A Gift From: inkvoices
Title: Clint Barton, Disaster Bi
A Gift For: kiss_me_cassie
Rating: Teen & Up
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: No warnings
Summary/Prompt Used: Clint’s done worse things than let Natasha know that she's hot and turns him on via emojis. Like agreeing to the rule 'no romantic feelings' when they started sleeping together, which is the dumbest thing Clint has ever done in his life.
Except he sends the message to Bucky by mistake.
Author's Note: With thanks to franztastisch for beta reading. Happy Holidays Cassie! I tried to use a bunch of your prompts and tied them up in a ballet dancers/violinist AU. Hope you enjoy :)

Clint Barton, Disaster Bi

"Clint?" Kate says, nudging him with her elbow.

He can tell by her amused tone that it’s far from the first time that she’s said it, which means he must have been standing here for some time, still holding his violin by the neck in one hand, staring at a handful of the ballet dancers. Or rather one dancer in particular – one of the principal dancers – stretching in an aisle of the auditorium.

He drags his eyes away and finishes safely tucking his instrument back in its case with his bow. Some people leave theirs out during breaks in rehearsals, but Clint’s too conscious of how much it cost and how dependent his livelihood is on it.

“Sorry.” The word comes out in a croak. It's hot in the orchestra pit and it’s left him thirsty and feeling as sweaty as the dancers look. He's glad to be out of it for the break. He clears his bone-dry throat and tries again. “Sorry, what?”

"You want a refill?"

Kate waves her flask, one of those environmentally friendly glass ones, in his face with her free hand. The tiny bit of water left sloshes around at the bottom.

“Oh, yeah.” Clint smiles sheepishly and tosses her his own empty bottle - not glass, but at least reusable and it’s in his favourite colour so sue him - which she catches easily. “Thanks.”

His eyes drift back over to Natasha without his permission.

She's just so - so… He just wants to look at her all the time. Even now, flushed and sweaty with one bare foot propped up on a chair so she can stretch her leg muscles out, several toes wrapped in tape and pointe shoes abandoned for the time being on top of her backpack. Especially now, in skin tight leggings and a top that’s pretty much just a black sports bra. All that bare skin, showing off the scars covering her back and wrapping around her ribs. She’s turned them into art, making them look like tree trunks and branches by getting tattoos of leaves and flowers growing out of them, and adding little secrets, like a bird peeking through ink foliage and a delicate spider’s web holding part of it together. She turns her whole body into art in motion when she dances too. She’s amazing.

“For the love of god, just go over there and tell your girlfriend that you think she’s hot,” Kate says as she walks off, Lucky following at her heels.

“Best friend, not girlfriend,” Clint fires back automatically, because that’s what he always says when someone calls his (admittedly co-dependent) relationship with Nat anything other than platonic. Then he winces, which thankfully Kate doesn’t see, because, okay, actually ‘it’s complicated’ would probably be a better relationship description right now.

Here’s the thing: Clint and Natasha have lived together for years, sharing flats and apartments and even a bed when they’ve been short on cash, because it’s not like work in the arts pays all that much unless you’re famous. They live in each other’s pockets, sharing food and clothes. They have a dog and a cat and even they get along with each other. People always assume that Natasha’s his girlfriend, or that he’s her gay best friend. His go-to response for that one is ‘nope, bisexual,’ because short responses are so much easier than getting into their life story and it’s not like it’s anyone else’s business anyway.

But they’ve never been together, not in that way.

Except a few months ago they started sleeping together and Clint did the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life.

When they’d collapsed next to each other on the bed afterwards he’d turned his head to look at Natasha and said, “We’re going to do this again, right?” because not having sex that mind-blowing again would have been a crime. Natasha had returned his grin and said, “Definitely.” Then she’d rolled over onto her stomach and rested her pointy chin on his chest until Clint had complained enough for her to fold her arms underneath as a bit of a cushion.

“There has to be rules though,” she’d said, watching his face, and Clint had murmured some sort of agreement, because Natasha has always been a big believer in cohabitation rules to keep them from killing each other so of course she’d have rules for sex as well.

"Our friendship always comes first."

"You know it," Clint had said, idly running his fingers through her hair.

"Two: nothing changes except that we do naked things together."

"Oh no," Clint had joked, rolling his eyes, "but I was gonna take you to that really nice Thai place on Saturday night - oh wait, that’s already the plan and it’s my turn to pay. Wait, does that mean no PDA? Only you already lounge all over me. Or maybe you don’t want me to bring you flowers? Except you seemed to like those roses – ”

“Those were from that himbo admirer who was a fan of your solo!” She’d tickled his ribs, mock-outraged. “You just passed them onto me because you didn’t want them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint had said, batting her hand away and grinning. "Look, I appreciated the blow job, but what was I gonna do with flowers?"

“I mean it though,” she’d said, falling still again and looking serious. “Three: no romantic feelings, okay?”

And that was when Clint had done the Very Dumb Thing. The dumbest thing in the history of dumb things that he’d ever done. The Absolute Dumbest.

He'd said yes.

On the other side of the auditorium Natasha stretches her arms out, then grabs a grey hoodie from her bag and tugs it on over her head. It's huge on her, too long in the arms and covering her butt. The sight of her shoving the sleeves up to her elbows should not make Clint smile; it should make him want to bitch about her stealing his favourite super-soft hoodie again, from his first orchestra tour. It's not really a problem, because they borrow each other's clothes all the time, he just likes to complain when it’s his hoodie and she moans when he steals her harem pants. Except that apparently today it is, because watching Nat snuggling up in it does things to his insides.

Clint has always thought Natasha looks hot. He’s hard of hearing, not blind. Being turned on by Nat isn't new, it's just moved from the background, 'no go' part of his brain to right at the front and 'hell yes'. The problem is that acknowledging those feelings have made him notice all of the other feelings that he gets around Natasha, and that they've also always been there.

Seeing her in his hoodie is like… It gives him the warm fuzzies. It makes him smile. It makes him want to wrap his arms around her middle and rest his chin on top of her hair and just breathe her in. And they don't do that. They're not like that. Nat said no to romantic feelings and Clint, like the idiot he is, agreed.

But it turns out he's been breaking rule three since before rule three even existed.

Worse, the one person he wants to talk to about it, who always manages to help him make sense of his messes, is, of course, Natasha. And he can never tell her because then he'd have to admit that he's broken the rules and - Well, things would change and it'd probably be bad. Like, no mind-blowing sex again for a start, which would suck but he could live with, but what if she wanted to spend less time around each other or move out?

Natasha tips her head back as she downs half a bottle of water and, oh yeah, there's the holy shit she's hot feelings again as well.

Someone walks past – Matt, who probably knows the venue like the back of his hand by now but has his white cane out as a reminder to everyone else to keep out of the way – breaking his line of sight for a minute. Clint swallows, throat still dry, and tries (unsuccessfully) to get himself back into the right headspace for being at work.

He can’t just go over there and talk to Nat when there’s all these people around, however easy Kate makes it sound. He has too many feelings and if he acts on any of them in public Natasha might kill him. Basically, he doesn't trust his self-control and he doesn’t want to die.

Luckily, there’s an app for that.

Clint gets his phone out and, between sneaking glances at Natasha, finds her on WhatsApp.

Nat favours gifs over emojis. He has no idea where she finds them all. He kind of wants to ask if there’s one that can convey I think you’re stupidly hot and adorable wearing my clothes and looking like you just went three rounds in bed and so happy and I want to make you feel so good and I’m really turned on right now, but also I’d just be happy to see you happy and – Yeah, Clint’s not even sure what he wants to say, but it’d be nice to be able to download a handy gif off the internet to do it for him.

Instead he types out HOLY SHIT followed by three fires, a wide-eyed, staring face emoji, and a brain exploding one. He hovers over the heart eyes emoji, but hearts, so he adds the eggplant and sweat droplets instead. A moment later he decides those might be too much and deletes them, then adds them back again, then wonders whether he should delete them after all –

“It’s a phone, not a bomb,” Kate says, poking his arm with his now full water bottle.

Startled, Clint accidentally hits send.

“Um, thanks,” he says.

Lucky, who always seems to know when people are unsettled, butts his head against Clint’s leg asking for pets. Clint puts his phone and water to one side, crouching down to oblige, while contemplating how much trouble he might be in for that eggplant. It’s probably not a good idea to tell Natasha that she gives him a hard on via emjois. Lucky leans his warm weight against Clint’s knees, demanding attention, and Clint buries his hands in soft fur, grinning at the happy tail wagging, thoroughly distracted.

He's the one who found their fur baby, but Kate's the one who got him registered as an Emotional Support Animal and bought the cute little red vest that they both keep adding patches to. The pizza dog one is Clint’s fault.

Clint’s feeling better by the time he stands up again.

“You’re taking him home again tonight, right?”

They trade off on who Lucky stays with overnight, but Clint's sharing a bed with Nat these days and her friend's staying on their couch. He has company and he can manage. Meanwhile Kate’s living alone right now and has huge bags under her eyes rivalling her cello case in size.

“Yeah,” Kate says, then she sighs as Lucky trots off to pester Bruce.

Their music director and conductor always has a dog biscuit on hand and neither of them have the heart to point out that Lucky shouldn't really be wandering off and having treats when he's meant to be working. Clint's been trying to persuade Bruce to get a seizure dog, since he likes Lucky so much, but he always looks kind of sad when Clint brings it up.

"I'll get him," Kate says. "You, just try to hydrate so you can drool while you're staring."

"Hey," Clint grumbles, but of course then he looks over at Natasha again.

He catches her looking back at him this time and smirking. It’s the kind of expression that makes Clint think about being dragged into a secluded corner backstage to make out, which obviously would never happen because they’re both professionals, but a guy can dream.

[I think that was three whole minutes during this break that you weren’t staring at me], she signs.

Nat’s fluent in ASL, having joined Clint when he went to classes, as well as in Russian and Spanish. She has a few side gigs in translation.

[Well you’re hot, but I can hug Lucky in public], Clint signs back.

Nat does the 'aww' sign, then: [Why, want to get your hands on me?]

And oh does Clint have some replies for that, but even as he lifts his hands to frame the first one Natasha's turning away again, responding to a question from her frowning partner, Bucky Barnes.

Bucky is one of the other principal dancers and Natasha’s oldest friend, other than Clint. Clint had been sleeping on Matt’s couch, waiting tables and busking while trying to find his next opportunity, when Matt had introduced him to Nat, who’d been struggling to move out of the shithole where Red Shoe housed new dancers that they’d flown into the States, mostly from Russian and Eastern European dance schools. The pair of them had moved into their first shared, shoebox-sized apartment, each intending for the arrangement to be a short-term thing until they found something better. Bucky had joined Red Shoe not long after – lured by a chance to assist one of the ballet masters, which he did but never got paid for because Red Shoe sucks. Natasha had dated him briefly and if Clint hadn’t known he was bi before, well, watching a shirtless Bucky making pancakes one morning after he’d stayed over had definitely confirmed it. (And then Clint had slept with Matt, before finding out that Nat had previously dated Matt, and Nat had been fine about it. In fact, they’d shared highlights over ramen and cheap wine, because their relationship has always been weird and wonderful like that.)

Now Bucky’s staying on Clint and Nat’s couch while his building is having some work done or something. Steve – his flatmate and their Company’s artistic director and choreographer – is staying with Stark because the billionaire has loads of space, but Bucky had turned up on their doorstep with Alpine cradled in his arms mumbling something about Pepper being allergic to cats. Clint thinks it's more that Bucky is shit with unfamiliar spaces and people, and also that he’d had enough of Stark from when he was being fitted with his prosthetic left arm.

After the accident Red Shoe had fired Bucky (the dicks), but Steve had snapped him up for Marvel. They’re a deliberately diverse ballet company with its own orchestra, funded by the Maria Stark Foundation. It's in their contracts that Tony Stark is their first stop for limbs, equipment, and whatever. Clint was wary at first, but they don't have to use whatever Stark makes them and when Clint said he'd rather have BTE hearing aids than super discreet ones, and in fact did they come in purple, he'd actually gotten what he asked for. Something about Stark appreciating 'people who know how to strut'. But, yeah, Stark… has a big personality.

Then again, from what Clint hears, so does Steve. He doesn’t have all that much contact with him at work, but Natasha bitches about his improv sessions. Apparently they’re brutal.

She's still talking to Bucky, about one of the lifts it looks like, and Steve is starting to herd the dancers back to the stage.

Clint reaches for his phone again, still itching to respond.

Really, he’s done worse things than let Nat know that she gives him a hard on via emojis. So he doubles down on his first message with three more eggplants. Then a peach, i really want 2 eat u out right now, and a kissy face emoji, because why not?

When he raises his head Natasha is already grabbing her pointe shoes and stripping off her hoodie, tossing it towards her backpack as she heads back to the stage, so Clint guesses he’ll have to wait until later for her to see his message.

Then, like it's happening in slow motion, Clint sees Bucky check his phone, frown, and look straight at Clint with an expression like Clint just shot his cat.

Shit.

Shit.

Clint frantically checks WhatsApp and, lo, Bucky has updated his icon to a tiny picture of him and Nat with Alpine and Liho, which looks kinda similar to Nat's icon except that it isn't.

He's just told Bucky that he wants to rim him.

Not that he doesn't, because who wouldn't want to worship that ass, but. Bucky Barnes, as in Natasha’s closest friend who isn't Clint, her ex, her dance partner, who's currently staying on their couch…

Clint stares at his phone, trying to think of something he could possibly type to apologise and coming up blank. He looks back at Bucky, wide-eyed and desperate, but Bucky's already returned to the stage and is pointedly avoiding looking in Clint's direction.

Clint has screwed up on so many levels here. He feels sick to his stomach. Beyond hitting on someone he really shouldn't be hitting on, by text, using emojis, to say Bucky's so hot that he makes him hard and he want to eat him out - oh god - Clint and Nat have only just got Bucky comfortable with changing his shirt in their apartment without hiding in the bathroom. Clint has bright purple BTE aids and doesn't care about being seen with an ESA, and Natasha has made her scars into art and puts them on display, but Bucky is still super self-conscious about his arm and his scars. Clint's been trying to give him casual compliments to build his self-esteem, but now he's probably blown that all to hell and made Bucky feel uncomfortable by hitting on him when he’s staying on their couch.

Shit shit shit.

"Clint, c'mon, we're starting," Kate calls, jerking him out of his panic spiral.

To add another fail to his day, it looks like she's finally had a conversation with America, the corps dancer that she has a crush on, and Clint missed it. Because Kate’s blushing fire engine red and America's grinning as she jogs to the stage.

Clint grabs his violin, bow, and water bottle, and heads to the pit where Kate has already sat back down, ready to play, with Lucky flopped down next to her.

"See, it's not hard," Kate mouths from the first cello desk on the other side of Bruce, her cheeks still pink.

Clint, like the lead violist and professional he is, sticks his tongue out at her.




It's a quiet ride home on the subway, all three of them tired after a long day. Clint's also lost in his head, brain racing through options for how to fix things with Bucky, while Bucky sits on the other side of Natasha, hoodie pulled up over his head and hands tucked in his jacket pockets, radiating the desire to be left alone. It's probably not the best place to apologise for accidentally sexting someone anyway, but the awkward atmosphere makes Clint antsy.

"Okay, what is with you two?" Natasha asks when they're finally walking into their apartment.

She hangs her coat and scarf on the pegs by the door and dumps her keys on the breakfast bar with all their other clutter. Clint bites his lip, pretending intense concentration is required for taking his shoes off by actually untying the laces for once in a bid for time to think.

"Nothing," Bucky mutters.

He tosses his dance bag next to the couch, sits, and greets Alpine, who jumps on him and rubs her cute little face against his. Liho is much more laid back, sauntering over to wind herself around Nat's ankles before heading to her empty food bowl and sitting down next to it pointedly. Clint pets her on his way past, but she only tolerates it for a moment before batting at his hand and demanding to be fed.

With Alpine, Liho, and occasionally Lucky in one apartment they have the trifecta of white, black, and golden fur. Clint is resigned to the fact that his clothes always have hair on them and that at least one colour always shows up. Nat has a stash of lint rolls at the top of the wardrobe, but Clint just keeps his performance clothes in a garment bag; as long as those are fur free then he's fine.

"How about we skip the part where I explain how I know that's bullshit," Natasha says, bending down to rummage in the cupboard where they keep all the non-human food.

"Barton sent me a text by mistake," Bucky says while Natasha is distracted.

Clint slides onto one of the bar stools between the two of them and tries not to look too upset at being relegated to 'Barton'. He'd thought they were long past that.

"Kinda awkward, that's all," Bucky continues quietly, fussing with Alpine. "It was a mistake, right? Not a joke?"

Clint freezes, numb, because no, he hadn't even considered that Bucky might think that.

"Right," Bucky says after a quick glance at Clint's face, "so that's alright. Just… TMI. I don't need to know that shit."

He opens his mouth to say that he's sorry, but there's something in the slump of Bucky's shoulders and the little furrow of his forehead and the way he's hugging his cat…. And it hits Clint that he isn’t sorry for sending the messages, only for the way that they've made Bucky feel like he's not good enough. Bucky is hot and anyone would be damn lucky to have sex with him.

Natasha looks at Clint over the kitchen bar, where she's pushed up the sleeves of her - Clint’s - hoodie and started chopping up some fruit for herself as a snack now that Liho is happy. He shrugs, fighting to seem casual.

"I told him he was hot. Where's the lie?"

Nat smiles at him as she tells Bucky, "Well, he's got eyes."

Unfortunately Bucky does not look happy about this development.

"Bullshit," he says flatly. "You didn't mean to send that to me."

"Oh, is that what you know?" Clint says, folding his arms, having picked his hill to die on.

"He said" – Bucky turns to Natasha, an adorable blush creeping up the sides of his neck – "that he wanted to eat me out."

Clint is honestly kinda curious that Bucky seems fixated on that part rather than the stupid emojis. Meanwhile Natasha pauses to stare at them both, with one last thonk of the knife against the chopping board and then silence.

"You know," she says slowly, "I would pay to see that."

"Nice," Clint fires back, "but I offered for free."

"No. Hell no."

Bucky glares at them, letting Alpine go so he can fold his arms in a mirror image of Clint. The cat rubs against Clint’s feet before heading for his food bowl, because he lacks priorities. Clint always thought Lucky was the stereotypically dumb dog outnumbered by two smart cats, but in the morning and evening race for food Alpine always loses because he’ll seek human contact first over anything else. Lucky will go for food first unless a human needs comforting, especially if it’s treats or pizza. Liho always wins the race, but she’ll leave the others’ bowls alone.

Maybe there’s something to be said about similarities between pets and owners?

"James," Nat says with a sigh, putting the knife down and moving into mitigation mode, but Bucky cuts her off with something both her and Clint don't see coming.

"No, I am not getting in the middle of the mess that is the two of you."

Natasha blinks and Clint lets his hands drop to his lap, panic bubbling up in his chest.

"Sorry, what?" she says, resting both hands flat on top of the kitchen bar.

"For fuck's sake, there's best friends and there’s co-dependent and then there's you two," Bucky says, mouth settling in a determined line. "You live together, you're wearing his clothes" - he waves one hand at Nat and the favoured hoodie - "you're chopping up pineapple as well as melon, even though you hate pineapple and Clint hasn't even asked for any, because he likes it and you want him to eat something healthy! And you still won’t admit that you have feelings for each other. You're both fucking disasters."

"We don't - There's no feelings," Natasha says, her face a blank mask.

"Sure," says Bucky, rolling his eyes, "because people who don't have feelings and aren't worried about how feelings might change their relationship make rules about 'no romantic feelings' when they fuck someone."

He even does the air quotes.

It takes a minute for Clint to reboot his brain after this new information download, but he has enough processing power to notice that, wow, Bucky is even hotter when he’s pissed. Like, there's a whole vibe and Clint is into it. But the first, actual, mostly coherent thought that makes it into words is for Nat: "You broke rule three too?"

Natasha's face doesn't change, not a flicker, and Clint suddenly feels calm for the first time since he sent that text because that is Natasha’s reaction when she doesn't know how to react.

"Wait, no, you know what, no," Clint says, folding his arms again and leaning back a bit so he can see them both at the same time.

"No?" Natasha raises her eyebrows, backing away from the kitchen bar and Clint. She crosses her own arms, so, great, now they're all doing it.

"No," Clint announces. "I didn’t break rule three."

"For fuck's sake - " Bucky starts to say again, but Clint keeps going. For once, he's got this.

"Because," he continues smugly, "see rules one and two."

Natasha tilts her head to the side slightly, as a go on, you have my attention gesture. Bucky still looks pissed, but shuts up and settles down.

"You're my person," Clint tells Nat. "Our friendship always comes first. You're it for me. And that's not feelings, it's fact. Or it’s all the feelings, not just the dreaded romantic ones, and, yeah, it turns out it's always been like that for me. Like that's a surprise."

He shrugs and takes a moment to appreciate that the corners of Natasha’s lips are starting to curl up.

"Nothing's going to change for me, because I don't want to change anything we already have. I mean, sure, the sex is amazing" - he grins as Bucky rolls his eyes - "but that's, like, just the cherry on top. So yeah, nothing has changed except we do naked things together. Rule three just doesn’t work with rules one and two. They’re incompatible. If our friendship comes first and nothing changes, then how can I have no feelings if those are part of what makes you my person and I’ve always had them? So,” he says, holding one hand up in the air, “I vote to get rid of rule three. All in favour?”

Bucky rolls his eyes again as he waves one hand in the air; Clint will take the solidarity.

“Points for trying, but your logic is suspect,” Natasha says, although she’s full on smiling now.

Clint holds his hands palms out in front of him and makes a face for what can you do? Then he forces himself to act serious for once, because he’s been worried about how feelings might change their relationship just as much as Nat has and he wants her to really believe him when he tells her they’ve been on the same page, just as they always have been about everything else.

“I wanted to talk to you about it,” he says, “because we always talk about everything, but I was scared you might… want to spend less time together. Or something.”

He can’t even say ‘might want to move out’. He shrugs again, like the idea doesn’t hurt, but he can see in her face that Nat knows. The smile slips off her face. She drops her hands to her sides, the sleeves of the hoodie sliding down to cover her fingers, and takes a few steps towards him, like she can’t help it.

“Anyway.” Clint clears his throat. “Sex, platonic, romance, whatever; I’m here and I’m always gonna be here for you. And you know it.”

“Clint,” Nat says, finally moving around the kitchen bar and close enough to touch. “You – you – What am I even going to do with you?”

Clint rests his hands on her hips as she leans in, bunching up that damn hoodie, her hands on both sides of his head holding him where she wants him as she kisses him, full on the mouth, hot and wet and glorious.

“Um, so, wanna be my girlfriend?” Clint tries when they come up for air.

“Oh, fuck it.” Natasha kisses him again, a quick press of lips against his, and then again, and a third time like she just can’t stop herself. “Yes, why not?”

“Okay,” Bucky mutters over on the couch. “I can kinda see why you keep him around.”

Clint turns on him and says, "And you're fucking hot and I'd eat you out any day of the week, so deal with it."

Bucky splutters.

Nat takes a step back, looking fond and turned on at the same time and, damn, Clint could get used to that.

“You know,” she says, turning to Bucky with a wicked smile, “if your only objection was that we were a mess, and now we’re not, then what’s the problem?”

She waits a minute for that to sink in, then exchanges a look with Clint and that’s his cue. He hops off the bar stool and walks over to stand in front of Bucky, getting in his space. So close that Bucky has to part his knees and let Clint fit between them or end up with Clint in his lap. He smells like sweat, the same baby wipes that Nat uses for a quick wipe down after practise, and deodorant.

Bucky tilts his head back to stare up at him, blinking like he’s suddenly caught in headlights.

"Yes or no?"

"Barton," Bucky croaks. "Clint."

Clint braces his hands on the back of the couch on either side of Bucky’s head and leans in even closer.

"Yes," he says slowly, drawing it out, "or no?"

He can see Bucky’s pupils dilating. His eyes dart over to Nat and back again, and however Nat looks right now must be approval and probably hot as sin because his breath catches in his throat.

"Fuck. Yes."




The next morning Kate arrives for rehearsal at the same time as America, wearing her cello case like a giant backpack over her long coat. She’s carrying her reusable coffee cup in one gloved hand and a Starbucks takeaway cup in the other.

"Hey," Clint says cheerfully before bending down to greet Lucky.

“Morning.” America winks at him, then kisses Kate on the cheek in front of everyone before heading off to join the rest of the corps with a, “Catch you later, princess.”

Clint’s grinning as he stands back up.

“Not a word, or you don’t get the coffee," Kate tells him.

She sips from her cup and holds the takeaway one just out of Clint’s reach while he makes grabby hands.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Just think,” Kate says as she surrenders the prize, “of all the things that could be yours if you’d just tell Natasha that you think she’s hot.”

“What, coffee or kisses?”

Kate rolls her eyes at him as he takes a mouthful as a temperature and taste test. It’s one of his favourite seasonal lattes, Chestnut Praline. He cradles it in his hands gratefully, still cold from the icy walk from the subway station, and looks for where Natasha and Bucky are warming up on the stage.

Nat has red leg warmers on over black leggings this morning and a cropped wrap top, keeping her yet-to-be-stretched muscles toasty while her body and the room heat up. Bucky, on the other hand, is wearing a very familiar grey hoodie with faded purple lettering across the chest and a list of tour dates from over a decade ago on the back.

Natasha catches Clint’s eye and grins, pausing to sign, [I didn’t get you coffee, but I did wrap this up for you.] She waves a hand at Bucky. [Not that it’s a competition, but pretty sure I win.]

Clint laughs and puts his free hand over his mouth, palm flat, and moves it into a thumbs up in the ASL sign for ‘best’.

"Wait, wasn't Natasha wearing that hoodie yesterday?" Kates asks, with a small, puzzled frown. She looks at Clint from the corner of her eye, checking to see if he’s recognised what Bucky has on. Then: "Wait, isn't that your hoodie?"

"Yeah," Clint says. He takes another drink of coffee to hide his expression while he composes a straight face. "I mean, I told my girlfriend that I think she’s hot and I got nice things?"

Kate stares at him for a minute.

She looks back at the stage and it’s silent for a while longer as they both contemplate the dancers and sip their coffee.

“I can honestly say this is not how I saw this going,” Kate says eventually. “But I’ll take it.”

She makes a fist with her hand that isn’t occupied with coffee and holds it out. Clint does the same and they casually fist bump without looking at each other.

“But just so you know, if this turns into twice the staring and drooling then we’re gonna have a problem.”