A Gift From: inkvoices
Title: Specialities On Request
A Gift For: RavenAce
Rating: Teen and Up
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: swearing, anxiety/prelude to a panic attack that doesn’t happen, fluff
Summary/Prompt Used: Bucky’s having a bad day when he walks into a new coffee shop/bakery owned by human disaster Clint Barton and Bucky’s ex from high school, Natasha Romanoff. (Clint/Natasha/Bucky)
Author's Note: I tried to merge a few of your prompts and likes and I hope you enjoy the result. Happy holiday season!


Specialities On Request

Bucky pauses outside yet another coffee shop, tempted by the warmth that wafts out as a customer leaves but wincing at the accompanying noise and chaos. Like the rest, it's jam-packed with Christmas shoppers and tourists, and all of them loud.

"Hey!" someone complains as they push past him on the sidewalk, their heavy shopping bags smacking against his legs.

An elbow catches Bucky in the side, close to his old injury, and even though the stump of his left arm has been healed and scarred over long enough for his body to know better he still flinches, ducking away and nearly knocking into a gaggle of teenage girls. He backs away to avoid the flood of people, but there's only so far he can go without stepping into the busy road. As it is, the spray of icy water and slush thrown up by passing vehicles soaks into his jeans.

It's a joke really, that he’d thought it would be a good idea to take a walk around the city, near the lights and shops, on the last Saturday before Christmas. A funny story for the next family video call, when his parents ask how he’s coping. They worry, since he moved out of their place and went back to school with the help of the GI Bill. Or maybe he'll just tell his sister, Becca; guess what dumbass thing your dumbass brother did this time.

"You can't just stop," another stranger grumbles, swerving around him.

"Sorry, sorry," Bucky mutters. He moves on, trying to go with the flow of people down the street.

The thing is, it's hard to see the funny side right now. He's so cold, frozen down to his bones, and the city has turned into a fairground ride; everything swirling and whirling bright and noisy and too much around him. He just wants to stop for a minute and catch his breath. His chest feels tight and panicky, which no; he’s not had a panic attack in ages.

Bucky forces his brain to calculate an escape route, adjusting for changes in the movement of the crowd, and works his way free. He doesn’t care where he ends up as long as it's away, turning down quieter and quieter streets until the flow of people ebbs to a trickle. It’s like there's more air to breath with less people, as stupid as that sounds, and he can feel the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. But he's still freezing and damp, the winter dark is closing in, and the heavy clouds overhead choose now to start drizzling miserably.

The next coffee shop he spots is new; some independent, tiny place that hasn’t even put a sign up yet. It still has swirls of whitewash on one window and through the other he can see a stack of chairs wrapped in plastic, waiting to join their tables. It's also empty, which isn’t a great advertisement for their coffee but is Bucky’s idea of a good time right now, so he hustles inside where it’s wonderfully warm and dry.

It turns out there’s one other person in the shop: a guy with his back to the door wearing a purple arpon and a Santa hat who’s apparently too busy battling Christmas tree lights to notice that he has a customer. Strands from at least three sets of lights are draped around his shoulders while he tries to unpick a knotted mess. Somehow he’s managed to get them tangled around his arms and one leg in the process.

Bucky isn't sure why the tree in the corner is more important than putting out chairs for customers - or a sign on the front, or cleaning the window - but it isn't his place to judge. At least it gives him an excuse for standing around while he thaws. He just wants to be warm and away from people for five minutes, but by the time he's defrosted enough to unzip his jacket, push his scarf down below his chin, and tug off his glove, he’s starting to feel awkward about not buying anything.

He studies the glass display case of baked goods and the handwritten menu on the wall above the counter. There aren’t any prices listed, because obviously finishing the menu is also less important than Christmas decorations. It does list a bunch of different types of coffee beans and things like cakes as displayed and specialities on request; probably too rich for his budget but they probably do the simple stuff too.

"Um, hi?" he says, trying to get the guy's attention without success. Then, "Hello?" as he taps him on the shoulder.

The guy practically jumps out of his skin, flailing as he spins around, tangling himself even further in lights, and it's some kind of Christmas miracle that he doesn’t topple over.

"Jesus Christ," he gasps, grabbing at the counter with one hand to steady himself.

"Not for six more days," Bucky says. Then, when the guy just stares at him, adds, "Um, until Christmas?"

"Shit. Yeah." The guy huffs out a laugh and scrubs a hand through his hair, knocking his Santa hat off to reveal a set of hearing aids, which makes Bucky feel like even more of an asshole for scaring him, and a name tag with Clint :) scrawled on it stuck to his apron, just visible between strands of lights. "You want a coffee?"

"Ah…" Truthfully, Bucky isn't sure that he trusts this human disaster with boiling hot liquid and breakable cups. "I mean, actually, this looks like a bad time, so I can just - "

"No, no, I got this!" Clint scrambles behind the counter, scooping his hat up off the floor as he goes and jamming it back on. He flashes a smile at Bucky, which is obviously a customer service thing and should be completely undermined by how he’s an absolute goddamned mess, but it freezes Bucky in place like a wild animal in headlights. It's just… kind and genuine-looking and… like his whole face lights up. And that bright expression is a spotlight focussed on Bucky. "So, what would you like?"

"Um, coffee?"

"Yeah?" Clint draws the word out, and his smile widens into a grin. "Any particular type of coffee?" He leans forward to study Bucky’s face, strands of lights tightening around his - admittedly impressive - arms and clattering against the counter top, and Bucky smiles back, enjoying the attention. "Actually, you look like a sweet person to me, am I right?” He winks. “Bet you like syrups, maybe an undertone of chocolate…"

Clint turns away and starts up the espresso machine, the plug from one set of Christmas lights trailing along on the floor behind him. Then he grabs a syrup bottle and Bucky’s brain comes back online enough for him to wonder if it’s too late to ask for just an Americano. This place doesn't look expensive, but that could be because they're still setting up and wanted to open early for the Christmas crowd. Specialty coffee sounds expensive and Clint's definitely doing something more complicated than Bucky can really afford.

"It's okay," he tries. "You don't need to - "

Clint waves a hand at him.

"If you don’t like it, it's free."

Bucky opens his mouth to reply and closes it again. He feels like he should protest, but also that protesting would be rude, and he didn’t even actually order whatever it is that Clint is making anyway.

“If you do like it,” Clint says, over the hissing noise of steaming milk, “tell your friends.”

Bucky gives up and watches him work. For all that he's a mess, Clint does seem to know exactly what he's doing behind the counter, moving smoothly and decisively. Not at all like the stumbling of earlier, even though he’s still tangled in lights. It doesn’t hurt that having his back to Bucky gives Bucky the opportunity to admire his ass and thighs.

He waits until it’s quieter before saying, "That… doesn’t sound like a good way to run a business."

"Yeah, that's what Tasha's for." Clint tosses Bucky a grin and clarifies: "The baker. My partner. Like, business partner and girlfriend partner. She’s way better at the money stuff."

Bucky looks away and swallows down his disappointment. The flirting, like the smile, must be a customer service thing.

"Here." Clint pushes a mug across the counter and watches as Bucky considers it, awaiting the verdict.

Bucky picks it up, taking a moment to enjoy how the rising steam warms his face and the smell of coffee, oranges, and chocolate. It looks overindulgent, with whipped cream and chocolate dusted on top, but a few extra calories won’t kill him. He takes a sip. There’s the initial glorious feeling of being warmed from the inside out and then he registers the taste and - holy shit. It’s amazing. He closes his eyes to savour it. If he’d known how to ask for the perfect coffee for his stressful, freezing cold day this would have been it.

He blinks and stares at Clint, wide-eyed.

Clint stares back at him. "Oh my god, your face."

"What?"

"You - just - your face." Clint’s own face lights up again in a wide, delighted smile. “You look like you just found religion. Or had a mind blowing orgasm.”

Bucky can feel himself blushing. He’s been in the army, he’s not some delicate flower or anything, but people - most people - just don’t say things like that. He raises his mug, to hide and also to drink more of his delicious coffee.

"Tasha! TASHA!" Clint yells towards a half-open door to his left. "I gotta give this guy one of your Christmas muffins and you need to see his face when he eats it. I swear to God, you won’t regret this."

"I already regret everything," Tasha says as she appears from what's presumably the kitchen area, wiping her hands off on a red apron, and - fuck.

Tasha is Natasha Romanoff. Bucky’s ex from high school. The first person he - well, his first everything, pretty much.

She looks between the two of them, raising her eyebrows at Clint’s light-entangled state, then her eyes settle on Bucky. He really doesn’t expect her to recognise him. It’s been years and he’s… different. He’s missing an arm for a start and he’s thinner than the last time they saw each other, although he’s put some muscle back on lately. He’s grown his hair out, he’s not shaved for a few days, he’s -

"I've seen him eat my baking before.” She steps around the counter on Bucky’s side and leans her hip against the bakery case, looking him over.

Bucky doesn’t remember baking being Natasha’s passion or anything when they were younger, although she used to make muffins and brownies as birthday and Christmas gifts for people in their group of friends, and she made him a birthday cake once. He remembers her kisses tasting sweet, but mostly he remembers the red dress she wore to prom, the times he managed to make her laugh until she cried, and the little smirk she used to give him, to let him in on the joke when she was up to something.

"Huh. Okay.” Clint glances between them, then shrugs and turns back to Natasha. “No, but like, he has this sex face,” he tries to explain enthusiastically and Bucky almost chokes on his coffee. “He fucking glows."

"Uh-huh." Natasha’s wearing that familiar smirk right now as she raises an eyebrow at Bucky, checking for his permission, and it turns out he can still read her, like no time has passed at all. He gives her a little nod and Natasha folds her arms and smirks. "I've seen that face before too,” she tells Clint.

Clint freezes for a moment, like she’s just hit his pause button, and Bucky has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing. Then Clint comes back to life, beaming and clearly delighted with this turn of events. He holds a first out over the counter for Natasha to bump and she ignores it, rolling her eyes. He shrugs and holds out his fist to Bucky instead. Bucky’s pleased enough to be fist-bump worthy that he sets his mug down on the counter to tap it and then Natasha is rolling her eyes at the both of them.

“Oh, you can come again,” Clint says, laughing. He stops, realising what he’s just said, then shakes his head and laughs again. “If you want, obviously.”

Bucky honestly can’t tell if Clint’s serious. He glances at Natasha, to see what she makes of it. She has her head tilted to one side, considering him in a way that makes Bucky think that not only is Clint serious but that Natasha is interested as well. His brain tells him that can’t be right though. A good-looking barista flirting with him is one thing, but two people and one of them being Natasha is… more than he can wrap his head around. When Bucky catches her eye she just straightens up and smiles, so he retrieves his coffee, clears his throat, and tries to steer them back to safer waters.

“Anyway, how’ve you been?” he asks her. He’s not really a fan of small talk, but he does honestly want to know.

Behind the counter, Clint goes back to trying to unknot the biggest clump of lights at his front with a sigh while he watches them.

“Good.” Natasha tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ear, dusting her cheek with flour. “Did some travelling abroad. Met Clint,” she says, and looks over at him to exchange a grin before turning back to Bucky. “We ran a coffee truck together for a while, and now I have a proper kitchen. How about you?”

“Discharged.” Bucky shrugs with his left shoulder, although with his sleeve pinned the discharge reason is obvious. “Just started college this year.”

“Good for you.” She smiles. “And how’s Becca?”

“Almost finished with a medical degree,” he replies, not bothering to hide how proud he is. Becca was always the smart one and Bucky will never regret insisting that his parents put their savings towards her education when there wasn’t enough for both of them. “How’s Yelena?”

Natasha’s smile softens at the mention of her sister and Clint’s hands fall still as he gives Bucky an assessing look. Natasha was never a big sharer of personal information, so not many people knew that she had a sister, because down that road lay having to explain that they were foster sisters and all the associated crap and assumptions that Natasha - understandably - never wanted to deal with. If Bucky had to guess, he figures that she’s still the same, keeping things close to her chest. Meaning that if Clint and Bucky both know about Yelena then they’re in an even more select group than people Natasha Romanoff has chosen to date.

“She’s working with an NGO helping trafficked kids,” Natasha says. “Makes me worry sometimes, but she loves it.”

“Our little sisters, saving the world,” Bucky says, toasting to that with the last of his coffee.

He sets his empty cup down on the counter and Clint drops the lights he’s been fiddling with, hurrying to fetch a muffin from the back of the display case.

“You have to try one of these before you go,” he insists, but instead of giving it to Bucky he hands it to Natasha with a grin. “Your muffin. You do the honours.”

She shakes her head at him, but takes it and steps closer to Bucky, holding it out.

“Go on,” she says, the corner of her mouth curling up into a small smirk, “I can admire your face and you can tell Clint if my skills have improved.”

Bucky looks down at the muffin in it’s paper wrapper, up at Natasha who looks back at him steadily, over to Clint, then back to Natasha. He takes a deep breath. It’s been a difficult year of challenges and taking chances, but Bucky thinks he might be brave enough to try for one more: flirting back.

“Okay,” he says, “and you can tell him if my sex face has improved.”

Natasha bursts out laughing, scrunching her eyes shut, and Bucky feels the old familiar thrill at getting that reaction from her alongside a new one at surprising Clint.

The muffin is, of course, melt-in-the-mouth wonderful. Bucky means to eat a bite and then lick his lips or something, but he ends up eating a third of it before he looks back up.

“Good?” Natasha asks him, teasing him gently, her eyes dark and pinned to his.

“See?” Bucky hears Clint stage-whispering, and he can feel the heated look Clint is sending his way. “Damn, we have good taste.”

It’s a lot, being the focus of their attention. The awareness of eyes on him skitters down Bucky’s spine, like electricity. He wants to enjoy it, to let them light him up like a Christmas tree, but he feels like the one Clint’s been fighting with, his wires all tangled up. He breaks the standoff with Natasha, placing the remains of the muffin on the counter, abruptly too tense to eat the rest.

It brings him closer to Clint, who leans forward on the other side and rests his arms on the counter, so that he’s closer to Bucky’s height, and says cheerfully, “Hey, want to come here often?”

That tugs a smile out of Bucky, although he still feels uneasy, like he’s teetering on the edge of being out of his depth and trying to remember how to swim.

"Clint," Natasha says, a warning tone in her voice. "What did we say about prepositioning customers?"

“Sorry, I just - ” Clint smiles sheepishly and starts again. “Sorry, if I’m a bit much. Just, good face,” he says, shrugging. “But obviously,” he continues, with a wink, “it’s specialities on request.”

“You did not,” Natasha says flatly, but Bucky can’t help grinning at Clint. "I gave you three passes for hot customers," she says, hands on her hips, "and you’re really going to use one when we've only been open for one day by hitting on someone using the menu?"

"Uh, yes? I mean, if it works?” Clint bats his eyelashes at Bucky and smiles hopefully. “Is it working?”

Bucky stares at them while they wait patiently for his answer, and realises that somehow it is. Somehow the two of them are serious about this and this… could be a perfect thing that Bucky didn’t know how to ask for. Something that could be amazing.

“Yeah,” he says, stepping right up the counter and ignoring the hard edge that digs into his stomach. “Yes, it’s working and yes, I’d like to come back.”

Clint smiles at him, full watt, and it’s like being bathed in sunshine.

“And,” Bucky adds, staring at his mouth, “I’d like to hear more about the speciality options, please.”

Clint’s laughing when Bucky reaches his hand over the counter and grabs hold of the Christmas lights across his chest to reel him in, pressing warm lips against his. He only means to steal a quick kiss, but Clint relaxes into it and hums against his mouth, and he doesn’t know how long it lasts for because he loses track of time.

When he finally pulls back, fingers still loosely tangled in lights, reluctant to let go, Natasha is much closer and watching them both with dark eyes. She still has flour on her cheek.

“They’re all on a two-for-one-offer,” Clint says helpfully. “The specials. Just to make that clear.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s grasped that,” Natasha says dryly, “but…”

Bucky watches her as, moving slowly, she rests a hand on Bucky’s side and closes the remaining gap between them. She leans over his still outstretched arm and pauses with their lips almost touching.

“If you want,” she says quietly.

“Yes,” Bucky says again, in a hoarse voice. “Please.”

She still tastes sweet.

“I vote we close early today,” Clint says, raising a hand in the air.

Staying pressed against Bucky, Natasha twists her head around to raise her eyebrows at Clint. “What, on opening day?”

“Tasha,” Clint says, gesturing at Bucky, “priorities.”

“Mmm, good point.” She tilts her head to rest against Bucky’s shoulder.

Clint reaches over to gently rub the flour off her cheek with his thumb, then lingers, tracing the side of her face.

Bucky’s uncomfortable like this, huddled together with the counter between him and Clint, Christmas tree lights digging into his hand, and Natasha’s pointy chin trying to cut off his circulation, but he likes it too much to move, being tangled up with the pair of them. It makes him feel warm all the way through, in a way the winter weather outside won’t be able to touch.

“Hey,” Clint says, drawing his attention.

Bucky realises that he’d closed his eyes and opens them again to find Clint and Natasha both watching him.

“Yeah.” Clint smiles softly. “As much as I’m really looking forward to seeing that sex face again, I’ve got to admit, I like this look on you as well.”