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Bucky checked his watch impatiently, running a wash cloth along the bar uselessly; it’s been sparkling for around ten minutes, given his anxious cleaning. Clint showed up every day for the past two months like clockwork, twice a day, once at five or so in the evening and once at eleven. Bucky didn’t technically have to keep the shop open til midnight, but he always did, knowing Steve usually held the evening shift at the police station. His evening-night shift at his own ice cream shop had nothing to do with the blond mess that showed up, even if he used to sometimes give this shift up. He’s only taking it all the time now because he needs structure, of course.
Anyway, Clint was supposed to arrive by 11:10, and it was nearly 11:30; Bucky was seconds away from tapping his foot with the stress of it. It was only looking at Tony’s smug little face that stopped him, knowing the regular would make fun of him for it. Tony tended to stay in the shop for Bucky’s entire shift, completely and totally not checking on him for Steve or anything. Whenever asked, Tony would say something about watching the arm he built in motion, or whatever. It definitely wasn’t about his boyfriend’s PTSD-ridden best friend having a customer service position. Bucky was distracted from his thoughts by the door crashing open, and then the crashing roll of relief. Clint.
“Hey, Buckeroni and Cheese, sorry I’m late for our not-date,” Clint joked as soon as he stepped up to the counter, as soaking wet as he was. Bucky nearly didn’t notice the obvious problems because of the water spilling off of him, making Clint’s shirt cling to his well-defined chest. He hoped he managed to keep the distraction off of his face, immediately launching into admonishing Clint.
“Clint, goddammit, please go to the fucking doctor. You’re bleeding on my counter. Again,” Bucky greeted, levying his best glare at him (not a very good one to Clint, as usual). Clint just smiled in return, revealing a newly capped tooth that made Bucky wonder exactly how bad he had been hurt last week. The Saturday before, Clint had come in with his mouth bleeding profusely and Bucky had to get Tony to help him bodily carry Clint to Bruce’s apartment just down the road. Bruce, a doctor several countries that aren’t America, checked him out and made him go to the doctor. Clint had almost passed out because of the blood loss, so Bucky was weary of any injuries the blond had. With Clint’s lack of actual reply, Bucky sighed in his defeat.
“What do you want, then?” he asked, gesturing to the panel of ice cream flavours. He hasn’t decided yet if he’s charging Clint today; he didn’t charge him earlier (which had nothing to do with the blatant flirting), but if he keeps coming in bleeding…
“Whattaya got?” Clint asked in return, leering over the counter in a way that Bucky would find creepy on literally anyone else. To everyone else, Bucky was a grumpy server, though people tended to like him anyway, for whatever reason. To Clint, he couldn’t manage to keep his cool, rather an awful, blushing mess, who laughed sometimes and sounded like he genuinely meant it.
“Rocky road -” Bucky started.
“Can I get a taste of your rocky road?” Clint interrupted, and it was dumb, but Bucky still found himself blushing. Clint had a talent for making him blush and laugh even when he was saying mediocrely dumb things, and it got on Bucky’s nerves. Well, it got on Bucky’s nerves that it didn’t get on his nerves.
“What does that even mean, Clint?” he sighed, raising an eyebrow.
“Whatever you want it to mean, if it makes you blush,” Clint countered, and Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to think about all of the things he wanted to do to make Clint blush, not at work, so he focused on the ice cream.
“We have rocky road, birthday cake -”
“I’d love to see you in your birthday suit.”
“- pistachio -”
“There’s a nut joke here.”
“- movie snack mix -”
“You’re a snack.”
“Oh my god, that one was just bad, Clint,” Bucky had a hand on his forehead, gesturing to Clint with the ice cream scoop. Clint grinned widely and held up his hands in surrender, letting it go.
“Surprise me, Bucky. I trust you,” Clint said the last part quietly, more quiet than the conversation really warranted and Bucky felt himself go red.
“Yeah, okay. Surprise you,” he replied, and went about doing just that. Clint was the most interesting customer he liked, not just with the flirtations but with his ice cream preferences as well. Steve always, without fail, went for one scoop of vanilla and one scoop of chocolate, chocolate on the bottom so it won’t contaminate the vanilla. Tony always, without fail, wanted a bottomless espresso ice cream that he came to the counter to get refilled every hour on the hour. Bucky wasn’t sure how he wasn’t sick of it yet. Clint got something different every single time, and Bucky wasn’t sure how to surprise him.
“How many scoops?” Bucky asked, not looking up at Clint. He didn’t want to blush again, embarrass himself.
“Surprise me, Bucky,” he repeated, “I trust you.”
Bucky nodded instead of trusting himself to reply out loud, taking out a sundae cup and piling on three different kinds of ice cream. He topped it with caramel syrup and the chocolate sprinkles Clint liked. When he handed it over, Clint grinned.
“What’s even in this?”
“Pistachio, snack mix and butter pecan. There’s a nut joke here,” Bucky replied, and Clint threw his head back to laugh.
“I wish you’d let me take you on a date, Barnes,” Clint said, smirking over the ice cream display. Bucky was perplexed for a moment, wondering when exactly he had said no to the other, or even when exactly Clint had asked.
“You’ve never actually asked,” Bucky replies, and the smirk slid right off. Clint face palmed and covered his face for a moment before looking back at Bucky.
“I haven’t? I’m a futzing idiot. Uhm. Do you wanna go on a date with me, Bucky Barnes?” Clint asked, a hand on the back of his neck awkwardly.
“No, I really don’t,” Bucky replied, and Clint’s face fell again. “I want you to come to my apartment so I can make you dinner. I’m not much for public places, and I feel like we’ve spent too much time with a surface between us already.” It seemed to take a moment before Clint processed exactly what was said after what had come off as a rejection. Then, Clint nearly dropped his ice cream in his rush to place it on a table before sliding over the counter, landing right next to Bucky.
“No more surface between us,” Clint said, like this was any kind of smooth. Bucky rolled his eyes, but moved a little closer.
“Not exactly what I meant, Barton,” Bucky replied, raising his eyebrows.
“Does that mean you’re not gonna kiss me?” Clint asked, cocking a hip to put his hand on it.
It didn’t. Bucky covered Clint’s lips with his own, placing a shaking hand onto Clint’s jaw, keeping the metal one off of his skin for now. Clint seemed to have other ideas, taking Bucky’s left hand into his own and holding it tightly. Bucky was glad for the pressure sensors Tony had upgraded only a few months ago. Clint pulled back from the kiss and set his forehead against Bucky’s.
“How’s tonight, for that dinner thing?” Clint asked, lips still close enough to kiss, so Bucky did. Clint pulled back again with a grin, pulling further to raise an eyebrow at Bucky in question.
“Sounds great,” Bucky answered before pressing another kiss to Clint’s lips.
“Okay, as glad as I am that you guys finally got your shit together, Steve gets in within the next ten minutes, which means you’re gonna leave, and player boy, you’ve got a shit ton of ice cream to eat, so you might wanna get on it,” Tony interrupted from the peanut gallery, throwing a balled up napkin at them to further his point. Clint stuck out his tongue at the genius, getting closer to Bucky to give him a kiss on the cheek before sliding back over the counter. He grinned at Bucky when he was standing straight again.
“In the future, please use the gate like everyone else,” Bucky sighed, playfully disappointed in the smiling man.
“In the future? I like the sound of that.”