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“It’s simple,” Natasha says, her legs are crossed and she’s leaning back in her chair like she’s at a photo shoot or something. “It happens all the time. You just grab the wrong cup, then walk away until he goes up to get his, check the name on the cup, turn around, go back and say ‘Hi, sorry. I think I picked up your coffee by mistake.’”
“Natasha,” Bucky says, keeping his voice low.
“I mean, obviously, it would be easier just to say ‘hi, I see you come in here a lot and I think you’re cute, can I pay for your coffee?” when you’re in line together, but since you seem to think that’s too forward.”
“Natasha,” Bucky repeats.
“You wait every morning to stand behind him in the line so you can stare at his ass,” Natasha points out. “If you didn’t want me to help you, you wouldn’t have brought me here.”
“You followed me,” Bucky says, glaring at her. As always the glare slides off her like she’s made of Teflon. He has been coming to this coffee shop – only two blocks out of his way – at the same time every day for three weeks, and it’s got nothing to do with the coffee. He should have known that someone would notice. He’s not sure if he’s grateful that it was Natasha or not. She at least knows the value of secrets. If it had been Sam then Bucky would never hear the end of it, and if it had been Steve…
“He does have a good ass,” she says before taking a sip of her own coffee and wrinkling her nose at the taste. Bucky notices that her eyes have slid past him towards the back of the shop. Towards where… Bucky moves the shiny metal napkin holder so he can see the reflection. Sure enough cute blond is right where Natasha’s gaze has gone. And he’s leaning over to unloop his dog’s lead from his chair leg. He gives the appreciative expression on Natasha’s face as unimpressed a glance as he can.
“You haven’t even spoken to him,” she points out. “Maybe he’s straight.”
“Back off,” Bucky growls, and her eyes dart back to his, her mouth spreading into a brilliant grin.
“So possessive,” she says. “Maybe I’ll say hello, though.”
“Don’t you dare,” Bucky tells her.
He can hear the tak-tak of the dog’s paws against the tiled floor, and he knows his shoulders stiffen. Natasha’s still smiling her evil smile and as the sound of footsteps and paws get louder, she turns.
Bucky shakes his head as firmly as he can, but Natasha just opens her mouth wider.
“Clint!” she says and Bucky freezes.
“Tasha?” says a voice from beside him. A voice Bucky’s only heard previously ordering coffee. “What are you doing here?” Cute blond – Clint, apparently – shuffles into sight. He’s got his hat pulled down low over his ears, and he’s missed a spot when he was shaving that morning. Bucky avoids staring at him, dragging his eyes away and back to Natasha.
“I thought I’d join Bucky for his morning coffee,” she says. Her eyes are looking between the two of them, her mouth is still curved in an unbearably smug line.
“Bucky?” Clint says. Bucky can see him shifting out of the corner of his eye, a twist of purple fabric over his stomach. Natasha twitches her head in an unambiguous indication that she wants him to talk. Bucky risks a look up at Clint’s face. Bright blue eyes are looking down at him, and he seems a bit confused. “I thought your guy’s name was–”
“Bucky’s a friend of mine from the ballet school,” Natasha says. “Which you’d know if you visited me for lunch… ever.” Clint shuffles uncomfortably. “Bucky, Clint. Clint, Bucky.” She waves, and Bucky watches as Clint extends a hand towards him.
Bucky freezes, staring at the hand. He takes it like he’d handle a grenade and shakes it once, firmly, trying not to let the warmth of Clint’s palm register in his brain. Trying not to take notice of the calluses on his fingers, or the strength of the grip he returned. Not that it did any good. He swallows and checks his watch deliberately.
“I have to meet Steve,” Bucky says, rising from his chair. He gives Natasha a glare. He manages to make eye contact with Clint for approximately two seconds, before it becomes too much for him and he has to look away, mumbling “Nice to meet ya.” Then he heads for the door as fast as he can while still walking, hands stuffed into his pockets. His flesh hand still carrying the echo of Clint’s handshake.
Fucking Natasha. So that’s Clint, the human disaster that she refers to with the affection of a younger sibling or a particularly ridiculous pet. They’ve heard the stories, and been there when she’s had to leave dinner to go and play emergency contact for him when he’s at the hospital.
And she’d known the whole time.
Had Clint mentioned the creepy guy who was stalking him at the coffee shop? Was that why Natasha had come along in the first place? Exactly how big a fool of himself has Bucky made?
He doesn’t speak to Steve when he reaches their apartment, just grunts and heads to his room to glare at the ceiling and wallow in his humiliation.
*
Once Natasha tastes blood, though, there’s no stopping her.
They are stretching out before class and she’s bent completely in half at the barre when she says “he does archery, you know.”
Bucky remembers the calluses and tries not to react, because he also remembers Clint’s arms. And he can imagine them drawing back a bow string, crumpled t-shirt straining over his chest as he extends.
He overbalances slightly, catches himself before he can do more than wobble, but Natasha sees him and grins like the Cheshire cat.
Oh yes, she’s tasted blood alright.
*
Clint actually turns up at the ballet school a few days later. He doesn’t have his dog with him, but he does have a pizza.
Bucky’s at the desk when he comes in and Clint gives a weird little half wave.
“Natasha’s in the studio,” he says, trying not to look too uncomfortable. “She’s just finishing her class.”
“Right,” Clint says. He tugs at one of his ears. “Uh you’re not wearing a leotard,” he says, and Bucky blinks.
“I’m not teaching,” he points out.
“Right,” Clint repeats. “I’ll just… wait for Nat.” His nose crinkles, and Bucky opens his mouth to say something more, but he can’t think of anything to say. He doesn’t do small talk. That’s why he’d spent three weeks standing behind the guy in line.
“You haven’t been to the coffee shop recently,” Clint says. Bucky shrugs. He can’t think of anyway to answer that that isn’t fifteen different kinds of creepy. “You want some pizza?” Clint asks.
“If I eat Natasha’s pizza, she’ll kill me,” Bucky says. He’d love some. But Clint’s only asking to be nice. He’s obviously feeling as awkward about this situation as Bucky is.
“Right,” Clint says again.
*
She and Sam come round for take-out. Bucky glares at her when he answers the door, much to Sam’s confusion, but she just smiles serenely back.
She waits until they’re halfway through the meal, passing containers back and forth, a glass of wine in her hand, until she says “I should invite Clint next time,” she says, her eyes looking straight at Bucky. “If you don’t mind.”
“That’s a great idea,” Steve replies as Sam makes approving noises around a mouthful of noodles.
“Why?” Bucky asks, grinding out the word through gritted teeth.
“Because I think you’d really like him,” Natasha says. Her voice is sweetness and light, but Bucky knows her too well to think that she isn’t hiding sharp, vicious teeth behind that smile. Her eyes slide off him and over to Steve and Bucky’s heart sinks.
Sure enough, when he risks a glance over to Steve as well, Steve’s looking at him speculatively.
“Yeah, invite him,” Steve says. “The more the merrier, right? And after hearing so much about him, I’d be interested to meet him in person.”
“Perfect,” Natalia says, and she smiles again, showing all her perfect white teeth.
*
Clint comes by the ballet school more often, and it’s terrible. Because every time Bucky meets him, he’s just too… good. He’s as much of a disaster as Natasha says, tripping over his feet, or spilling coffee down himself, but he’s got a smartass mouth that makes Bucky grin, even though he never hears it turned on him.
Bucky has taken to being unavailable whenever Clint shows up. He’s not hiding, no matter what Natasha says. He just doesn’t want to make the guy any more uncomfortable than he already is.
One time, Bucky had walked out of a class he’d just finished teaching, still in his ballet gear, and walked straight into Clint. Their chests had brushed together, and Clint had paused for a millisecond before jumping back practically two feet and blinking in horror, staring at Bucky in shock. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be anywhere near him.
So, no, Bucky’s not hiding, he’s being considerate.
*
Clint comes round for dinner, and honestly, it’s the most awkward Bucky’s ever been in his life, and there’s no denying that that’s pretty damn awkward.
Clint keeps shifting his eyes at Bucky in little, darting movements, like he’s afraid to let Bucky out of his sight in case Bucky does something.
Of course Natasha’s told him about the ass staring thing. He thinks Bucky’s creepy and weird. And Bucky is creepy and weird. He waited specifically to stand in line behind the guy to look at his ass because he couldn’t make himself talk to him.
Clint probably thinks this whole dinner thing was Bucky’s idea.
Shit.
Steve’s getting on with him okay, but Steve will get along with anyone who isn’t an offensive dick. Sam seems to like him too, and it’s not fair, because Clint’s good company, and Bucky screwed it all up. If Natasha had introduced them earlier and Bucky hadn’t done his stalker impression, then maybe they could have met now, or at the ballet school and Bucky would have been able to come across as a half-way normal person, and maybe he could have tried asking Clint on a date, or at least tried to be friends with the guy, but as it is they’re stuck with this huge elephant in the room.
He pulls Natasha to one side when Clint is regaling Sam and Steve with the story of how he once ended up naked and covered in ice cream in the Wakandan Embassy.
“What are you doing, Natasha?” Bucky hisses at her. She raises her eyebrows.
“I’m trying to have a nice evening,” she replies. “What are you doing?”
“Wondering why you’d make someone you claim is your friend so uncomfortable.”
“You need to relax,” Natasha says, reaching out to touch his arm, but Bucky pulls it back. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable but –”
“I’m not talking about me!” Bucky tells her. She blinks and then frowns. “Clint.”
“Clint’s not uncomfortable. Except maybe about the way you’ve been glaring at him all night.”
“I haven’t been…” Bucky pauses. “Look, he obviously finds it weird that I… the coffee shop thing. Dragging him here when you know I… creep him out.”
“You… creep him out?” she says slowly, staring at him like he’s mad.
“The man can’t even make eye contact with me,” Bucky points out, still whispering furiously. “The one time I touched him by accident he practically ran away.”
Natasha bites her lips together then smiles, clearly amused.
“This is just cruel,” Bucky tells her. She shakes her head.
“Look,” Natasha says. “Maybe in that case, you should apologise. He’s coming round to the ballet school again tomorrow lunch time. I know it’s your day off, but if you swing by just before afternoon classes start, then maybe you can have a word with him without the peanut gallery,” she nods towards Steve and Sam.
Bucky frowns at her, but nods.
“And I’ll apologise to him too, okay?” she says.
The rest of the meal is a little less awkward. Bucky tries to engage in the conversation a bit more, but he doesn’t want to make things any worse than he already has.
After everyone’s cleared out and he and Steve are stuck with dishes for miles, Steve turns to him and grins.
“So Clint was pretty cool.”
“Don’t even start, Stevie,” Bucky tells him. Steve, unlike Natasha, listens.
*
He’s not sure whether he’s going to take Natasha up on her offer until he’s walking out the door. Bucky’s spent way too much time thinking about his outfit, Steve’s not around, luckily, or he’d never hear the end of it.
But he heads out, still trying to put the words together in his head to say ‘I’m sorry I made everything weird. I can leave you alone if you want, but if you’re interested in being friends, that would be great. I’ll try not to stare at your ass again.’
It’s a long shot, but it’s not like Natasha’s going anywhere, and now Steve’s met Clint and liked him, there’s no getting rid of the guy.
He lets himself into the school through the side door, using his key. He knows if he goes in through the front, someone will want to drag him into work, and he’s not in the mood.
The break room is the first door on the right and he comes up to it, listening to check that Natasha and Clint are in there.
“Natasha you have to stop,” Clint is saying.
“Clint, you need to trust me,” Natasha replies.
“He doesn’t like me, Nat,” Clint says. His voice sounds mournful. “Lots of people don’t like me. It was a nice idea, but it didn’t work out. Let it go.”
“You give up too easily,” Natasha says. “He likes you just fine.”
“Which explains why he doesn’t talk to me and glares at me like he wants to bury me where no one will find my body.”
“I thought you liked his glare,” Natasha says lightly. “What was it you called him when you first mentioned him? Hot broody black coffee guy?”
Bucky starts a little, his hand raised to knock on the door, and he freezes.
“Yeah,” Clint says a little mournfully.
“You called it his ‘fuck me’ glare, I think,” Natasha says again. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Well… it is,” Clint says. “But seriously. The guy doesn’t like me. You shouldn’t have invited me last night. He’s going to think I’m stalking him or something.”
Natasha laughs, of course she does. She’s probably been laughing for months. Bucky closes his eyes and hits his head against the wall. She’s been listening to them both talk like this about each other and… oh god. Bucky’s been avoiding him.
He shakes his head and squares his shoulders, grabbing the doorknob.
Clint has his back to him as Bucky walks in, but Natasha’s curled up on the sofa in the corner, her feet tucked under her. Her eyes find his with a triumphant smirk.
“Thanks, Natasha,” Bucky says, “I think I can take it from here.”
“Good luck,” she says, as Clint turns around, his jaw dropping. “Have fun, boys.”
Clint stares at Bucky. He’s got a bruise on his cheek that’s almost the same vivid purple colour as his hat, and Bucky reaches out to brush a finger over it.
“I’m not good at talking to people,” Bucky says, taking advantage of Clint’s silence. “I went to a coffee shop that sold fucking terrible coffee for three weeks, trying to work out how to ask you out.”
“Yes,” Clint says. “I mean… uh…”
“Do you want to get pizza?” Bucky asks. “I’m buying.”
“I’m always up for pizza,” Clint says.
“That’s what she said,” Bucky can’t quite resist saying, and Clint flushes a brilliant red. “And by the way. When you really do see my ‘fuck me glare’, you’ll know about it.”
“Fuck yes,” Clint says, leaping to his feet.
“Good answer.”