” Bucky admitted, letting his head fall forward with a low, satisfied sigh until his forehead was resting against the sheets.
Clint pressed a hand flat between Bucky’s shoulder blades, forcing him farther down with his weight and sheer muscle, and Bucky moaned, hot and wanton. He could hear Clint rattling around in the nightstand, and it made him shiver a little in anticipation. He wanted to be fucked, hard and fast and thoroughly, and Clint was wasting no time.
Cool fingers brushed against his hip, and then he heard the snick of the lube cap snapping open. Bucky couldn’t help the way he jerked when Clint drizzled it over him, but Clint just leaned harder on Bucky’s shoulders, holding him in place, and then Bucky couldn’t help the low, wrecked sound he made in response.
“Yeah,” Clint agreed, almost to himself, sounding a little wrecked too. “Yeah, this was what you wanted.”
His fingers slid between Bucky’s cheeks, spreading the lube, and then he was pushing one thick finger inside, while Bucky hitched his hips up higher and tried to take more, tried to force the digit it deeper, faster, anything . Instead, Clint used his thighs to force Bucky’s knees apart, until they were straining against the restriction of his own jeans and Bucky had no leverage to push himself anywhere, held down by Clint and trapped by his own clothes.
It took a second for him to realize the loud moan that reverberated in the room had come from his own throat.
Clint set a slow, steady pace, just one finger in and out, until Bucky was squirming under him. “Fuck,” he gasped, trying to drag air in through his nose, “fuck, c’mon.”
“C’mon what?”
“Come on, more ,” Bucky said, arching his spine, which was about as much movement as he could manage in the position Clint had him in. Bucky struggled, just for the hell of it, just to see what Clint would do, and his only response was to shove him down that much harder, forcing his thighs between Bucky’s own so he couldn’t move at all. “ Fuck ,” Bucky bit out, already so far gone he could barely think.
Clint slid a second finger in beside the first, pressing them both in smoothly, past the slight resistance of Bucky’s body, causing the barest burn that just made Bucky ache for more. He could feel his toes curling, his fists tangled in the sheets as he panted for it. Every shift of Clint’s hand pushed a breathless whine out of Bucky’s chest.
Clint curled his wrist, rocking his fingers against Bucky’s prostate and forcing a shout of him. “Ah!” he cried, arching and twisting, trying to rock his body into the contact and failing miserably. When Clint repeated the motion, Bucky nearly whined.
“More?” Clint asked, sounding as breathless as Bucky felt, the strain of going slow, of holding down a supersoldier showing in his voice, as he nudged at Bucky’s hole with a third finger.
“Want you to fuck me,” Bucky slurred, pleaded, unable to think about anything other than the demands of his body.
“Oh, I’m gonna,” Clint told him, leaning against Bucky’s back to press his teeth into Bucky’s neck. The rough scratch of the suit against his ass and back made Bucky whimper. He was surrounded by Clint, overwhelmed and overworked, and he could smell the faintest scent of gunpowder, could feel the graze of the Kevlar on his bare skin and-
And alright, maybe he had a thing for the suit, but only when Clint was wearing it.
Clint bit down, gently, swiping his tongue over the stinging mark, and slipped a third finger into Bucky while he was still groaning.
“Good?” Clint asked, breathing hotly onto Bucky’s shoulder.
“Fuck. Me.” Bucky growled, tried to lift himself up onto his elbows, only to remember he was thoroughly pinned by Clint’s weight. It shouldn’t be this hot, but fuck, it really, really was.
“Say please,” Clint ordered, and Bucky-
Normally he’d have balked at that, but he’d wanted Clint to hold him down, he’d wanted Clint to make him and this-
Fuck, it was exactly what he’d asked for.
“Please fuck me,” Bucky begged, and Clint slid his hand free, leaving Bucky empty-feeling and exposed, his body taut with want and need, and shivering a little at the sudden rush of cool air. He could hear Clint fumbling at the suit for a second, and then he was pressing hotly into Bucky, shoving his cock in using short, sharp thrusts that rode the fine line between pleasure and pain.
“Oh fuck,” Bucky choked out, clawing at the sheets.
“That’s what I’m doin’,” Clint grumbled, wrapping a lube-slick hand around Bucky’s hip and forcing him to tilt his ass higher into the air, his face further into the mattress.
The shift in position scraped raw across Bucky’s prostate and he swallowed down a scream, instead practically choking on panting breaths with every thrust, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Oh god,” he managed, squeezing it out on a near-prayerful exhalation as Clint thrust his entire cock into Bucky’s ass. “Oh god ,” he said again, when Clint dragged his dick out slowly, then thrust back in hard and fast.
Clint built up a steady rhythm of long pulls out and short, fast thrusts in, until Bucky was drooling into the sheets and making incomprehensible noises.
“ Ah, ah, ah, ” was all he could manage, rhythmic with Clint’s thrusts, entirely involuntary.
“Bucky,” Clint said, gentle in comparison to the way he was fucking into him, over and over. “Bucky, babe, look at me.”
Bucky dragged his eyes open, twisting his neck until he could look over his shoulder.
“Oh, fuck ,” he moaned, garbled and punch-drunk and wrecked .
Clint looked illegal , Clint looked like something straight out of a porn channel somewhere in the depths of the internet - fucking into Bucky, intensity and concentration and determination etched into the lines of his face. Like fucking Bucky stupid was his mission , like it was the single most important thing he could possibly be doing and jesus fuck .
That goddamn suit .
There were beads of sweat at Clint’s hairline and running down the side of his face and neck, but the suit didn’t show sweat, it barely showed blood and dirt, and Clint was flexing with the effort of fucking Bucky and-
“ Clint ,” Bucky half-sobbed, clutching the sheets.
“Not just the suit then,” Clint grunted, then shot Bucky a smirk and rolled his hips, thrusting deep and precise, hitting that spot with the same precision and accuracy he was known for on the range.
Bucky cried out loud, uncontrollable, before turning his face into the mattress, feeling an orgasm building up in the base of his spine, sharp and threatening to overwhelm him. Bucky let it, burying his face in the sheets and tangling his hands up in them too, waiting to ride out the orgasm, to let it take him-
Clint let go of Bucky’s shoulders to grab his hair and pull his face up out of the mattress.
“Wanna hear you,” Clint grunted, rolling his hips again and making Bucky shout.
“Oh god ,” Bucky groaned, arching his body into the sting of his scalp, loving the sharp, contrasting pain of it.
Clint’s hand tightened on his hip as he sped up. “Gonna come for me babe?” Clint asked, sounding breathless and like he was on the verge of coming himself.
Bucky could only manage a breathy, formless sound, his neck arched back to take the strain off his hair with Clint fucking the air out of his lungs, but Clint took it as the yes it was intended to be, doubling down on the motion of their bodies. He let go of Bucky’s hip to slide his hand underneath him. The angle was wrong for him to grab Bucky’s cock, but the contact was enough.
It was more than enough, the flat roughness of Clint’s palm against his dick, pressing it up against Bucky’s own stomach, hot and slick and hard, sending driving jolts of pleasure directly to his brain.
He let out a shuddering shout, something choked-off and half-formed tumbling out of his throat as his brain tumbled off the edge of a cliff, unaware of everything except the release of pleasure in his gut, the sparking, reverberating sensation of Clint pounding into him flaring behind his eyes in white-hot bursts.
Clint pressed him down, flat into the mattress, into his own sloppy mess, his cock over-sensitive even on the soft sheets, following him down as he continued to fuck into him, his palms braced flat on the mattress on either side of Bucky’s head.
Bucky let out a pathetic-sounding moan at the sensation, overstimulated as he was, and Clint tensed, moved to ease out of him, but Bucky reached back and grabbed him by the ass, pulling him back in. He clutched the firm muscle, the same rough fabric of the Kevlar and felt want rush over him again in a thick wave. Bucky yanked, forcing Clint’s hips to grind down into him again, pressing his cock even deeper.
Fuck this fucking suit.
“Wan’ you t’ come,” he muttered into the ruined and rumpled sheets.
“I’m… close,” Clint managed, leaning over Bucky again and softening his motion, made it more a steady, rhythmic grind than the rough pounding he’d been doing. He reached out to tangle his fingers with Bucky’s and breathe into the back of his neck. “ Fuck , I’m so close.”
Bucky clenched down around Clint’s cock as much as he could manage, forcing his muscles to cooperate, and Clint let out a strangled sound, his fingers clenching tight around Bucky’s hands as his entire body shuddered and shook in violent orgasm.
He collapsed the scant centimeters that remained between the two of them, resting his entire weight on Bucky’s back, heavy and warm and sweating, and for a moment, Bucky loved it. It was going to get uncomfortable, sooner rather than later, but for now it felt safe and familiar and good . To have Clint resting against him, blissed out and sated.
“Fuck,” Clint panted, eventually, just as Bucky was getting ready to elbow him off. “Fuck, I’m never giving this suit back.”