Fic: She kisses the boys with wicked smiles
Title: She's kissing the boys with wicked smiles
Fandoms: The Avengers, Captain America (movies)
Pairing (ot3): Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff/James "Bucky" Barnes
Rating: explicit
Warnings: NSFW content, canon compliant traumatic experiences in the past (vaguely mentioned). Also, based on speculation about Bucky and new Captain America movie.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but it looks like they own me
Summary: Clint has a suggestion for Bucky, designed to make everyone happy. (It also means boys are really really awesome to Natasha)
Author's notes: this is my first attempt at writing OT3. It was fun and exciting and I was a bit nervous, because it's quite out of my comfort zone and things I usually write. I want to dedicate this to three enablers: ashen_key who first suggested it, helped me realize that this is indeed an awesome idea, frea_o who said this needs to be written and that my brain can survive it and franztastisch who kept cheering me on (very loudly. I don't mind! ;) A huge thank you to shenshen77 the best and fastest beta reader there is!
If you prefer reading on AO3, here is the link. All feedback is loved and greatly appreciated!
*
It's a nice summer day, just the right kind of day to stand by the lake and throw rocks into the water and not think much. Clint enjoys this, enjoys the strain of his muscles and the splashing sound of the rock hitting the water and the way the world feels solid and still around him.
He feels Barnes approaching before he sees or hears him - the other sounds change as Barnes comes closer in a leisurely pace, his metallic arm catching the glint of the sun. Clint sees it briefly, the reflection of light over shiny metal, and thinks he's seen weirder things in his life. He has also seen people hiding their insecurities and fears. Barnes does something entirely else, he carries them along, sets them aside and if he needs to walk through fire, he will. He'll keep going, but that doesn't mean he's feeling better.
He still has still a long way to go, Clint thinks.
“Barnes,” he greets easily and throws another rock.
“Barton,” Barnes replies in much the same fashion. “Throwing rocks?”
“Exercise,” Clint says seriously.
“Right.”
He doesn't deserve to have his time wasted. Clint appreciates the guy and they get along rather well, and he guesses there's no right way to say what he planned to tell him.
“So, I was thinking,” Clint starts and glances at Barnes. Barnes, Bucky, James (Natasha calls him James, honors his real name, his first name, like she's trying to build a bridge between now and the past when he was still whole and untouched. Clint is less worried about her than him, though. ) “I heard about this new club in town,” Clint says.
“The Escape?” Barnes asks and picks up a stone. He comes nearer, paralleling with Clint, and throws the rock with his metallic hand. It flies almost over the lake and Clint chuckles.
The Escape, right. Barnes knows about it, even though he doesn't go out, even though it's been months and months, and he still lives like he's uninvited and without a place.
“Yeah, heard it's good,” Clint says.
Barnes shrugs in a way that tells Clint he hasn't been in clubs in a long, long time. (Probably not since Natasha.) It's strange looking at him and thinking about that, thinking how part of her history is standing right here next to him. He respects that, because he respects Nat, but he also respects Barnes because Barnes damn well deserves it.
“I thought about taking Nat there on Saturday night,” Clint says, rolls his shoulder and then throws the rock. It flies far and falls into the water with barely a splash. Barnes stands still, like someone standing near the gate, not even attempting to open it.
“Right.”
“She loves you,” Clint says then. It's not necessarily easy to say it, but it's the truth, and it feels right. Barnes turns his head to look at him, and Clint can see pain there, a world of pain and past and things he can empathize with. But Barnes looks at him like he's asking how he even dares mentioning it. “It's the truth,” Clint says. “You think you'd stop loving someone when they die. You... don't. Not really.”
“And that's something you know?” Barnes asks, and Clint looks away briefly, because he doesn't know what it was like for him. But he knows other, similarly painful things.
Clint thinks of his family. Wonders what it would be like to see his mother walking towards him right now; and he's pretty sure all those long buried feelings would jump at him and stick their claws right into his heart. Love and anger, they are incredibly close.
“That's something I know.”
Silence falls, like a dusty, suffocating blanket on top of them.
“She's lost too much in this life,” Clint continues, throwing another rock and then another. “I know what it did to her. I wanted to tell you that I'm not gonna make her choose,” he says and then looks at Barnes. He pauses, they both do.
“What are you saying?” Barnes' mouth tilts up. “You're not handing her to me, surely,” he says and Clint smirks at that. He can see the appeal he still has for Natasha, he can see the appeal, period. Barnes is sharp, competent, he's attractive and Clint wouldn't mind having Barnes in bed with him and Nat.
This time Clint smirks.
“If you know Natasha, you know she's not something that can be handed.”
“You respect her,” he says and throws another stone. It cuts through the air like a knife and disappears into the water almost soundlessly.
“I do,” Clint says. “As far as I'm concerned she can have both. Both of us,” and judging by how still Barnes is, he didn't expect this. She can have all the love she wants, Clint thinks, and he's pretty sure Barnes gets it. Nobody loses in this scenario. His expression changes, softening around the edges.
Then he slowly nods and looks at Clint.
“I like you well enough, I guess,” it comes out light and Clint laughs a little and throws another rock. Barnes makes a face, amused and surprised, and a little bit pleased.
“I want her to be happy,” Clint throws the last rock and shoves his hands into his pockets. He turns to Barnes fully now, giving him a steady, calm look. “I think we can both help with that.”
Barnes nods, and Clint really likes that wicked smile of his.
*
The Winter Soldier had seen many places. He'd seen many bars like this one, but Bucky Barnes didn't. Steve had taken him out to restaurants, and he's been with Barton or Natasha at places that felt vague enough to be out of some other time, which was good, but sooner or later he had to face the time he missed.
Steve told him months ago it will get easier. On some days he thinks it won't. On other days he does what he does best, he carries on. Today? He's slightly on edge and nervous, but he's also glad that Barton is here. He's a good guy, one of those you'd want with you if you'd have to go into battle. He won't talk much, so you might easily miss he's frighteningly smart until he points you to how to save the day. He doesn't get in anyone's face, but he won't take bullshit from anyone, and he knows how to stand his ground. Right now, it's nice to have someone like that around. Having Natasha around as well is something that makes him hold his breath and hope he's not just dreaming. Steve, he reminds Bucky of Brooklyn, of days when he could smile without a care, have a girl on each arm and walk like the world was his.
He's not that man, that boy any more. He's not Winter Soldier either, and sometimes he wonders who the fuck he is, sometimes he feels like he's pieces of everything, trying to reconcile history and present, lies and truth. At the end of the day, it seems to come down to things you pick.
Barton comes back to their table with their drinks and raises a glass. He has a pleasant face, one of those you can look at for a damn long time and still find new things you somehow missed before. Everyone recreates themselves, and Bucky knows Barton is good for Natasha. He knows too that she won't leave Barton, even though there's a thing, substantial and pretty painful stretching between him and her. And he is right. Natasha isn't something you can hand to someone, you can't own her, and Barton knows that. Bucky supposes he should feel thankful, and he does, but that doesn't help with the things he still feels.
He isn't sure how this is supposed to work out. Sure, Sergeant Bucky Barnes went out with ladies (multiple ladies), but it was mostly brief fun then. This is different, but Bucky knows he can't worry his way through it. There is only one way to find out what would happen. He toasts to that and drinks his beer.
He and Barton are picking up their conversation (it's about baseball then versus now, and Barton is funny and fun to talk to) when Natasha shows up. Beautiful, in a dress that's deep green, looking like one of those Bucky remembers on her, just with more color. (He always knew she was made for a world of color, for things that were brighter and better than reality around them.)
“Boys,” she says when she nears, and there's a kind of smile he remembers. Winter, that's what she called him, and he thinks not everything was bad. Barton grins, like he's sure, and Bucky tries to squelch the pang inside when Natasha kisses him, long and affectionate. But then she turns and her lips are there. Bucky is still; if he moves he might wake up, but Natasha presses her lips against his more firmly and he relents.
It feels like longing and memories and hope. So much hope. She smiles at him when she pulls away, a playful glint in her eye. Barton is smirking there in his chair, looking like he knows something Bucky doesn't.
Natasha takes a seat between them. The music turns louder, the night is just beginning, and when Natasha takes his hand, his bionic hand, something shifts in his chest. He knows Natasha, and he trusts Natasha, he trusts Barton as well. Whatever happens tonight, it's good having two people who care enough not to let you stay alone on Saturday night.
*
She stumbles inside, laughing on her feet until her stomach hurts, until everything becomes somehow lighter and softer. She's inside and they are on her porch, Clint and James and they're laughing too. She danced with them both and kissed them both, and now they're here and her chest feels full.
This could be how happiness feels, she thinks.
And she thinks, I want more of this.
“So,” Clint grins and scratches the back of his head, and then leans in to give her a quick kiss, but she pulls him close and presses against him. It doesn't fail to make him react, to kiss her deeply and groan into her mouth. She lets him go and turns to James, one hand extended to him, the other holding onto Clint's hand.
“Come here,” she says, and James does, comes near and then she kisses him. She kisses him slowly, like she longed to do and never hoped she would again. He's soft and gentle and when she licks her way into his mouth she feels how he tenses, feels the desperation of his mouth on hers. She slowly pulls away. “It's okay,” she says and smiles.
James smiles too, like he's apologizing. “It's been long.”
“Not anymore,” she says and looks at Clint. It's enough to know he'll follow wherever she chooses to lead. “I want to keep having fun,” she tugs Clint close, and now they're both there, their warmth enveloping her. “With you both.”
James wants to say something, but he doesn't, he just looks at her, and she knows, she knows. She kisses him, like a promise that she's here and that he's welcome and wanted. Then she turns and kisses Clint and he's with her, steady and willing and kissing her like he knows she likes.
She pulls back and licks her lips. Clint's desire is steady and James looks hungry, desperate for this and she can't wait any more. She pulls them with her, takes them to her bedroom and closes the door.
They gravitate to her, come closer until they're both pressed against her. The fabric of her dress is thin and she can feel hands touching and roaming and gently slipping under it. Clint kisses her until she needs air and then James kisses and kisses her like he's starving. Clint's lips fall to her neck and shoulder,; he pushes away the strap of her dress. There are hands, warm hands, gentle hands. She isn't sure who unzips her dress because she's busy kissing and having her breath stolen between the two of them. They work out well together, like they’ve been doing this to her since forever. Maybe it's the familiarity, the solid mass of Clint's broad chest and confidence of his kiss, a contrast to James' lithe body and sharp nips, that makes her breathless, makes her feel as they focus complete attention on her. Clint's fingers are lifting her dress, digging hard and rough into her ass as he presses his erection against her side and James kisses her, long and deep and filthy, his normal hand unhooking her bra. She's naked except for her panties, soaked and sticking between her legs. Clint grabs her right there, rubs her through the fabric, then slips it aside.
“Oh God,” she moans into his mouth before James is there to kiss her again. He slips his hand into her panties from behind, just like he used to all those years ago and she shudders. “This is completely unfair,” she says.
“What's unfair?” Clint's fingers on her breasts are familiar, rough just like she likes them.
“You're both still dressed,” she says and palms them both, watching as Clint's eyes roll back and James groans. “Fair is fair, boys,” she says, gives James a filthy kiss, before she pulls Clint close to do the same. “Get naked.”
“What the lady said,” James smirks at Clint and the conspiratorial look passing between them as they both start unbuttoning their jeans is surreal. They're scorching hot like the sun standing there looking at her like she's the only woman existing. It's incredible, because they're both beautiful, both stripping naked for her. Her throat goes dry and she slips her panties down, not sure what to do first. She pushes them both onto the bed, and James sits down but Clint lets himself fall back, a grin on his face. Natasha climbs into James' lap, fingers tracing over his chest, seeking changes, but there are almost none. He looks and feels just as she remembers, his taste overwhelming in its familiarity. He holds her with both hands, one hand normal human skin while the other is safely gloved, and that is familiar as well. He smirks up into her kiss, grabs her breasts as she rubs against him.
“Tease,” he says hotly and before he can pull her onto him she pushes him down on the bed. She kisses down his chest, watches him watching her as she goes lower, down his body, grabs his dick and pulls it into her mouth. His head falls back and the sound he makes feels like bliss. She closes her eyes and wants to roll in that sound and the feel of him underneath her and inside her mouth.
“Tasha, Tasha,” he repeats as her mouth moves on him. “Keep that up and this will be over very soon,” he says, so she stops, lifts herself up to look at him, that look of want and longing and happiness filling his eyes.
“Yeah,” Clint says, moving his hand away from his dick, and it's not entirely surprising that watching her doing this is turning him on. “Come here, baby.”
She crawls over to him and he moves back to sit against the headboard. She kisses him and grabs his dick, he retaliates by pushing his fingers into her. She is wet and turned on and his fingers inside are perfect, pushing and intruding, making her mouth drop open as he kisses the side of her face, bites her neck and sucks her breast. She's rocking into his hand and stroking him, starting to lose herself when two more hands are there, grabbing her ass and tilting her hips. Clint's hand is gone, but then she feels James pushing slowly inside, sliding into her. She nearly cries out, but the sound is stuck in her chest. Clint moves, so they're all kneeling, James behind her and Clint against her front, his tongue in her mouth, his hand between her legs. James moves slowly, groans as he fucks her and she's trying to keep her mind, trying not to scream when they kiss her and kiss each other. Her head falls back, meets James' shoulder, her neck and tits exposed to Clint's mercy. James holds her tighter, fucks her harder and groans into her shoulder as he comes.
He holds onto her, breathing and shaking and repeating her name. She turns to kiss him when he pulls out and moans when he's gone, but he smiles sweetly.
“You're amazing,” he says, hands palming her breasts. “So amazing.”
"So amazing,” Clint echoes, and she has to turn to him, because he's kissing her and seeking her mouth, and then they're competing over her lips and breath. “Come here,” Clint says, his voice rough and low when he pulls her to him. He sits against the headboard again and she straddles him, feels him sliding inside, and she needs a moment, needs to breathe, so she sets her hands firmly against his shoulders. “You okay, beautiful?” Clint asks and she's nodding.
“Just need a moment,” she says, her forehead against his sweaty brow. He touches her gently, touches everywhere, the undersides of her breasts, her lips, her ass, all the places she likes. When she opens her mouth for him he nudges her into movement, lets her pick up a pace she likes as he leaves marks along the column of her throat. It's gentle and familiar and amazing, and then there's James, lifting her hair, his teeth against her shoulder, his human hand sneaking around her until it's between her legs. She cries out this time, moves as they hold onto her; she thinks she will dissolve within the sound and sensation and what they're doing with her. They're men she loves, the two people she loves the most, her past and her present merging together, until it's all white and blinding behind her eyes. She arches, her body feeling like an earthquake when she comes and then she can feel Clint moving faster beneath her, pulling her down with him and holding her hips until he loses himself with his face buried in her neck.
She rests on top of him then, with his hand in her hair and James' lips following the line of her spine. She feels cared for, worshiped even, and she lets them turn her around and kiss her wherever they want. She basks in it all, in the attention and tenderness they're giving her, kisses James when his face is next to hers and grins back at Clint as he spreads her legs. If she looks like a mess they don't care, it feels like all they care about is her and how she is feeling. Clint kisses the inside of her knee and she bites her lip knowing what's coming.
“Yes,” she manages, brushing her breast and sliding her hand low down her body. James just watches them. Watches how she touches herself and how Clint fingers her, until she looks at James and nods. His mouth is back on her then, her mouth, her neck, her nipples and his good hand meets hers and Clint's fingers. Then she feels them both, fingers inside her body and her eyes roll back. It's perfect, it's too much, it's not enough so she rolls her hips and jerks up and off the bed, pleads and curses and moans their names. She grabs her breasts and screams, feeling she will rip apart when she comes this time. When she comes down from her high they're there, against each side, James holding her and Clint kissing her shoulder.
Her body feels boneless, completely spent and tingling. She should move, get up and get a shower, but there's no way she'll part from either of the men in her bed. She kisses James, long and soft and then Clint, sloppy and smiling into his lips, and lets herself sink into the space between them.
*
Clint and Natasha are two people with light sleep, so when James jerks awake behind her back, both she and Clint wake up as well. She can tell he's had a nightmare; she knows by the way his breath comes out short and ragged against her neck.
Natasha is still and quiet when the bed dips and then James is gone (James, Winter, her beautiful Winter), leaving empty space and lack of warmth behind him. She keeps her eyes closed and tells herself that this is now, not then, that he will be okay. That it's hard but it's normal, and they all go through this. She tells herself to stay, because it will be okay, he will be okay. They will be.
Clint brushes her hand.
“Maybe you should go check on him,” he says, familiar and steadying. She opens her eyes then and wants to say something, tell him that James needs his space, or that she knows he doesn't want her there, just something, but she can't. She can see Clint's eyes, soft and tired in the darkness, and she realizes she feels tired too, and scared. “Go,” he says softly.
This is not what James needs, she thinks, when her bare feet touch the floor.
He is a lonely silhouette on her couch, his spine arched, his arms wound around him. She wonders if he's cold, she wonders if he remembers that morning when he got up from his spot behind her back, kissed her shoulder and was gone. (A gunshot rang out under her window and she ran and saw nothing but blood. Her Winter was gone, he was gone, gone, gone; and she was alone. Alone and cold.)
He flinches just slightly when she comes from behind and hugs him.
“Hey,” his voice sounds content, calm, like nightmares are just things made of vapor, and not something they lived. “I'm sorry if I woke you. I just -”
She nods against his shoulder and slips her arms under his, winds them around his chest and remembers. Remembers his laugh, his accented Russian, and the way he looked, like there was more about him. She knew it had to be, because he was just like her, a toy soldier robbed of his name and his past, frozen in time.
“You got up,” she says.
“I got up,” he answers quietly and covers her fingers with his palm. Then he turns around in her embrace and pulls her close. Close, like he used to, tucks her head under his chin and gently holds the back of her head. Just like before. She shifts, until her face is against his shoulder. Things inside her chest start to loosen, she closes her eyes and thinks she can let go. He is here, whole and alive and warm, his skin against hers and he feels like coming home. “I'm okay,” he soothes her. “I got used to them. No need to worry,” he says.
She holds him tight then, and she can hear him saying things, words that make no sense, but melt together so there's just his voice. That's okay, that's fine, because the sound of it is an echo of her past and everything that was good and right about it. (Well, maybe not everything, but the best part. He was always the best part).
She opens her eyes and sees Clint in the doorway. There's a shadow of concern before he catches her eyes, but then his expression changes and she feels like she can finally breathe, like misplaced pieces are finally falling where they should be.
“Let's go back to bed,” she says and James follows her.
Fandoms: The Avengers, Captain America (movies)
Pairing (ot3): Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff/James "Bucky" Barnes
Rating: explicit
Warnings: NSFW content, canon compliant traumatic experiences in the past (vaguely mentioned). Also, based on speculation about Bucky and new Captain America movie.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but it looks like they own me
Summary: Clint has a suggestion for Bucky, designed to make everyone happy. (It also means boys are really really awesome to Natasha)
Author's notes: this is my first attempt at writing OT3. It was fun and exciting and I was a bit nervous, because it's quite out of my comfort zone and things I usually write. I want to dedicate this to three enablers: ashen_key who first suggested it, helped me realize that this is indeed an awesome idea, frea_o who said this needs to be written and that my brain can survive it and franztastisch who kept cheering me on (very loudly. I don't mind! ;) A huge thank you to shenshen77 the best and fastest beta reader there is!
If you prefer reading on AO3, here is the link. All feedback is loved and greatly appreciated!
*
It's a nice summer day, just the right kind of day to stand by the lake and throw rocks into the water and not think much. Clint enjoys this, enjoys the strain of his muscles and the splashing sound of the rock hitting the water and the way the world feels solid and still around him.
He feels Barnes approaching before he sees or hears him - the other sounds change as Barnes comes closer in a leisurely pace, his metallic arm catching the glint of the sun. Clint sees it briefly, the reflection of light over shiny metal, and thinks he's seen weirder things in his life. He has also seen people hiding their insecurities and fears. Barnes does something entirely else, he carries them along, sets them aside and if he needs to walk through fire, he will. He'll keep going, but that doesn't mean he's feeling better.
He still has still a long way to go, Clint thinks.
“Barnes,” he greets easily and throws another rock.
“Barton,” Barnes replies in much the same fashion. “Throwing rocks?”
“Exercise,” Clint says seriously.
“Right.”
He doesn't deserve to have his time wasted. Clint appreciates the guy and they get along rather well, and he guesses there's no right way to say what he planned to tell him.
“So, I was thinking,” Clint starts and glances at Barnes. Barnes, Bucky, James (Natasha calls him James, honors his real name, his first name, like she's trying to build a bridge between now and the past when he was still whole and untouched. Clint is less worried about her than him, though. ) “I heard about this new club in town,” Clint says.
“The Escape?” Barnes asks and picks up a stone. He comes nearer, paralleling with Clint, and throws the rock with his metallic hand. It flies almost over the lake and Clint chuckles.
The Escape, right. Barnes knows about it, even though he doesn't go out, even though it's been months and months, and he still lives like he's uninvited and without a place.
“Yeah, heard it's good,” Clint says.
Barnes shrugs in a way that tells Clint he hasn't been in clubs in a long, long time. (Probably not since Natasha.) It's strange looking at him and thinking about that, thinking how part of her history is standing right here next to him. He respects that, because he respects Nat, but he also respects Barnes because Barnes damn well deserves it.
“I thought about taking Nat there on Saturday night,” Clint says, rolls his shoulder and then throws the rock. It flies far and falls into the water with barely a splash. Barnes stands still, like someone standing near the gate, not even attempting to open it.
“Right.”
“She loves you,” Clint says then. It's not necessarily easy to say it, but it's the truth, and it feels right. Barnes turns his head to look at him, and Clint can see pain there, a world of pain and past and things he can empathize with. But Barnes looks at him like he's asking how he even dares mentioning it. “It's the truth,” Clint says. “You think you'd stop loving someone when they die. You... don't. Not really.”
“And that's something you know?” Barnes asks, and Clint looks away briefly, because he doesn't know what it was like for him. But he knows other, similarly painful things.
Clint thinks of his family. Wonders what it would be like to see his mother walking towards him right now; and he's pretty sure all those long buried feelings would jump at him and stick their claws right into his heart. Love and anger, they are incredibly close.
“That's something I know.”
Silence falls, like a dusty, suffocating blanket on top of them.
“She's lost too much in this life,” Clint continues, throwing another rock and then another. “I know what it did to her. I wanted to tell you that I'm not gonna make her choose,” he says and then looks at Barnes. He pauses, they both do.
“What are you saying?” Barnes' mouth tilts up. “You're not handing her to me, surely,” he says and Clint smirks at that. He can see the appeal he still has for Natasha, he can see the appeal, period. Barnes is sharp, competent, he's attractive and Clint wouldn't mind having Barnes in bed with him and Nat.
This time Clint smirks.
“If you know Natasha, you know she's not something that can be handed.”
“You respect her,” he says and throws another stone. It cuts through the air like a knife and disappears into the water almost soundlessly.
“I do,” Clint says. “As far as I'm concerned she can have both. Both of us,” and judging by how still Barnes is, he didn't expect this. She can have all the love she wants, Clint thinks, and he's pretty sure Barnes gets it. Nobody loses in this scenario. His expression changes, softening around the edges.
Then he slowly nods and looks at Clint.
“I like you well enough, I guess,” it comes out light and Clint laughs a little and throws another rock. Barnes makes a face, amused and surprised, and a little bit pleased.
“I want her to be happy,” Clint throws the last rock and shoves his hands into his pockets. He turns to Barnes fully now, giving him a steady, calm look. “I think we can both help with that.”
Barnes nods, and Clint really likes that wicked smile of his.
*
The Winter Soldier had seen many places. He'd seen many bars like this one, but Bucky Barnes didn't. Steve had taken him out to restaurants, and he's been with Barton or Natasha at places that felt vague enough to be out of some other time, which was good, but sooner or later he had to face the time he missed.
Steve told him months ago it will get easier. On some days he thinks it won't. On other days he does what he does best, he carries on. Today? He's slightly on edge and nervous, but he's also glad that Barton is here. He's a good guy, one of those you'd want with you if you'd have to go into battle. He won't talk much, so you might easily miss he's frighteningly smart until he points you to how to save the day. He doesn't get in anyone's face, but he won't take bullshit from anyone, and he knows how to stand his ground. Right now, it's nice to have someone like that around. Having Natasha around as well is something that makes him hold his breath and hope he's not just dreaming. Steve, he reminds Bucky of Brooklyn, of days when he could smile without a care, have a girl on each arm and walk like the world was his.
He's not that man, that boy any more. He's not Winter Soldier either, and sometimes he wonders who the fuck he is, sometimes he feels like he's pieces of everything, trying to reconcile history and present, lies and truth. At the end of the day, it seems to come down to things you pick.
Barton comes back to their table with their drinks and raises a glass. He has a pleasant face, one of those you can look at for a damn long time and still find new things you somehow missed before. Everyone recreates themselves, and Bucky knows Barton is good for Natasha. He knows too that she won't leave Barton, even though there's a thing, substantial and pretty painful stretching between him and her. And he is right. Natasha isn't something you can hand to someone, you can't own her, and Barton knows that. Bucky supposes he should feel thankful, and he does, but that doesn't help with the things he still feels.
He isn't sure how this is supposed to work out. Sure, Sergeant Bucky Barnes went out with ladies (multiple ladies), but it was mostly brief fun then. This is different, but Bucky knows he can't worry his way through it. There is only one way to find out what would happen. He toasts to that and drinks his beer.
He and Barton are picking up their conversation (it's about baseball then versus now, and Barton is funny and fun to talk to) when Natasha shows up. Beautiful, in a dress that's deep green, looking like one of those Bucky remembers on her, just with more color. (He always knew she was made for a world of color, for things that were brighter and better than reality around them.)
“Boys,” she says when she nears, and there's a kind of smile he remembers. Winter, that's what she called him, and he thinks not everything was bad. Barton grins, like he's sure, and Bucky tries to squelch the pang inside when Natasha kisses him, long and affectionate. But then she turns and her lips are there. Bucky is still; if he moves he might wake up, but Natasha presses her lips against his more firmly and he relents.
It feels like longing and memories and hope. So much hope. She smiles at him when she pulls away, a playful glint in her eye. Barton is smirking there in his chair, looking like he knows something Bucky doesn't.
Natasha takes a seat between them. The music turns louder, the night is just beginning, and when Natasha takes his hand, his bionic hand, something shifts in his chest. He knows Natasha, and he trusts Natasha, he trusts Barton as well. Whatever happens tonight, it's good having two people who care enough not to let you stay alone on Saturday night.
*
She stumbles inside, laughing on her feet until her stomach hurts, until everything becomes somehow lighter and softer. She's inside and they are on her porch, Clint and James and they're laughing too. She danced with them both and kissed them both, and now they're here and her chest feels full.
This could be how happiness feels, she thinks.
And she thinks, I want more of this.
“So,” Clint grins and scratches the back of his head, and then leans in to give her a quick kiss, but she pulls him close and presses against him. It doesn't fail to make him react, to kiss her deeply and groan into her mouth. She lets him go and turns to James, one hand extended to him, the other holding onto Clint's hand.
“Come here,” she says, and James does, comes near and then she kisses him. She kisses him slowly, like she longed to do and never hoped she would again. He's soft and gentle and when she licks her way into his mouth she feels how he tenses, feels the desperation of his mouth on hers. She slowly pulls away. “It's okay,” she says and smiles.
James smiles too, like he's apologizing. “It's been long.”
“Not anymore,” she says and looks at Clint. It's enough to know he'll follow wherever she chooses to lead. “I want to keep having fun,” she tugs Clint close, and now they're both there, their warmth enveloping her. “With you both.”
James wants to say something, but he doesn't, he just looks at her, and she knows, she knows. She kisses him, like a promise that she's here and that he's welcome and wanted. Then she turns and kisses Clint and he's with her, steady and willing and kissing her like he knows she likes.
She pulls back and licks her lips. Clint's desire is steady and James looks hungry, desperate for this and she can't wait any more. She pulls them with her, takes them to her bedroom and closes the door.
They gravitate to her, come closer until they're both pressed against her. The fabric of her dress is thin and she can feel hands touching and roaming and gently slipping under it. Clint kisses her until she needs air and then James kisses and kisses her like he's starving. Clint's lips fall to her neck and shoulder,; he pushes away the strap of her dress. There are hands, warm hands, gentle hands. She isn't sure who unzips her dress because she's busy kissing and having her breath stolen between the two of them. They work out well together, like they’ve been doing this to her since forever. Maybe it's the familiarity, the solid mass of Clint's broad chest and confidence of his kiss, a contrast to James' lithe body and sharp nips, that makes her breathless, makes her feel as they focus complete attention on her. Clint's fingers are lifting her dress, digging hard and rough into her ass as he presses his erection against her side and James kisses her, long and deep and filthy, his normal hand unhooking her bra. She's naked except for her panties, soaked and sticking between her legs. Clint grabs her right there, rubs her through the fabric, then slips it aside.
“Oh God,” she moans into his mouth before James is there to kiss her again. He slips his hand into her panties from behind, just like he used to all those years ago and she shudders. “This is completely unfair,” she says.
“What's unfair?” Clint's fingers on her breasts are familiar, rough just like she likes them.
“You're both still dressed,” she says and palms them both, watching as Clint's eyes roll back and James groans. “Fair is fair, boys,” she says, gives James a filthy kiss, before she pulls Clint close to do the same. “Get naked.”
“What the lady said,” James smirks at Clint and the conspiratorial look passing between them as they both start unbuttoning their jeans is surreal. They're scorching hot like the sun standing there looking at her like she's the only woman existing. It's incredible, because they're both beautiful, both stripping naked for her. Her throat goes dry and she slips her panties down, not sure what to do first. She pushes them both onto the bed, and James sits down but Clint lets himself fall back, a grin on his face. Natasha climbs into James' lap, fingers tracing over his chest, seeking changes, but there are almost none. He looks and feels just as she remembers, his taste overwhelming in its familiarity. He holds her with both hands, one hand normal human skin while the other is safely gloved, and that is familiar as well. He smirks up into her kiss, grabs her breasts as she rubs against him.
“Tease,” he says hotly and before he can pull her onto him she pushes him down on the bed. She kisses down his chest, watches him watching her as she goes lower, down his body, grabs his dick and pulls it into her mouth. His head falls back and the sound he makes feels like bliss. She closes her eyes and wants to roll in that sound and the feel of him underneath her and inside her mouth.
“Tasha, Tasha,” he repeats as her mouth moves on him. “Keep that up and this will be over very soon,” he says, so she stops, lifts herself up to look at him, that look of want and longing and happiness filling his eyes.
“Yeah,” Clint says, moving his hand away from his dick, and it's not entirely surprising that watching her doing this is turning him on. “Come here, baby.”
She crawls over to him and he moves back to sit against the headboard. She kisses him and grabs his dick, he retaliates by pushing his fingers into her. She is wet and turned on and his fingers inside are perfect, pushing and intruding, making her mouth drop open as he kisses the side of her face, bites her neck and sucks her breast. She's rocking into his hand and stroking him, starting to lose herself when two more hands are there, grabbing her ass and tilting her hips. Clint's hand is gone, but then she feels James pushing slowly inside, sliding into her. She nearly cries out, but the sound is stuck in her chest. Clint moves, so they're all kneeling, James behind her and Clint against her front, his tongue in her mouth, his hand between her legs. James moves slowly, groans as he fucks her and she's trying to keep her mind, trying not to scream when they kiss her and kiss each other. Her head falls back, meets James' shoulder, her neck and tits exposed to Clint's mercy. James holds her tighter, fucks her harder and groans into her shoulder as he comes.
He holds onto her, breathing and shaking and repeating her name. She turns to kiss him when he pulls out and moans when he's gone, but he smiles sweetly.
“You're amazing,” he says, hands palming her breasts. “So amazing.”
"So amazing,” Clint echoes, and she has to turn to him, because he's kissing her and seeking her mouth, and then they're competing over her lips and breath. “Come here,” Clint says, his voice rough and low when he pulls her to him. He sits against the headboard again and she straddles him, feels him sliding inside, and she needs a moment, needs to breathe, so she sets her hands firmly against his shoulders. “You okay, beautiful?” Clint asks and she's nodding.
“Just need a moment,” she says, her forehead against his sweaty brow. He touches her gently, touches everywhere, the undersides of her breasts, her lips, her ass, all the places she likes. When she opens her mouth for him he nudges her into movement, lets her pick up a pace she likes as he leaves marks along the column of her throat. It's gentle and familiar and amazing, and then there's James, lifting her hair, his teeth against her shoulder, his human hand sneaking around her until it's between her legs. She cries out this time, moves as they hold onto her; she thinks she will dissolve within the sound and sensation and what they're doing with her. They're men she loves, the two people she loves the most, her past and her present merging together, until it's all white and blinding behind her eyes. She arches, her body feeling like an earthquake when she comes and then she can feel Clint moving faster beneath her, pulling her down with him and holding her hips until he loses himself with his face buried in her neck.
She rests on top of him then, with his hand in her hair and James' lips following the line of her spine. She feels cared for, worshiped even, and she lets them turn her around and kiss her wherever they want. She basks in it all, in the attention and tenderness they're giving her, kisses James when his face is next to hers and grins back at Clint as he spreads her legs. If she looks like a mess they don't care, it feels like all they care about is her and how she is feeling. Clint kisses the inside of her knee and she bites her lip knowing what's coming.
“Yes,” she manages, brushing her breast and sliding her hand low down her body. James just watches them. Watches how she touches herself and how Clint fingers her, until she looks at James and nods. His mouth is back on her then, her mouth, her neck, her nipples and his good hand meets hers and Clint's fingers. Then she feels them both, fingers inside her body and her eyes roll back. It's perfect, it's too much, it's not enough so she rolls her hips and jerks up and off the bed, pleads and curses and moans their names. She grabs her breasts and screams, feeling she will rip apart when she comes this time. When she comes down from her high they're there, against each side, James holding her and Clint kissing her shoulder.
Her body feels boneless, completely spent and tingling. She should move, get up and get a shower, but there's no way she'll part from either of the men in her bed. She kisses James, long and soft and then Clint, sloppy and smiling into his lips, and lets herself sink into the space between them.
*
Clint and Natasha are two people with light sleep, so when James jerks awake behind her back, both she and Clint wake up as well. She can tell he's had a nightmare; she knows by the way his breath comes out short and ragged against her neck.
Natasha is still and quiet when the bed dips and then James is gone (James, Winter, her beautiful Winter), leaving empty space and lack of warmth behind him. She keeps her eyes closed and tells herself that this is now, not then, that he will be okay. That it's hard but it's normal, and they all go through this. She tells herself to stay, because it will be okay, he will be okay. They will be.
Clint brushes her hand.
“Maybe you should go check on him,” he says, familiar and steadying. She opens her eyes then and wants to say something, tell him that James needs his space, or that she knows he doesn't want her there, just something, but she can't. She can see Clint's eyes, soft and tired in the darkness, and she realizes she feels tired too, and scared. “Go,” he says softly.
This is not what James needs, she thinks, when her bare feet touch the floor.
He is a lonely silhouette on her couch, his spine arched, his arms wound around him. She wonders if he's cold, she wonders if he remembers that morning when he got up from his spot behind her back, kissed her shoulder and was gone. (A gunshot rang out under her window and she ran and saw nothing but blood. Her Winter was gone, he was gone, gone, gone; and she was alone. Alone and cold.)
He flinches just slightly when she comes from behind and hugs him.
“Hey,” his voice sounds content, calm, like nightmares are just things made of vapor, and not something they lived. “I'm sorry if I woke you. I just -”
She nods against his shoulder and slips her arms under his, winds them around his chest and remembers. Remembers his laugh, his accented Russian, and the way he looked, like there was more about him. She knew it had to be, because he was just like her, a toy soldier robbed of his name and his past, frozen in time.
“You got up,” she says.
“I got up,” he answers quietly and covers her fingers with his palm. Then he turns around in her embrace and pulls her close. Close, like he used to, tucks her head under his chin and gently holds the back of her head. Just like before. She shifts, until her face is against his shoulder. Things inside her chest start to loosen, she closes her eyes and thinks she can let go. He is here, whole and alive and warm, his skin against hers and he feels like coming home. “I'm okay,” he soothes her. “I got used to them. No need to worry,” he says.
She holds him tight then, and she can hear him saying things, words that make no sense, but melt together so there's just his voice. That's okay, that's fine, because the sound of it is an echo of her past and everything that was good and right about it. (Well, maybe not everything, but the best part. He was always the best part).
She opens her eyes and sees Clint in the doorway. There's a shadow of concern before he catches her eyes, but then his expression changes and she feels like she can finally breathe, like misplaced pieces are finally falling where they should be.
“Let's go back to bed,” she says and James follows her.