AN: This was a prompt from chekov-in-a-dress over on Tumblr, which I've put in at the end, and it's taken me a good 5 hours to write. So I'm uploading it without proof-reading (it's 4:30am, I'm kinda getting tired), meaning mistakes may occur so please just be nice and ignore them for now - I'll smooth them over later. ^_^

Standing on Ceremony

"Steve."

Steve glanced up from his food as Bucky sat down opposite him. "I am not helping you cheat for another paper, Bucky."

Bucky blinked at him. "I wasn't – I know that. Besides, it's Tony's turn this week."

"Oh. Okay, so what's up?"

"What do you mean?"

He pointed at him with his fork. "You have that look on your face. The one that says 'I want your help' before you even ask me directly."

Scowling, Bucky batted the fork away. "I need some advice," he muttered.

"On what?"

"Not a 'what', exactly, more like a… who." Steve waited for him to continue. "So, uh, you remember that party that Stark threw a couple of months back? The one where you pretended to be the Statue of Liberty?"

"And you got high and hid from Jim and Toro on the grounds that they were gonna set you on fire?"

He rolled his eyes. "They were high too, and they had lighters. I had every right to be worried."

"You refused to come out of the pool house –"

"Okay, so you remember, that's great – but, do you also remember who I left with?"

Steve ran through his (slightly hazy) memories of the night. "You were with a fair few people that night, Buck. But I'm gonna go out on a limb and say Clint Barton."

Bucky nodded. "That was the night we started… y'know."

"Sleeping together."

"Well, if that's what you wanna call it."

"Why, what would you call it?"

"I dunno. I'm just happy you've stopped referring to sex as fondueing."

Biting off his protest at having that particular 'phase' brought up again, Steve asked, "Alright. What does that have to do with you wanting my help?"

Ducking his head, Bucky pushed his untouched pasta round his plate for a minute. "So, uh… maybe I want… I'd kind of like to do… more than just the… screwing around part. I –" He swallowed, and looked up at Steve with an openness rarely seen by even his closest friend. "I like him. A lot."

Realising the seriousness of Bucky's statement, Steve nodded slowly. "And you want to know the best way of telling him that," he guessed.

"Yeah."

Setting his cutlery down, he leaned across the table so they could talk without being overheard. "How often do you see him?"

"He's in a few of my classes. Math, literature –"

"I'm not talking about school, dummy."

"Oh." Bucky scratched the back of his head. "I dunno, man, it's kind of… infrequent. Maybe twice a week? Whenever Dad's out, really."

"Okay. Does he stay over?"

"He doesn't stick around long for pillow talk, if that's what you're getting at."

"Right. So besides that and class, you guys don't see each other much?"

"No," he sighed. "I'd like to, but –"

"So do that."

"What?"

"Meet up with him someplace," Steve suggested. "Take him out to a movie or a gig or something." When Bucky looked nonplussed, he elaborated with, "Be romantic, Buck."

Bucky stared at him. "Romantic?"

"Yes. You can do that, can't you?"

"Sure," he sputtered, "but I don't think – I mean, I'm not sure he's that kind of guy."

"Who's not what kind of guy?" Natasha asked as she sat down beside Steve.

"Nobody's nothing."

"Clint Barton a romantic."

"Dammit, Steve!"

She raised an eyebrow at Bucky. "You want to get serious with Clint Barton?"

He frowned at her. "Why do you make it sound like that's hard to believe?"

"What the two of you are doing now isn't generally considered 'serious'."

"He wants to take it to that level," Steve supplied.

"Ah."

"You've been spending too much time around Stark," Bucky told him with a glare.

"Do you want my help or not?" His friend slumped in his chair, arms folded across his chest, and Steve took that as a sign to continue. "Like I was saying, you just have to show him how you feel. It doesn't have to be anywhere fancy or expensive, but make a point of paying for food or something."

"You don't want to do that." The two of them turned to Natasha, who gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I know Clint. The romantic angle won't work on him; if anything, it'll probably drive him away. Sorry," she said to Steve, who looked mildly put out at being contradicted. "Think of it this way: how would James cope in a restaurant with him, Clint, and a whole load of strangers when he can hardly wear a t-shirt in public, even with one of us around?"

As much as he agreed with her, Steve felt a small pang of sympathy when he saw Bucky rub his scarred arm out of the corner of his eye. Nevertheless, he carried on arguing his case; "I never said it had to be a restaurant. Going to the movies works well as a first date, too."

"Maybe if you're going to see a romantic flick," Natasha countered, "and they're not exactly Clint's favourites."

"Alright then Nat, how would you do it?"

She chewed on her food for a moment. "Bring it up in conversation," she said eventually. "Don't try and skirt around the topic. Clint's not a bullshitter, and he doesn't like it when people treat him as if he's stupid."

"I don't do that," Bucky insisted.

"Good. Then don't try and spoil him before he knows what you want."

"You could always bring it up on a date," Steve muttered.

"Petulance doesn't become you, Steve."

"Everyone appreciates a romantic gesture, Nat. It's the perfect way of saying 'hey, I like you and I want to spend more time with you'."

"If the word 'courting' comes out of your mouth, I'm locking you in the Smithsonian." Steve threw up his hands. "Look, next time you're with him, ask him what he thinks about it. If the idea goes down well, then go ahead with planning a date."

Bucky looked at her sceptically. "You really think that'll work?"

"I think it's the best way of knowing for sure. And if all else fails, at least you'll still be in his good books."

He turned to Steve, who gestured helplessly. "I've been overruled. You've heard what both of us have to say, Buck. The rest is up to you now."

"Great," he sighed, groaning when the bell rang and shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth. It had gone cold, and he made a face at the taste – just as Tony Stark approached their table, phone in hand.

"You, my friend, have the perfect face for caption competitions, has anyone ever told you that?" Bucky flipped him off. "Oh, hand gestures as well. You'll be a star. Steve! Ready for a fun filled hour of science for children and guessing Bruce's various meditation poses slash calming medicinal aids?"

Steve shook his head. "Bruce isn't on drugs, Tony. And I'm pretty sure he just sticks to crossed legs."

"But that's boring. Bruce isn't boring. He meditates."

"Of course." He stood with his tray, turning back one last time to Bucky. "Just give it a shot, Buck. And let me know how it goes?"

"Sure Steve."

"How what goes?" Tony asked. "Is Barnes finally admitting to being a super spy? Because I really wouldn't be surprised if the CIA are outsourcing to children these days, I mean the advantages are numerous…"

"Ignore him," Natasha said as Tony's rambling was lost amongst the buzz of the cafeteria. "You know Steve won't tell him anything."

Bucky snorted. "Doesn't mean Stark won't try his damnedest to find out."

She quirked the corner of her mouth up briefly before her green eyes grew serious. "What I said about you and t-shirts."

He nodded. "I know what you meant," he assured her quietly. Tugging at the cuff of his left sleeve, he added, "Just hope that dating is easier, otherwise I'm kind of screwed."

"Worry about that when you get to it," she said, squeezing his wrist. "You have to have someone to date first."

"You're absolutely sure just asking him'll go down okay?" he asked again.

Standing, Natasha shrugged. "Worked for me."

He frowned. "What do you mean? You've never dated Clint."

"Because he turned me down when I asked him." And with that, she left him staring dumbfounded after her.

Since the night of Tony's party, when they'd first had a not-so-sober encounter with each other and a ridiculously comfy bed, sex with Clint had become a highlight of Bucky's week. Neither of them had expected it to continue afterwards, but when their second slightly-more-sober encounter had been just as good as the first, a sober meeting had more or less been inevitable. Two months later, and they had far more sober hook-ups than they did intoxicated ones. Bucky suspected that was partly why he'd developed feelings for Clint. Ultimately it was because he was a cool, handsome dude, with a sense of humour Bucky was familiar with and the ability to sometimes say profound things without realising it, but he'd never have noticed all those things if he was off his face whenever they met up.

Lying in bed with him, basking in the glow of another immensely satisfying bout of sex, Bucky began to work out how he was going to bring up the idea of seeing each other outside a bedroom and doing other things besides sex. "Hey," he said softly, fingertips absently brushing through Clint's short hair. "You ever dated anyone?"

"Not really," Clint answered sleepily, gaze still turned to the ceiling. "Tried it a couple of times, but never got a whole lot out of it. You?"

He shifted, careful not to jostle Clint's head from his chest. "Toro and I had a go at it, but things just felt… weird. We were better off as friends."

Clint chuckled. "You know, I was sure you were gonna say you and Steve had gone out at some point."

"What?" he laughed. "Dude, Steve's my best friend! And very straight. Ask his girlfriend."

"Huh. Who's the lucky lady?"

"Peggy Carter."

"Damn. Bet they're a real power-house couple."

"They tag-team pretty well."

"You're speaking from experience."

"Oh yeah." Clint laughed, and Bucky felt something tug at his heart as he grinned as well. "But, y'know, the whole dating thing –"

A phone started ringing. Mumbling a curse, Clint sat up and bent down to reach his trousers, sighing at the device as he checked the screen. "Hey, is it alright if I…?" Bucky nodded, and he answered the call. "Yeah?... I told you, I'm at a friend's place… 'Cause I didn't know how long I'd be… Why?... And you can't do it yourself?... Alright, alright, I'll be – yeah, no, I can come – Jesus, Barney, I said okay already! No need to fucking shout… Yeah, whatever."

As he ended the call, Bucky felt his happiness start to deflate. "You have to go."

"Sorry, man," he said over his shoulder, already pulling on his trousers. "My stupid brother wants me to help him fix a bow, said it's too delicate for him or something."

"That's okay," Bucky said, sitting up. "But, I was thinking – maybe we could meet up in the next few days?"

"Sure," Clint agreed, wriggling into his purple jumper. "I'll see when Barney's working and let you know when you can come over." And before Bucky could say anything else, he was gone.

"Wait!" Scrambling into his jeans, Bucky hurried to catch up with him. "We don't have to do that," he called, half-running down the stairs.

"Nah, it's fine," Clint responded, already at the front door. "I'll let you know when the best time is. See you at school." The door closed behind him, and Bucky was left standing at the foot of the stairs, blinking at the wood.

"Still not boyfriends?"

"Jesus, Becca!" he gasped, pressing a hand over his heart and glaring at his sister. "Kill a guy, why don't you?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well?"

"What?"

"Are you and Clint boyfriends yet or are you still just fondueing?"

"We're just – hold on a minute, how do you know what fondueing means? And why are you saying it?"

Becca sighed. "Because that's what Steve calls it. Now are you boyfriends or not?"

Looking back at the door, he felt his shoulders slump a little. "No."

His sister made a sympathetic noise. "That sucks. I like him."

"Yeah, me too."

"When you start going out, can I be there when you have to tell Dad?" Bucky felt all the colour drain from his face.

Me: Hey u free after school?
Clint: Nah sorry Borson gave me detention for picking a fight with Loki.
Me: Shit. Again?
Clint: I know! Coulson wouldntve done it. Totally Lokis fault too.
Me: I'll bet. Hope it doesn't suck too bad.
Clint: Thanks me as well.
Clint: Why after school?
Clint: I saw u yesterday. Thought u were coming mine next?
Clint: Bucky?
Me: Sorry, dad's out of town with Becca, thought we could have another fun afternoon. Don't worry bout it. Cya soon.

Closing the conversation before he could ask Clint via text, Bucky slid down in his chair and tried to tune back in to what Sitwell was saying. By the end of the lesson he was seeking out Sam to borrow his notes, thoughts of Clint having totally negated his ability to concentrate on the history of the Soviet Union.

"Buy him coffee."

Standing in line at Starbucks, Bucky turned to Steve with a you-can't-be-serious look. "Remember what Tasha said about being direct rather than romantic? I think she was right."

Steve shook his head. "Buying coffee for someone isn't too romantic – it's just a nice gesture, a good way to connect. Do you know what he likes?"

Looking at the menu, Bucky twisted his lips unsurely. "Not exactly… We don't really talk about stuff like that."

"What do you talk about?"

He shrugged. "Sport. Family. Who's more annoyed by Tony Stark."

Rolling his eyes, Steve pushed him forward. "Then guess. If you don't wanna risk it, just get something uncomplicated. I've seen him come in before, so you won't be too far off the mark."

Taking the advice, Bucky bought a simple latte with his own espresso, leaving Steve to wait for Peggy whilst he headed over to the school gym, hoping he could catch Clint at the end of a training session. The guy was an archer – a super good one, too – and practised once a week on Saturday mornings. Though Bucky had never seen him shoot, he knew Natasha sometimes went with him, and her reports had been enough to make him lose a few long moments to daydreaming. As it was, he bumped into both of them by the football pitch, Clint looking fresh as a whistle and Natasha looking highly amused.

"Don't normally see you here," Clint commented.

Bucky struggled for a response. "Uh, no, I… Steve's with Peggy, so…"

"Fair enough. I usually avoid the house whenever Barney has his girl over – they're noisy, and she's a bit of a bitch."

"We could hang out together," Natasha suggested, giving Bucky a wink when Clint bent down to tie his shoelace.

"Alright," Bucky agreed, giving her a dopey grin. Then he remembered why he'd sought them out in the first place. "I bought coffee."

Clint glanced up. "So you did. And from Starbucks, too." He straightened up, smiling. "Guess I'll leave you two to it. See you round." Next thing Bucky knew, Clint had turned and started walking towards the gym without a backwards glance. He was speechless.

"That was unfortunate," Natasha said after a minute. "Guess he thought you were talking to me."

"Yeah…"

"Can I have his coffee?"

"… Yeah."

She sipped at it gently, the lack of change to her expression a sign that she approved of his choice. "Keep trying, James. It'll happen one day."

He sighed. "Yeah, right."

Becca came home at three-thirty. He heard her coming up the stairs, and wasn't surprised when she poked her head into his room to see him sprawled out on his bed, an abandoned sling on his floor, an empty glass and a pill bottle on his bedside table. "What happened?"

He grimaced. "Did something to my arm in phys ed. Had to go doctor's. Only got back about half an hour ago."

She frowned. "How bad is it?"

"Don't really know. Hurts like hell without meds. Not so much now, but I don't particularly want to get up." Sighing, he dragged his good hand over his face, digging his fingers into his eyes. "Fucking perfect timing," he grunted.

Becca stepped further inside, closing his door behind her. "How come?"

"I was supposed to see Clint this afternoon," he admitted as she climbed onto his bed. "His brother's working. I thought it might've been a good time to…"

"To ask about being boyfriends."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "Not so sure it's a good idea anymore."

"Course it's a good idea. You like him, and he likes you."

"I stood him up. He'll probably be pissed at me for a while. Hey, what are you – Becca, don't – ah, watch it!" he complained as his sister decided to climb over him so she could lie on the other side of the bed, her hand resting on his injured bicep.

"Does Clint know what happened?" Bucky shook his head. "I bet you could still go see him if you put on the sling and took some painkillers with you."

"I –" He swallowed. "I don't want him to see."

She pushed herself onto her elbows. "Y'know, you two fondue a lot. He's probably already seen everything by now."

"Hey," he grumbled, thumping her lightly. "Stop talking about my sex life with me. It's weird, and you calling it fondue doesn't help."

"But I'm right, aren't I?"

In a way, she was; yes, Clint had sort of seen Bucky's arm, in the blind throes of lust. He knew of the multitude of scars that crossed and marred his skin from shoulder to wrist, and of the circumstance that put them there – but that didn't mean that Bucky was ready for him to see the problems the limb still caused him. Hell, it had been embarrassing enough in front of the nurses earlier. That, and he didn't want it to affect the sex. "It's not the same, Becks," he mumbled.

Becca lay back down on the bed, carefully shifting closer until she was curled up against his side, lightly holding his arm, her nose brushing his shoulder. "Tell me why you like him so much."

"Why?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "… Alright." Where to begin? "When we first had se- uh, started fondueing, I thought it'd just be one of those things we'd regret in the morning. But he said it was cool, said that he'd liked it. I had too, so we parted on good terms. Then it happened again, and it became a regular thing."

"I asked why you liked him, not how you came to be pining for him."

"Yeah, well shut up and let me get to that bit." She kicked him in the shin, and he reached across to tickle her side. "So the fondue became a regular thing, and the more he came over, the more I got to… to know him, I guess. No parents, lives with his brother, helps him out with odd jobs; I mean, it's not like we talk about anything meaningful. It was more like I was getting a sense of his… character. He's funny, y'know? Doesn't think he is, but some of the things he says puts me in stitches – especially in class. He's a little clumsy, too, and that's kind of endearing. He's kind, but has a strong sense of justice. Likes rooting for the underdog. Hates being treated as dumber than he actually is, and doesn't like it when people try and control him, tell him what to do all the time. That's why he only gets along with Mr Coulson – they always have this kind of banter going on between them; when that happens, he gets this light in his eyes, right? Like he's really enjoying himself. Makes his whole face look… What? What's so funny?"

"You!" Becca giggled. "You sound like such a sap."

Bucky blushed, mumbling, "Do not."

When she calmed down, he expected another question, but instead she surprised him by saying, "Mom would've been over the moon to hear you talking like that."

He froze. The three of them hardly ever mentioned his mom these days, even though they were long past the serious grieving stage. Bucky wasn't sure why Becca was bringing her up now. "She'd be kicking up a fuss about me not wearing the sling."

"She'd probably take you to Clint's house herself."

"I don't know about that."

"Well she wouldn't stand for you moping about him at least. Which is kind of why I did this." She held up his phone, the screen showing his conversation with Clint – and a text message he was sure he'd never sent:

Me: Hi, I'm really sorry I couldn't come and see you today – I hurt my arm in PE and had to see a doctor. I'm okay, but I have to rest for a while. Maybe you could come round until I'm well enough to go to yours? :-)

"Becca! What the –" Sitting up sharply jolted his arm, and he grit his teeth against the tight pain. "Why'd you do that? And how?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your password is that super hero name you came up with when you and Steve used to pretend you saved the world – Winter Soldier. And you were so engrossed in telling me about your not-yet-boyfriend that you didn't even notice me take it out your pocket." The phone suddenly buzzed in her hand, and she grinned. "Ooh, he's replied!"

Bucky snatched it back before she could read it aloud. "How are you only thirteen?" he muttered, keeping the phone low as he read the message from Clint.

Clint: Dude that sucks. Hope ur ok. Cant do much this week cuz Barneys got me shit ton of work to do but definitely free saturday. Hook up after practise?

"So what did he say?"

Bucky couldn't keep the smile from his face, a plan coming together in his mind as he closed the conversation. "It's cool. I'll see him soon."

The gym was eerie on a Saturday morning. Only a few souls seemed motivated enough to make an appearance in the main suite or down in the pool, and once Bucky had navigated his way to the archery range he wasn't surprised to find Clint was the only person there. He stood by the door for a few moments, watching as the archer lifted the bow, arrow already in place, drew it back as far as he could, holding it perfectly still for two heartbeats before letting the thin stick shoot down towards the target. It hit dead centre.

As Clint reached into his quiver for a second arrow, Bucky coughed softly. "Hey," he said as Clint looked over, suddenly incredibly nervous.

"Hey." Clint blinked. "Didn't expect you to come here."

"Yeah, well I got bored waiting." He shuffled over, watching arrow number two hurtle down the lane to land with a solid 'thunk' next to arrow number one. "Huh. Tasha was right."

Drawing another arrow, Clint smirked. "Should've known she'd be bragging on my behalf."

"Not bragging. More like giving a fact-heavy report." Clint chuckled, and Bucky ducked his head to hide a grin. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember the speech he'd rehearsed on his way over. "So, there's something I'd like to ask you," he began slowly.

"Sure. What's up?"

"Could you, um…" Distracted as he was by Clint's stance and the tightness of his t-shirt, Bucky's speech went out of the window in a matter of seconds. "Well, I was wondering – see, I need to, uh… With my arm, I have to keep it – y'know, in shape, or whatever –"

"Oh yeah, how is that now?" Lowering his bow, Clint eased out of the shooting stance and turned to face Bucky properly, something like concern clouding his eyes.

Bucky shifted on the spot. "Better," he said, "but they said I should look for a better sport than basketball to keep it exercised. And then I figured…" He glanced at Clint, still watching him like a hawk, and suddenly everything came out: "I figured archery might not be so bad because it works the arms and it isn't as taxing on the rest of the body, and on top of all that I knew you really loved it so I thought perhaps if I took it up I'd get to spend some more time with you, because I'd like to do more than just have sex now but I wasn't sure how to tell you and – yeah."

It felt like a small, too-quiet eternity before Clint smirked. "You wanna start going out," he said. Not trusting himself to speak, Bucky nodded. After another few seconds, Clint narrowed his eyes. "You've got a thing for pancakes, right?"

He felt himself blush. "Yeah."

"I've got another half hour left here. Wanna go find an IHOP when I'm done?"

"… Absolutely." The grin that split Bucky's face could've lit up the world.

Becca: I thought you said that when you and Clint became boyfriends you were going to do more than fondue! Seriously, can't you tone it down a bit? Or at least go somewhere else and I can pretend you're not fondueing? I'm too young to be hearing all that! :(

AN: Prompt: "How about Bucky being unsure how to ask Clint out because they've only been screwing so far supposedly without any strings attached but the people he's been asking (Steve & Nat) have told him completely different ways to approach the archer (Steve obvs telling him to be romantic and Nat being like: Nah, he's not a romantic) so he has no clue how to do it and maybe every time he tries something happens so he never gets there?"