Fic: Breathe together
Title: Breathe together
Fandom: The Avengers (2012), Captain America (movies)
Pairing (ot3): Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff/James "Bucky" Barnes
Rating: explicit
Genre: introspection, drama, romance, threesome
Warnings: NSFW eplicit content, canon compliant violence (implied, vaguely mentioned), deals with consequences of memory alteration and remembering traumatic events.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but it seems like they own me. I get nothing out of this, but fun.
Summary: There are multiple reasons why Bucky doesn't like sleeping alone.
Author's notes: continuation to She's kissing the boys with wicked smiles, set one to two months later, and more focused on Bucky and things he's dealing with. Written for endeni who generously spoils me with pretty artwork! Huge thank yous go to my writing buddies - shenshen77 who picks me up when I fall (and sometimes carries me, and let's not mention, fixes my bad grammar), and ashen_key who has the best ideas and discusses things and spoils me with Winter Soldier feels. I LOVE YOU LADIES.
Here is AO3 link if you prefer to read there. Comments, thoughts, discussion and bribery (kidding!) are welcome on either entry. :)
*
Bucky can't sleep, and it's ridiculous.
Sure, his body still has the upgrades and he doesn't really need as much sleep as an ordinary person, but he still needs it. And he enjoys it. He's been relishing sleep, and everything that comes with it. Sometimes there's just Natasha, and he likes how she wraps herself around him, almost like she's afraid he'll go away. He always assures her he won't and selfishly grins into her shoulder, because sometimes he likes having her just for himself.
He likes when Barton's there, though, more than he anticipated he would. He's used by now to the sound of Barton's steady breath. Bucky has never been fearful, but there's something about Barton, about his solid presence that gives him ease, at any time of day or night.
Nowadays Bucky sleeps tightly, spooned behind Natasha, with the familiar outline of Barton's body within his sight when he opens his eyes. Sometimes he wakes and just rests like that, listens to the sounds of the two people next to him, people who want him there with them. It's peaceful and he remembers his childhood and military days and the feeling of belonging to people, with people, until the harmony of their breathing brings him back to sleep. Yet, despite all of this comfort he keeps waking. Sometimes he goes without a nightmare for an entire week, but they keep coming back. The worst ones aren’t even nightmares, he realizes, they’re scraps of memories, and they’re the worst.
They’re persistent this time. His mind serves him some new horror every night, ever since Natasha went away on a mission, which was two weeks ago. He dreamed of Steve this time. And himself, shouting Not without you, and then Steve jumped through fire but never showed up on the other side. Bucky woke in cold sweat, not sure if he shouted, and when his head refused to clear he got up and walked barefoot to the kitchen.
He honestly hoped spending a night here would help. Natasha’s things were here, and the rooms felt like her and smelled like her. He came over, he and Barton watched a basketball game and he fell asleep on the couch, his head against Natasha’s big cushions. He slept around other people during most of his life, and Natasha’s scent under his cheek only brings it sharper into focus.
He wonders if Barton is still asleep, given how easily he wakes. Bucky Knows Barton had three long days of training and hopes he didn’t wake him this time. Right now Natasha's kitchen is quiet and dark, with only streetlights filtering in through the window and Bucky is wondering why he can't shake off the nightmares. Maybe it's just the passing of time, because pain tends to come back. Maybe it's this new thing between Natasha, Barton and him; and him relaxing and starting to let go of things.
Maybe he's lonely, like in those moments when he splashes cold water over his face and looks into the mirror.
He hears Barton's feet on the floor and turns from the window to see his silhouette when he enters the kitchen. He feels slightly uneasy, like being caught and ignores a stir in his chest at the familiar patterns of movement. Barton pours a glass of water and drinks.
“Can't sleep?” he asks and Bucky nods.
“Bad dream,” he says. If it was Steve, Bucky would say something else. Something like it's too hot tonight or complain about an old wound hurting, and Steve wouldn't buy it, but it would be okay. But the kitchen is dark, and telling things in darkness has always been easier. “Just... guess that's normal,” Bucky shrugs. “If there's anything normal about me.”
Barton nods. “Yeah. Been there.”
Bucky tries to get a better look at him, but it's too dark. Yet the tone of voice is familiar, like from a soldier who's seen the battle and doesn't need to tell stories. Bucky has heard of Loki and what he did to Barton, and he can't find the right words for that, despite everything he's been through. Silence is safer, so they just stand there, comfortably, Clint drinking water and Bucky looking through the window.
“I wonder if not remembering is a good thing,” Bucky says then. It bothers him. He doesn't remember all of his Winter Soldier days, but he remembers enough. He's glad that he remembers Natasha, but he would like to remember more of that kid from Brooklyn. He wishes for memories of himself and Steve, even if remembering what you've lost is a painful thing to deal with, but most of all he wishes to feel solid, rooted in his past. Barton comes near and takes a deep breath, and Bucky feels like he’s walking through rooms filled with mirrors that give back distorted images.
My Winter, she said once, I will never lose you.
“Sometimes it is,” Barton says. “But I prefer remembering.”
Even though he doesn't explain anything further, Bucky understands. Or at least he thinks he does. His chest is painfully tight then, and he thinks of Natasha, wishes she was there to call him James, and he could pull her close and just hold on. He always liked touching, easy to share physical affection with men and women alike. He was one of the boys who gave sweet kisses and let girls drag him by the hand. He feels a void in place where that boy resided within him, but sometimes Natasha (Natasha and Barton) can fill that space, and he wishes he could have that right now. He could reach for Barton's hand, but this is the first time they're on their own, and he doesn't. He's not sure how to say what he wants, so he opts for simple,
“Do you know when Natasha is coming back?”
Maybe it's the way his voice comes out, a little too needy for Bucky's liking. Barton turns to him and their hands brush and Bucky feels a jolt at it. It's the closeness, probably. Even though he enjoyed experimenting back in the day, he's never really been into men - well, hang on. He can’t really say he never shared a bed with a man.
“Don't know,” Barton's voice is close and really familiar. “But I'm here,” he adds. There's no awkwardness about his movements; Barton leans in and Bucky feels his lips against his own - steady and familiar and right there. It's a soft kiss, like an offered hand he can take or choose to turn down.
The desire he suddenly feels is a shock, even though it probably shouldn’t be. He's kissed Barton before, but it felt different with the three of them wrapped up in want and touch and sex together. This is different because he feels lonely and raw, because darkness reminds him of losing so much. He just needs this, needs human contact and someone this familiar, so he pulls Barton closer and they kiss. Barton is a good kisser, certain of himself but not imposing, and it only serves to make Bucky feel hungrier. Then Barton pulls away, slowly and softly, like he's offering Bucky room to decide on his own.
“I'll be in Nat's room” Barton says and leaves the door wide open behind him.
Bucky's mouth goes a little dry, and he stands there trying to think and not succeeding and wanting to go after Barton and just reach out. The door waits, inviting like candlelight. He takes one step, and another, and then the third is easier.
He knows the room, its smell and feel and still he's a bit nervous. Barton doesn't move, just waits for him, in the middle of Natasha's space. Bucky comes near, tries to find the right thing to say, but instead just slides his fingers along the other man's arm. It's a strong, confident arm, solid like he would like himself to be again. There's relief when he feels fingers wrap around his, and this time it's him who leans in.
Barton, Clint is shorter than him, but his entire presence feels bigger, so assuring and Bucky realizes he craves that. He craves the touch and the sounds and the feel of another human body so close. His breath turns short, and it's kind of embarrassing how hard he is already. He needs air so he pulls away, and gasps against Clint's open mouth.
“Do you want to stop?” Clint asks, and Bucky takes a deep breath. His heart is pounding and his chest hurts and he needs, oh God, he just needs and can't bear the thought of going back to the living room where he fell asleep in the first place all alone.
“No,” he says and the kiss he gives Clint is close to desperate.
Clint lets him pull him closer and tighter, but then he takes control of the kiss and doesn't let Bucky get lost. He kisses him slowly, thoroughly, the way he kisses Natasha when he makes her breathless. Bucky realizes the same is happening to him, and it's good, because he can't think, he can only feel. They walk a few steps, Bucky going backwards until the backs of his feet hit the bed and he hardens even more. He parts from Clint to pull off his shirt before reaching for Clint's, and Clint lets him. Then they're against each other again, chest to chest and Clint slides his hands up Bucky's arms, both of his arms. Bucky holds his breath, leans his face against Clint's. They kiss, slowly, hotly, until Bucky lowers himself on the bed and pulls Clint along with him.
Clint crawls over him carefully, parts his legs with his knee and Bucky jerks against him. He closes his eyes and feels Clint's mouth, his hand brushing down his chest and opening his jeans and Bucky can't suppress a moan. He holds his breath when he feels fingers wrapping around him, moans again when Clint starts to stroke him, and it's good, no it's better than good, but the jeans are restricting and Bucky wants them off.
“Wait,” he breathes, realizing how he sounds, but he doesn’t care. He pushes the jeans and briefs down and now he's naked, he's completely exposed and holds his breath when Clint starts touching and kissing him again. Bucky wraps his flesh hand around his own dick, and Clint's fingers wrap around Bucky's. He can feel how hard Clint is against his thigh and they're kissing and kissing. He lets Clint take over, lays still except for surrendering to the sensations of hands and lips and Clint’s weight on top of him. He’s flooded with familiarity, Clint’s scent and taste, but the things Clint does to his body are still new and overwhelming. He wants to return the favor, wants to touch Clint, so he runs his hands along Clint’s sides and draws a shudder. It’s easier with his normal, human hand, but the other one works perfectly as well, if Clint’s reaction is anything to go by. He enjoys feeling the warmth and texture of Clint’s skin, and he closes his eyes when Clint pulls those fingers into his mouth and sucks.
“Oh God,” Bucky says, jerking his hips into Clint’s hand. Clint kisses him long and deep and Bucky’s hands fall back to the bed as Clint changes the rhythm of his hand and moves to kiss down Bucky’s throat. It’s quick now, intense, the climb to his release feels unforgiving, so he closes his eyes and everything becomes white and blinding.
Bucky breathes harshly, his face against Clint's shoulder, until he calms down and lets his head drop onto the pillow. He can barely see Clint's face in the faint street light coming through the windows, but he can see a small smile and something that looks like fondness. When he reaches for Clint with his gloved hand to kiss him, it's affectionate and slow; and the intensity of it reminds him of their times with Natasha, and then it’s completely clear. Having Natasha with them isn’t a condition to how Clint acts.
They shift slowly to their sides, and Bucky reaches between their bodies with his good hand and slips it into Clint's shorts. He loves the low moan he draws with his fingers, the impatient jerk of Clint’s hips when he starts to stroke. Bucky can return the favor, kiss Clint and make him fall to the pillow with his mouth hanging open. It's amazing, the feeling of being wanted, moving together and making Clint come apart with a shout against his shoulder.
They part slowly, kissing, and roll to their backs. The feeling of heaviness Bucky's been carrying around seems gone. He turns his head to look at Clint who does the same and Bucky lets out a short laugh and rubs his face. Clint makes a content sound and stretches, and Bucky likes how their shoulders touch when they're like this. But, he's used to sleeping on his side, so he rolls to face him.
“That was -” Bucky starts, but then yawns. Clint chuckles. “Good. That was really good.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Sleepy?”
“Kinda,” Bucky answers. “Thanks,” he adds. He can't articulate everything he feels and thinks to properly express himself, but Clint nods with something akin to understanding spreading over his face.
“Any time,” he says. There's a hint of mirth in his voice.
Bucky grins and closes his eyes, content to hear the familiar rhythm of breathing next to him. “I just might take you up on it.”
*
When Barnes walks out of the bedroom, it’s right in time for coffee. Clint grins, thinking how he and Nat spoiled him, but doesn’t mind. Barnes - James - is standing at the door with messy hair and bare chest.
“Morning,” Clint says, holding up a cup of coffee for him.
James is scarily like Natasha sometimes, and maybe that’s part of the reason why it’s so easy connecting to him. There’s plenty that’s uniquely James Barnes that Clint likes - he is a guy who won’t complain, who will shove down his pain and loyally stand up for a friend, making you laugh without taking your light. He’s strong and fragile and easy going and conflicted and he probably pulls at every protective instinct Clint has, but Clint is aware that he needs an opportunity to be his own man.
James takes the cup from Clint’s hand, takes a few sips of coffee and sets it aside on the kitchen counter. Then he leans in for a kiss. It’s full, soft, making Clint open his mouth. The guy is a cuddle monster, just like Nat can be after a good fuck, and the way he kisses makes it clear that he wants more (more coffee, more fucking, more everything). The kiss happens easily, a natural progression after last night and Clint wouldn’t mind going back to bed if both of them didn’t have to go to work.
He pulls away slowly and grins.
“Yet another cuddly person,” Clint says very seriously. James smirks and raises an eyebrow.
“You stand no chance,” he replies, smug and smirking, and then kisses Clint again. There’s way more confidence in his kissing than last night, and it’s too easy to see the relief in his expression. Clint lets him control the kiss, do wicked things until they’re both breathless. He can see the smug expression and excitement in James’ eyes.
“I’m well aware,” Clint says. “But we’ll have to save this for later.”
“Mhmmm,” James says, kissing him once more, with lips and tongue and hands running up Clint’s chest.
“You can make breakfast,” Clint smirks.
“Oh? Are you actually letting me make a mess of your precious kitchen?”
“It’s Nat’s precious kitchen, so I’d be careful,” Clint says and winks.
“Right,” James looks content, young as he deserves to be and the sight tugs at Clint’s heart. He might have started caring for him because of Natasha, because of her stories and everything James meant to her, but James has won him over. There are times when Clint wants to hold him; both him and Nat and tell them they’re safe. Except he can’t make that promise and expect to keep it, but he can at least try.
He nears James once more and kisses him like he’s making that sort of promise. The smug smirk goes away and James gives in, until Clint pulls back, his hand on James’ face.
“I’ll go get a shower and be right back,” he says.
*
Natasha knows someone is there the moment she enters her house. There are two pairs of shoes, both of which she recognizes. It’s a surprise, but it’s certainly a nice one. She dealt with all post mission things, wrote up her report while she was still on the plane, she even had a quick shower on the base. She is way too tired to do any of that now, but company she wouldn’t mind. There’s nothing like your own house and yoga pants, and two funny, if slightly obnoxious men who are apparently in her house.
The house is too quiet and she wonders where they are. Back yard is a possibility, even though it’s late in the evening, but if they were there, there would be the sound of conversation.
She can hear a familiar sound when she nears the bedroom. She has to leave her bag in there anyway, and when she enters there the sight makes her pause at the door.
So that’s what they’ve been at while she was gone? The smirk turns slowly into a real smile as she takes in the details. Clint sleeps on his back, the sheet riding low on his hips, James on his side with an arm thrown across Clint’s naked chest. He looks like he’s trying to cuddle and at the same time give Clint room. They’re both dead to the world, both looking younger and calm, like nothing ever hurt them.
That part isn’t real.
Clint stirs and cracks an eye open, because he doesn’t sleep deeply. She knows feeling bad about waking him is irrational, but she can’t help it. He grins, mindless of the pain inside her chest, and nudges James.
“Mmmhhh. Let me sleep,” James says. That looks and sounds like something they’re used to by now and adds more ache behind her ribs.
“She’s home,” Clint nudges him and that does make James look up. He’s got that adoring, stupid grin plastered to his face that does funny things to her chest and knees.
“Nat,” he says. They look smug and unashamed, and the bed looks inviting with the two of them in it, so she tells herself to stop thinking and starts to strip. .
“Make room,” she says. She throws away her shirt and pushes down her jeans, gets rid of her bra and doesn’t bother looking for a shirt to sleep in. They’re both better than any blanket in the world, and she really, really loves her spot between them. “It’s still my bed,” she says when she crawls in.
“Hey gorgeous,” Clint says. The sound of his voice reverberates through her, rough and. James spoons right behind her, humming against her shoulder. Soon she’s wrapped in them, all hands and naked skin and soft kisses. She is home, and home is full of wonderful things.
“Hey boys.” God, she missed them. And she’d jump them right now if she wasn’t feeling so damn tired. “My bed smells of sex.”
“You know how it is, one has to exercise to stay in shape,” Clint sounds completely nonchalant. He palms her breast and his lips move down her throat.
“I don’t care. You’re stripping the bed later,” she manages before James moves over her and steals a long kiss.
“Sure thing,” he says and settles back behind her. “After we have sex with you,” he adds.
“Who says I want to have sex?” she says even as she kisses Clint, then turns and kisses James.
“We’ll just inspire you,” James doesn’t let go of her face. His lips feel good and she doesn’t bother resisting this.
“You always want sex,” Clint adds. She does, but that doesn’t mean she always acts on her wishes.
“I’ll think about that,” Natasha pushes her butt back against James and that draws a groan. He starts to harden almost instantly, and then it’s her turn to give a smug smile.
“How about right now?” he gently grabs her hip and Clint continues kissing down her neck.
“I require my beauty sleep first,” she says and gives both a stern look. She knows from experience that waiting will only make making out later hotter. “As you were, soldiers.”
“Hmph,” Clint says, but stops what he was doing. Reluctantly.
“You’re pouting like a little girl, Barton.”
“Fiiine,” Clint pretends to whine and then kisses Natasha’s forehead. “Get some rest, beautiful. We’ll be here.”
“You better,” she says and stretches, brushing against men at her sides. They’re so wonderfully warm and hers. She closes her eyes and lets herself drift off.
*
Bucky wakes and knows he was shouting. He knows where he was in his dream, he knows that it’s not just a nightmare.
There was a narrow bed, dully painted walls, the humid and constantly cold air. He’d been strapped to that bed and unable to move. That was the beginning. His mouth goes dry at the thought. Bucky rolls away from Natasha and leaves the warmth of her body behind. His toes touch the chilly floor. Chilly is good, it’s real and grounding. He counts the steps to the bathroom, braces his hands on the sink, counts three breaths and looks up at the mirror.
The lines on his face are still the same.
Cold water feels good against his cheeks. He hopes he didn’t wake anyone, but he knows by now that he probably did.
He is about to go to the kitchen when he hears the sound of steps behind him. It’s Natasha, and she looks completely awake.
He remembers that.
“Hey,” she says, her voice a whisper. He doesn’t want her to whisper because of him, or to have that worried look on her face. He doesn’t want to feel like this; like things are about to blow up in his face and disappear.
“Hey Natasha,” he says quietly. “Did I wake you and Clint?”
She regards him for a couple of quiet moments before she comes near and takes his hands in hers. He knows the look on her face, drawn and hard, reminding him of white snow marked with red blood. She looks up then, like she’s telling him that whatever he’s trying to do is impractical. (Beneath that he can see memories like ghosts in her eyes, and determination not to lose him again.)
“We don’t mind being awake with you,” she says when she takes his hand.
“I can handle it,” he says. He does like the fact that she’s there, and he knows she knows.
“I know,” her lips curl slightly. Her face reminds him of the sea, hiding the depths and reflecting suns’ warm light.
It’s not the nightmares that he’s afraid of; not the cold rooms or the fire; or the sounds of gunshots that he remembers. It’s the moments when he’s slipping away from unconsciousness, crawling his way up to wake state where he can’t recognize the face looking at him from the mirror. He doesn’t want to wake and find himself alone in a world of unfamiliar shapes, he doesn’t want to be someone else each time his feet touch the floor.
He doesn’t want to find he is real, but everything else wasn’t.
“James?” she asks and he feels almost like he wakes again.
“This -“ he begins, gesturing vaguely between them, and she is shaking her head and allowing emotions into her eyes. (I could always find the real you in them, Natalia. Same, my Winter. I will never lose you, she said years and years ago.).
“Everything okay?” Clint asks when they return to the bedroom.
“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Just a dream.”
Natasha pulls him to the bed and slides to his side, leaving room in the middle for him. Bucky settles there carefully. He can feel how Clint and Natasha shift closer. Clint’s hand is across his chest and Natasha is pressed against him, and they feel soft and solid at the same time.
“Bad dream?” Clint asks, his face even.
“Bad memory,” Bucky says. Clint keeps looking at him quietly, with the kind of understanding words can’t convey. He strokes Bucky’s chest and then moves even closer to kiss him. It’s a kiss meant for comfort, and when Clint parts from him, Natasha’s lips are there, echoing the sentiment that Clint’s lips have left behind.
“Come here,” Natasha shifts after she parts from him, propping up a pillow.
“Well, is the world ending or what?” Bucky says, gratefully moving closer.
“I don’t know, it might be,” Clint says, moving closer to James. “She doesn’t cuddle with me.”
“You’re a lying liar that lies, Barton,” Natasha says.
“She does cuddle with me,” Bucky flashes what he hopes is his best smile. “And you like it.”
“I do not confess to such a thing,” Natasha says, leans down and kisses him soundly.
“I spy more liars here,” Clint turns on his back and stretches.
“Indeed you do,” Bucky turns to look at him and Clint grins.
“I’m sensing a conspiracy,” Natasha says. Clint’s face is all innocent surprise that’s completely fake.
“Hmmm, I don’t know. What do you think, Barnes?”
“Not sure what she’s talking about,” Bucky says, and before Natasha can react he tickles her side.
“Hey!” She lets him do this for a bit, then catches his hands and tries to give him a stern look. He does his best to make it a hard job, teasing more laughter out of her. Eventually Clint laughs and punches them both with a pillow.
“I think we could all catch some z’s,” he says. “It’s only two a.m., and I have to file a ton of reports tomorrow. Or rather today, so -“ he looks at Bucky and Natasha and plops down onto the bed, hands crossed over his face. “If you two would kindly stay quiet?”
Bucky looks at Natasha and she places a finger over her lips. He smiles.
“Good point,” Natasha says. Bucky releases her and settles in her former spot in the middle of the bed. He feels content there, listening to Clint’s breathing even out and watching Natasha settle down. He wills his mind to relax but sleep doesn’t come easily. He listens to the sound of breathing, reminding him that he’s not alone.
Fandom: The Avengers (2012), Captain America (movies)
Pairing (ot3): Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff/James "Bucky" Barnes
Rating: explicit
Genre: introspection, drama, romance, threesome
Warnings: NSFW eplicit content, canon compliant violence (implied, vaguely mentioned), deals with consequences of memory alteration and remembering traumatic events.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, but it seems like they own me. I get nothing out of this, but fun.
Summary: There are multiple reasons why Bucky doesn't like sleeping alone.
Author's notes: continuation to She's kissing the boys with wicked smiles, set one to two months later, and more focused on Bucky and things he's dealing with. Written for endeni who generously spoils me with pretty artwork! Huge thank yous go to my writing buddies - shenshen77 who picks me up when I fall (and sometimes carries me, and let's not mention, fixes my bad grammar), and ashen_key who has the best ideas and discusses things and spoils me with Winter Soldier feels. I LOVE YOU LADIES.
Here is AO3 link if you prefer to read there. Comments, thoughts, discussion and bribery (kidding!) are welcome on either entry. :)
*
Bucky can't sleep, and it's ridiculous.
Sure, his body still has the upgrades and he doesn't really need as much sleep as an ordinary person, but he still needs it. And he enjoys it. He's been relishing sleep, and everything that comes with it. Sometimes there's just Natasha, and he likes how she wraps herself around him, almost like she's afraid he'll go away. He always assures her he won't and selfishly grins into her shoulder, because sometimes he likes having her just for himself.
He likes when Barton's there, though, more than he anticipated he would. He's used by now to the sound of Barton's steady breath. Bucky has never been fearful, but there's something about Barton, about his solid presence that gives him ease, at any time of day or night.
Nowadays Bucky sleeps tightly, spooned behind Natasha, with the familiar outline of Barton's body within his sight when he opens his eyes. Sometimes he wakes and just rests like that, listens to the sounds of the two people next to him, people who want him there with them. It's peaceful and he remembers his childhood and military days and the feeling of belonging to people, with people, until the harmony of their breathing brings him back to sleep. Yet, despite all of this comfort he keeps waking. Sometimes he goes without a nightmare for an entire week, but they keep coming back. The worst ones aren’t even nightmares, he realizes, they’re scraps of memories, and they’re the worst.
They’re persistent this time. His mind serves him some new horror every night, ever since Natasha went away on a mission, which was two weeks ago. He dreamed of Steve this time. And himself, shouting Not without you, and then Steve jumped through fire but never showed up on the other side. Bucky woke in cold sweat, not sure if he shouted, and when his head refused to clear he got up and walked barefoot to the kitchen.
He honestly hoped spending a night here would help. Natasha’s things were here, and the rooms felt like her and smelled like her. He came over, he and Barton watched a basketball game and he fell asleep on the couch, his head against Natasha’s big cushions. He slept around other people during most of his life, and Natasha’s scent under his cheek only brings it sharper into focus.
He wonders if Barton is still asleep, given how easily he wakes. Bucky Knows Barton had three long days of training and hopes he didn’t wake him this time. Right now Natasha's kitchen is quiet and dark, with only streetlights filtering in through the window and Bucky is wondering why he can't shake off the nightmares. Maybe it's just the passing of time, because pain tends to come back. Maybe it's this new thing between Natasha, Barton and him; and him relaxing and starting to let go of things.
Maybe he's lonely, like in those moments when he splashes cold water over his face and looks into the mirror.
He hears Barton's feet on the floor and turns from the window to see his silhouette when he enters the kitchen. He feels slightly uneasy, like being caught and ignores a stir in his chest at the familiar patterns of movement. Barton pours a glass of water and drinks.
“Can't sleep?” he asks and Bucky nods.
“Bad dream,” he says. If it was Steve, Bucky would say something else. Something like it's too hot tonight or complain about an old wound hurting, and Steve wouldn't buy it, but it would be okay. But the kitchen is dark, and telling things in darkness has always been easier. “Just... guess that's normal,” Bucky shrugs. “If there's anything normal about me.”
Barton nods. “Yeah. Been there.”
Bucky tries to get a better look at him, but it's too dark. Yet the tone of voice is familiar, like from a soldier who's seen the battle and doesn't need to tell stories. Bucky has heard of Loki and what he did to Barton, and he can't find the right words for that, despite everything he's been through. Silence is safer, so they just stand there, comfortably, Clint drinking water and Bucky looking through the window.
“I wonder if not remembering is a good thing,” Bucky says then. It bothers him. He doesn't remember all of his Winter Soldier days, but he remembers enough. He's glad that he remembers Natasha, but he would like to remember more of that kid from Brooklyn. He wishes for memories of himself and Steve, even if remembering what you've lost is a painful thing to deal with, but most of all he wishes to feel solid, rooted in his past. Barton comes near and takes a deep breath, and Bucky feels like he’s walking through rooms filled with mirrors that give back distorted images.
My Winter, she said once, I will never lose you.
“Sometimes it is,” Barton says. “But I prefer remembering.”
Even though he doesn't explain anything further, Bucky understands. Or at least he thinks he does. His chest is painfully tight then, and he thinks of Natasha, wishes she was there to call him James, and he could pull her close and just hold on. He always liked touching, easy to share physical affection with men and women alike. He was one of the boys who gave sweet kisses and let girls drag him by the hand. He feels a void in place where that boy resided within him, but sometimes Natasha (Natasha and Barton) can fill that space, and he wishes he could have that right now. He could reach for Barton's hand, but this is the first time they're on their own, and he doesn't. He's not sure how to say what he wants, so he opts for simple,
“Do you know when Natasha is coming back?”
Maybe it's the way his voice comes out, a little too needy for Bucky's liking. Barton turns to him and their hands brush and Bucky feels a jolt at it. It's the closeness, probably. Even though he enjoyed experimenting back in the day, he's never really been into men - well, hang on. He can’t really say he never shared a bed with a man.
“Don't know,” Barton's voice is close and really familiar. “But I'm here,” he adds. There's no awkwardness about his movements; Barton leans in and Bucky feels his lips against his own - steady and familiar and right there. It's a soft kiss, like an offered hand he can take or choose to turn down.
The desire he suddenly feels is a shock, even though it probably shouldn’t be. He's kissed Barton before, but it felt different with the three of them wrapped up in want and touch and sex together. This is different because he feels lonely and raw, because darkness reminds him of losing so much. He just needs this, needs human contact and someone this familiar, so he pulls Barton closer and they kiss. Barton is a good kisser, certain of himself but not imposing, and it only serves to make Bucky feel hungrier. Then Barton pulls away, slowly and softly, like he's offering Bucky room to decide on his own.
“I'll be in Nat's room” Barton says and leaves the door wide open behind him.
Bucky's mouth goes a little dry, and he stands there trying to think and not succeeding and wanting to go after Barton and just reach out. The door waits, inviting like candlelight. He takes one step, and another, and then the third is easier.
He knows the room, its smell and feel and still he's a bit nervous. Barton doesn't move, just waits for him, in the middle of Natasha's space. Bucky comes near, tries to find the right thing to say, but instead just slides his fingers along the other man's arm. It's a strong, confident arm, solid like he would like himself to be again. There's relief when he feels fingers wrap around his, and this time it's him who leans in.
Barton, Clint is shorter than him, but his entire presence feels bigger, so assuring and Bucky realizes he craves that. He craves the touch and the sounds and the feel of another human body so close. His breath turns short, and it's kind of embarrassing how hard he is already. He needs air so he pulls away, and gasps against Clint's open mouth.
“Do you want to stop?” Clint asks, and Bucky takes a deep breath. His heart is pounding and his chest hurts and he needs, oh God, he just needs and can't bear the thought of going back to the living room where he fell asleep in the first place all alone.
“No,” he says and the kiss he gives Clint is close to desperate.
Clint lets him pull him closer and tighter, but then he takes control of the kiss and doesn't let Bucky get lost. He kisses him slowly, thoroughly, the way he kisses Natasha when he makes her breathless. Bucky realizes the same is happening to him, and it's good, because he can't think, he can only feel. They walk a few steps, Bucky going backwards until the backs of his feet hit the bed and he hardens even more. He parts from Clint to pull off his shirt before reaching for Clint's, and Clint lets him. Then they're against each other again, chest to chest and Clint slides his hands up Bucky's arms, both of his arms. Bucky holds his breath, leans his face against Clint's. They kiss, slowly, hotly, until Bucky lowers himself on the bed and pulls Clint along with him.
Clint crawls over him carefully, parts his legs with his knee and Bucky jerks against him. He closes his eyes and feels Clint's mouth, his hand brushing down his chest and opening his jeans and Bucky can't suppress a moan. He holds his breath when he feels fingers wrapping around him, moans again when Clint starts to stroke him, and it's good, no it's better than good, but the jeans are restricting and Bucky wants them off.
“Wait,” he breathes, realizing how he sounds, but he doesn’t care. He pushes the jeans and briefs down and now he's naked, he's completely exposed and holds his breath when Clint starts touching and kissing him again. Bucky wraps his flesh hand around his own dick, and Clint's fingers wrap around Bucky's. He can feel how hard Clint is against his thigh and they're kissing and kissing. He lets Clint take over, lays still except for surrendering to the sensations of hands and lips and Clint’s weight on top of him. He’s flooded with familiarity, Clint’s scent and taste, but the things Clint does to his body are still new and overwhelming. He wants to return the favor, wants to touch Clint, so he runs his hands along Clint’s sides and draws a shudder. It’s easier with his normal, human hand, but the other one works perfectly as well, if Clint’s reaction is anything to go by. He enjoys feeling the warmth and texture of Clint’s skin, and he closes his eyes when Clint pulls those fingers into his mouth and sucks.
“Oh God,” Bucky says, jerking his hips into Clint’s hand. Clint kisses him long and deep and Bucky’s hands fall back to the bed as Clint changes the rhythm of his hand and moves to kiss down Bucky’s throat. It’s quick now, intense, the climb to his release feels unforgiving, so he closes his eyes and everything becomes white and blinding.
Bucky breathes harshly, his face against Clint's shoulder, until he calms down and lets his head drop onto the pillow. He can barely see Clint's face in the faint street light coming through the windows, but he can see a small smile and something that looks like fondness. When he reaches for Clint with his gloved hand to kiss him, it's affectionate and slow; and the intensity of it reminds him of their times with Natasha, and then it’s completely clear. Having Natasha with them isn’t a condition to how Clint acts.
They shift slowly to their sides, and Bucky reaches between their bodies with his good hand and slips it into Clint's shorts. He loves the low moan he draws with his fingers, the impatient jerk of Clint’s hips when he starts to stroke. Bucky can return the favor, kiss Clint and make him fall to the pillow with his mouth hanging open. It's amazing, the feeling of being wanted, moving together and making Clint come apart with a shout against his shoulder.
They part slowly, kissing, and roll to their backs. The feeling of heaviness Bucky's been carrying around seems gone. He turns his head to look at Clint who does the same and Bucky lets out a short laugh and rubs his face. Clint makes a content sound and stretches, and Bucky likes how their shoulders touch when they're like this. But, he's used to sleeping on his side, so he rolls to face him.
“That was -” Bucky starts, but then yawns. Clint chuckles. “Good. That was really good.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Sleepy?”
“Kinda,” Bucky answers. “Thanks,” he adds. He can't articulate everything he feels and thinks to properly express himself, but Clint nods with something akin to understanding spreading over his face.
“Any time,” he says. There's a hint of mirth in his voice.
Bucky grins and closes his eyes, content to hear the familiar rhythm of breathing next to him. “I just might take you up on it.”
*
When Barnes walks out of the bedroom, it’s right in time for coffee. Clint grins, thinking how he and Nat spoiled him, but doesn’t mind. Barnes - James - is standing at the door with messy hair and bare chest.
“Morning,” Clint says, holding up a cup of coffee for him.
James is scarily like Natasha sometimes, and maybe that’s part of the reason why it’s so easy connecting to him. There’s plenty that’s uniquely James Barnes that Clint likes - he is a guy who won’t complain, who will shove down his pain and loyally stand up for a friend, making you laugh without taking your light. He’s strong and fragile and easy going and conflicted and he probably pulls at every protective instinct Clint has, but Clint is aware that he needs an opportunity to be his own man.
James takes the cup from Clint’s hand, takes a few sips of coffee and sets it aside on the kitchen counter. Then he leans in for a kiss. It’s full, soft, making Clint open his mouth. The guy is a cuddle monster, just like Nat can be after a good fuck, and the way he kisses makes it clear that he wants more (more coffee, more fucking, more everything). The kiss happens easily, a natural progression after last night and Clint wouldn’t mind going back to bed if both of them didn’t have to go to work.
He pulls away slowly and grins.
“Yet another cuddly person,” Clint says very seriously. James smirks and raises an eyebrow.
“You stand no chance,” he replies, smug and smirking, and then kisses Clint again. There’s way more confidence in his kissing than last night, and it’s too easy to see the relief in his expression. Clint lets him control the kiss, do wicked things until they’re both breathless. He can see the smug expression and excitement in James’ eyes.
“I’m well aware,” Clint says. “But we’ll have to save this for later.”
“Mhmmm,” James says, kissing him once more, with lips and tongue and hands running up Clint’s chest.
“You can make breakfast,” Clint smirks.
“Oh? Are you actually letting me make a mess of your precious kitchen?”
“It’s Nat’s precious kitchen, so I’d be careful,” Clint says and winks.
“Right,” James looks content, young as he deserves to be and the sight tugs at Clint’s heart. He might have started caring for him because of Natasha, because of her stories and everything James meant to her, but James has won him over. There are times when Clint wants to hold him; both him and Nat and tell them they’re safe. Except he can’t make that promise and expect to keep it, but he can at least try.
He nears James once more and kisses him like he’s making that sort of promise. The smug smirk goes away and James gives in, until Clint pulls back, his hand on James’ face.
“I’ll go get a shower and be right back,” he says.
*
Natasha knows someone is there the moment she enters her house. There are two pairs of shoes, both of which she recognizes. It’s a surprise, but it’s certainly a nice one. She dealt with all post mission things, wrote up her report while she was still on the plane, she even had a quick shower on the base. She is way too tired to do any of that now, but company she wouldn’t mind. There’s nothing like your own house and yoga pants, and two funny, if slightly obnoxious men who are apparently in her house.
The house is too quiet and she wonders where they are. Back yard is a possibility, even though it’s late in the evening, but if they were there, there would be the sound of conversation.
She can hear a familiar sound when she nears the bedroom. She has to leave her bag in there anyway, and when she enters there the sight makes her pause at the door.
So that’s what they’ve been at while she was gone? The smirk turns slowly into a real smile as she takes in the details. Clint sleeps on his back, the sheet riding low on his hips, James on his side with an arm thrown across Clint’s naked chest. He looks like he’s trying to cuddle and at the same time give Clint room. They’re both dead to the world, both looking younger and calm, like nothing ever hurt them.
That part isn’t real.
Clint stirs and cracks an eye open, because he doesn’t sleep deeply. She knows feeling bad about waking him is irrational, but she can’t help it. He grins, mindless of the pain inside her chest, and nudges James.
“Mmmhhh. Let me sleep,” James says. That looks and sounds like something they’re used to by now and adds more ache behind her ribs.
“She’s home,” Clint nudges him and that does make James look up. He’s got that adoring, stupid grin plastered to his face that does funny things to her chest and knees.
“Nat,” he says. They look smug and unashamed, and the bed looks inviting with the two of them in it, so she tells herself to stop thinking and starts to strip. .
“Make room,” she says. She throws away her shirt and pushes down her jeans, gets rid of her bra and doesn’t bother looking for a shirt to sleep in. They’re both better than any blanket in the world, and she really, really loves her spot between them. “It’s still my bed,” she says when she crawls in.
“Hey gorgeous,” Clint says. The sound of his voice reverberates through her, rough and. James spoons right behind her, humming against her shoulder. Soon she’s wrapped in them, all hands and naked skin and soft kisses. She is home, and home is full of wonderful things.
“Hey boys.” God, she missed them. And she’d jump them right now if she wasn’t feeling so damn tired. “My bed smells of sex.”
“You know how it is, one has to exercise to stay in shape,” Clint sounds completely nonchalant. He palms her breast and his lips move down her throat.
“I don’t care. You’re stripping the bed later,” she manages before James moves over her and steals a long kiss.
“Sure thing,” he says and settles back behind her. “After we have sex with you,” he adds.
“Who says I want to have sex?” she says even as she kisses Clint, then turns and kisses James.
“We’ll just inspire you,” James doesn’t let go of her face. His lips feel good and she doesn’t bother resisting this.
“You always want sex,” Clint adds. She does, but that doesn’t mean she always acts on her wishes.
“I’ll think about that,” Natasha pushes her butt back against James and that draws a groan. He starts to harden almost instantly, and then it’s her turn to give a smug smile.
“How about right now?” he gently grabs her hip and Clint continues kissing down her neck.
“I require my beauty sleep first,” she says and gives both a stern look. She knows from experience that waiting will only make making out later hotter. “As you were, soldiers.”
“Hmph,” Clint says, but stops what he was doing. Reluctantly.
“You’re pouting like a little girl, Barton.”
“Fiiine,” Clint pretends to whine and then kisses Natasha’s forehead. “Get some rest, beautiful. We’ll be here.”
“You better,” she says and stretches, brushing against men at her sides. They’re so wonderfully warm and hers. She closes her eyes and lets herself drift off.
*
Bucky wakes and knows he was shouting. He knows where he was in his dream, he knows that it’s not just a nightmare.
There was a narrow bed, dully painted walls, the humid and constantly cold air. He’d been strapped to that bed and unable to move. That was the beginning. His mouth goes dry at the thought. Bucky rolls away from Natasha and leaves the warmth of her body behind. His toes touch the chilly floor. Chilly is good, it’s real and grounding. He counts the steps to the bathroom, braces his hands on the sink, counts three breaths and looks up at the mirror.
The lines on his face are still the same.
Cold water feels good against his cheeks. He hopes he didn’t wake anyone, but he knows by now that he probably did.
He is about to go to the kitchen when he hears the sound of steps behind him. It’s Natasha, and she looks completely awake.
He remembers that.
“Hey,” she says, her voice a whisper. He doesn’t want her to whisper because of him, or to have that worried look on her face. He doesn’t want to feel like this; like things are about to blow up in his face and disappear.
“Hey Natasha,” he says quietly. “Did I wake you and Clint?”
She regards him for a couple of quiet moments before she comes near and takes his hands in hers. He knows the look on her face, drawn and hard, reminding him of white snow marked with red blood. She looks up then, like she’s telling him that whatever he’s trying to do is impractical. (Beneath that he can see memories like ghosts in her eyes, and determination not to lose him again.)
“We don’t mind being awake with you,” she says when she takes his hand.
“I can handle it,” he says. He does like the fact that she’s there, and he knows she knows.
“I know,” her lips curl slightly. Her face reminds him of the sea, hiding the depths and reflecting suns’ warm light.
It’s not the nightmares that he’s afraid of; not the cold rooms or the fire; or the sounds of gunshots that he remembers. It’s the moments when he’s slipping away from unconsciousness, crawling his way up to wake state where he can’t recognize the face looking at him from the mirror. He doesn’t want to wake and find himself alone in a world of unfamiliar shapes, he doesn’t want to be someone else each time his feet touch the floor.
He doesn’t want to find he is real, but everything else wasn’t.
“James?” she asks and he feels almost like he wakes again.
“This -“ he begins, gesturing vaguely between them, and she is shaking her head and allowing emotions into her eyes. (I could always find the real you in them, Natalia. Same, my Winter. I will never lose you, she said years and years ago.).
“Everything okay?” Clint asks when they return to the bedroom.
“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Just a dream.”
Natasha pulls him to the bed and slides to his side, leaving room in the middle for him. Bucky settles there carefully. He can feel how Clint and Natasha shift closer. Clint’s hand is across his chest and Natasha is pressed against him, and they feel soft and solid at the same time.
“Bad dream?” Clint asks, his face even.
“Bad memory,” Bucky says. Clint keeps looking at him quietly, with the kind of understanding words can’t convey. He strokes Bucky’s chest and then moves even closer to kiss him. It’s a kiss meant for comfort, and when Clint parts from him, Natasha’s lips are there, echoing the sentiment that Clint’s lips have left behind.
“Come here,” Natasha shifts after she parts from him, propping up a pillow.
“Well, is the world ending or what?” Bucky says, gratefully moving closer.
“I don’t know, it might be,” Clint says, moving closer to James. “She doesn’t cuddle with me.”
“You’re a lying liar that lies, Barton,” Natasha says.
“She does cuddle with me,” Bucky flashes what he hopes is his best smile. “And you like it.”
“I do not confess to such a thing,” Natasha says, leans down and kisses him soundly.
“I spy more liars here,” Clint turns on his back and stretches.
“Indeed you do,” Bucky turns to look at him and Clint grins.
“I’m sensing a conspiracy,” Natasha says. Clint’s face is all innocent surprise that’s completely fake.
“Hmmm, I don’t know. What do you think, Barnes?”
“Not sure what she’s talking about,” Bucky says, and before Natasha can react he tickles her side.
“Hey!” She lets him do this for a bit, then catches his hands and tries to give him a stern look. He does his best to make it a hard job, teasing more laughter out of her. Eventually Clint laughs and punches them both with a pillow.
“I think we could all catch some z’s,” he says. “It’s only two a.m., and I have to file a ton of reports tomorrow. Or rather today, so -“ he looks at Bucky and Natasha and plops down onto the bed, hands crossed over his face. “If you two would kindly stay quiet?”
Bucky looks at Natasha and she places a finger over her lips. He smiles.
“Good point,” Natasha says. Bucky releases her and settles in her former spot in the middle of the bed. He feels content there, listening to Clint’s breathing even out and watching Natasha settle down. He wills his mind to relax but sleep doesn’t come easily. He listens to the sound of breathing, reminding him that he’s not alone.