Prompts: Toxic/Withdrawal/Allergic Reaction
Clint/Bucky
No powers, just two ordinary guys with meddling best friends
"My disaster boy." Natasha found herself – again – at Clint's Bed-Stuy apartment. They were sitting on his couch. Well, she was seated; Clint was lying on the couch, long legs draped over the arm of the ratty sofa, his head in Natasha's lap. She was carding her perfectly manicured nails through his blond hair.
"I give up. I'm going to withdraw from society and become a hermit," Clint whined, fighting the instinct to curl in on himself.
"You don't do well by yourself. You wouldn't make it a week."
"And that's where my problem is, Tasha. Everyone I meet is toxic. Either that, or I'm the toxic one. So, guess it's me that's toxic. I'm the common denominator."
Natasha patted him on the head. "Good use of a mathematical term for someone who hates math."
"Stop trying to change the subject, Tash. Why can't I have what you and Steve have?"
"Did you want me to let you go out with Steve?"
"Ha, ha. You'd kill me first because you don't share."
"I guess I am a bit possessive."
"Tasha, you wanted to have 'if found, return to Natasha Romanoff' tattooed on my lower back like a tramp stamp."
Natasha thought about that for a minute. "Point taken. Okay, so maybe offering to share Steve was not a valid option. How are you meeting these so-called toxic people? And please don't say dating sites." Clint bit his lip to avoid saying precisely that. Natasha shook her head. "What about at work?"
"Tash, I'm an ex-carnie, ex-thief who did his time and is going straight by working at an archery range and as a landlord. The only one of those I know anything about is archery, the only legal skill I took from my time with the circus. Thank goodness for my parole officer. Phil knew someone who needed a landlord for their apartment complex." Clint looked up at his best friend. "Guess I'm glad if I had to be arrested by anyone, I'm glad it was you."
Natasha kissed his forehead. "I'd been where you were. I knew you just needed someone to give you a chance."
"You saw my heart."
"Only because you wear it on your sleeve, my hawk."
Clint sighed. "That's the Amazing Hawkeye, thank you very much." He went to stand up, but as he swung his legs off the couch, his feet got tangled in his fluffy purple blanket, causing him to fall to the hardwood floor. "Aw, blanket, no."
Natasha couldn't entirely hide her smirk as she watched his antics. It always amazed her how someone so graceful in the circus (she'd seen videos) and had become a successful thief (until he wasn't) could be such a klutz in every other area of his life. Her phone rang, and she answered it as Clint got free from the offending blanket and shuffled into the kitchen to refill his coffee mug. When he thought Nat wasn't looking, he pulled out the coffee pot and drank directly from it until he heard a loud harrumph from the living room. Clint sighed again and poured the coffee into his mug. He compromised by bringing the pot and the cup back with him to the living room, refilling Nat's cup, and setting the pot on the coffee table. "You're in luck."
"You found a place where I can live off the grid for the next seventy years?"
"Ha, ha, no. Steve's best friend from childhood is in town, and we're all going to Oktoberfest, so be on your best behavior."
"Tash," Clint whined. "I can't be a hermit and go be among crowds. Maybe I'm allergic to happiness."
"Are you seriously pouting, Clinton Francis Barton?"
"No." Okay, he was pouting. He was a grown man; he had the right to pout whenever he wanted.
Nat slapped the back of his head. "You have the right, but it's not a good look for you. Now, go, take a shower, and when you get out, I'll have set out some clothes for you. Before you say anything, if I leave it up to you, you'll pick a ratty-ass t-shirt and the holiest, most worn-out pair of sweats you own."
"Fine." Clint knew that he couldn't argue with her when she used that tone of voice. He stood up and stomped to his bathroom.
Natasha smiled and went to Clint's bedroom. She slid the closet doors open and stood looking, hands on her hips, until she found the perfect outfit, pulling the clothes off the hangars and placing them on the bed. Natasha walked over and opened the bathroom door. "Tash, damn it!" Clint quickly wrapped a towel around his torso. "Can I help you?"
"Nope, I'm good." She smirked. "Clothes are on the bed. Fix your hair, so it doesn't look like a haystack. We'll meet you at the gate." She shut the door and let herself out of his apartment, locking the door behind her.
"Why do I let her control me like that?" Clint mumbled. "Probably because she can handle me better than I can. She did rescue me, after all." He sighed. "Well, can't do any worse than the choices I've made for myself." Clint walked into the bedroom and noticed the clothes Nat had picked out for him. "I'll never admit this to her, but she did good." He put on the deep blue Henley and the comfortable but not-too-tight pair of jeans. Clint pulled out a pair of socks and his least ratty pair of tennis shoes, then returned to the bathroom to tackle the problem that was his hair.
An hour and three phone calls later, Clint exited the subway and walked up to the festival entrance. Knowing he wouldn't be able to spot his five-foot-something best friend even with her fiery red hair, he kept a look out for her equally stunning boyfriend, Detective Steve, built-like-a-Greek-god Rogers. He was about the same height as Clint, so at 6'2", he should be easy to spot. Clint finally saw them, standing just outside the turnstiles. "Come on, Barton, you can do this." He worked his way through the growing crowd, but he only saw Steve and Nat as he approached. Steve saw Clint and waved. "Hey, Clint!"
Clint lifted his arm and waved back. 'Oh, well, at least I'll have a good time with them,' he thought. "Hey, Steve." Clint smiled. "Thanks for inviting me."
"No problem. Thought we all could use a night out. I know it's been a hard week for Nat and me. How have you been?"
"Just doing a lot of repairs around the building, took in some new clients at the studio, so staying busy." Clint knew his life sounded so mundane compared to theirs, but despite everything, he loved his life. Well, except for not having anyone to share it with.
"That's great, Clint. I keep telling Nat I'm going to have to sign up for archery classes. I need something to vary my workout routine."
"Oh, sure. Just give me a call. Kate can get you scheduled."
"Thanks, Clint. I'll do that." Steve flashed his all-American, apple-pie smile at Clint. Steve could make you feel like you were the only one around when he talked to you. It's one of the many attributes Clint appreciated about him.
Natasha squeezed Steve's bicep. "There's Bucky."
Steve kissed the top of her head. "Thanks, Nat. Hey, Buck!" Steve waved. Clint turned in the direction Steve was waving, and his jaw dropped. Strutting toward the trio was the personification of tall, dark, and handsome. The man wore a red Henley, jeans that hugged all the right body parts, and was the walking embodiment of sin. "Glad you made it, Buck."
"You threatened me within an inch of my life if I didn't show up, punk. What else was I going to do?"
"Jerk." Steve wrapped him up in a bear hug. "I thought we'd get together before you start your new job on Monday." Steve turned toward Nat and Clint. "This is my girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff, and her best friend, Clint Barton."
"Nice to meet you," Natasha said, holding out her hand, which Bucky shook. She turned her attention to Clint and elbowed him when he didn't say anything.
"Oh, right. Sorry. Clint Barton, human disaster." Clint blushed, knowing he couldn't control his mouth when he was nervous.
"James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky." Bucky reached out, took Clint's hand, shook it, then smiled the brightest smile Clint had ever seen. "I've been friends with this guy since first grade, so I'm used to human disasters." Bucky looked at Steve. "Where have you been hiding him, and why haven't you introduced us sooner?" Bucky threw an arm around Clint's shoulders. "Come on, doll. Let's get to know each other better. Don't wait up, Stevie. I'll try to have him back in one piece." Then, in a sultry voice that sent chills up Clint's spine, he added, "Not making any guarantees, though."
As they disappeared into the crowd, Steve turned toward Natasha. "Do you think we've created a monster?"
"Oh, definitely. I'll bring the popcorn, because I can't wait to see where this goes."
