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So here’s the thing.
Bucky loves Clint.
He does. More than anything, he’s pretty sure.
Day one since that stupid bastard came sauntering into the clinic with a split eyebrow and a sprained wrist looking about casually.
“Couldn’t stitch myself up cause I fucked my wrist.”
And at the time, Bucky couldn’t understand their thought process, but thinking back, Bucky is pretty sure that’s when he started falling in love.
Bucky was never sure where Clint was getting all of these crazy wounds, which seemed to become a semi daily occurrence. Bucky had been a nurse for almost ten years, and he had yet to see someone consistently in the urgent care like they were. And he knew of plenty of beginner skateboarders who seemed undeterred by however many stitches and casts they had to get.
And somehow, it had always been Bucky who saw to Clint. He wasn’t sure if it was because Sam knew he had sort of a thing for them after they came in with a swollen ankle after rescuing a dog, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Clint was a right bastard, but their humor made up for it. Most of the time at least.
However, no matter how he felt, it wouldn’t be right to ask Clint out, as much as he wanted to. Until he ran into the other while they were walking their dog. Clint seemed delighted to see him, and immediately gestured to who he later figured out was Lucky. Which was what Bucky was going to do anyways. Lucky didn’t even seem to mind his strange arm, and it softened something inside Bucky.
When he stood up, Clint was watching him carefully, and Bucky blinked back, before the other sighed and said, “Okay. Just gonna throw this out there. You’re hot as fuck, and I really don’t need to keep spending money to go in to ice down my sprains anymore because I’m hoping you’ll agree to get coffee with me?” Clint had started off confident and had somehow spiraled into a rather meek question at the end, that had Bucky grinning.
“Only because you owe me for making me ice down all of those ankles,” Bucky replied, and the relief mixed with playful annoyance was worth more than he could describe.
And Clint was… well not perfect, but good. Very very good. They were kind, underneath all of that sarcasm and wit, and seemed to remember everything Bucky told them. Bucky learned about how they were technically a landlord, and how dedicated they were to their residents, and then of their hearing issues, which inspire him to pick up a book on sign language.
He totally fucked up saying thank you, but it had earned him ten minutes of Clint’s obnoxious, yet cute cow laughter and their first kiss to boot. Which was pretty special, if he did say so himself.
Intimacy was another hurdle to tackle, but they had no problems falling into bed together. No, it was less that and more, well, about what came after.
Bucky wasn’t a cuddler. Wasn’t someone to hold and coddle his lovers. Except, that wasn’t true at all. He knew that deep inside, but everytime he got ready to be the little spoon or reach other to kiss his lover’s cheek, he was hit with a deep feeling of shame. Of being inherently effeminate because of that.
Which was horseshit. He knew that, but that still didn’t stop him from yanking his hand away from Clint when they tried to hold it while they were walking Lucky one time. The expression on Clint’s face was one of shock, but a surprising amount of resignation and understanding, and honestly, it kind of made it worse. He hated being help back because of those strings of toxic masculinity telling him he wasn’t man enough. For some people, he just never would be. But he was plenty man enough for Clint, so perhaps that was why he quickly reached back out and snagged their hand.
He avoided their gaze, but he could still feel the heat of their smile as they laced their fingers together and pulled their joined hands into their hoodie pocket. The feeling of his rough palms against Bucky’s equally worn ones was well worth the initial jolt of discomfort and vulnerability. And by the time they were back home, he found he never really wanted to let go.