Work Text:
Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel comics or characters or movies and am making no money off of this fic.
########
Balance by luvsanime02
########
“The trick,” Clint explains, watching Bucky as he lifts himself up between the two suspended rings, “isn’t to have the upper strength to lift yourself. You need to have the balance to stay up there.”
Already, his words are proving true. Bucky is damn trained, but he’s a professional boxer, not a gymnast. There’s a reason why his trainer, Natasha, asked Clint to work with Bucky on the rings. He needs more than training. Bucky needs to know himself better.
Putting the problem like that is only guaranteed to get an eye roll from the other man. Clint wouldn’t even blame him. It sounds nutty until it works.
Bucky has the strength to hold himself up, but the longer that he’s up there, the more he’s straining to compensate for all the ways that his body wants to naturally twist and tilt. Bucky could probably stay up there for another ten minutes, but he’d strain something.
“Alright,” Clint calls, “come back down. I’ll show you what the difference is.”
Bucky does as he’s told, and Clint very consciously does not watch Bucky’s thighs or back muscles as he flexes. The guy is way too good-looking. He’s also panting, fighting for breath, and he looks astonished at how much effort even something so simple as that took out of him. Most people have that look the first time they try the rings.
Clint’s already stretched, so he waits until Bucky backs away and then grabs the rings, almost effortlessly pulling himself up into an inverse position, his legs straight in the air and his head hanging towards the floor. Clint balances himself with the ease of years of practice, and he takes an enormous amount of smug pleasure in the way that Bucky watches him incredulously.
Clint could hang like this for a couple hours, if he wanted, and it shows. Sure, he’d have one hell of a headache afterwards, but that’s all. “It’s about balance,” he repeats. “You can be as strong and tough as you want, but unless you know how to shift your weight perfectly, that’s useless up here.”
Bucky snorts. “You have plenty of strength, too,” he says dryly. He has a point. Clint didn’t used to be an Olympic contender because of his own good looks, after all. He’s a damn good gymnast, and he’s far from out-of-shape.
“Not the point,” Clint reminds him. “I could do this when I was five.”
He had, too. Got bored of waiting around for Barney’s wrestling practice to get over with and wandered off, saw the rings and thought they looked neat, and pulled over a chair until he could reach them. His frantic mother had found Clint a while later, hanging upside down much like he is now. Clint always had a knack for this.
“What am I doing wrong, then?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t sound frustrated yet, and Clint hopes that they might just be able to get through these lessons with minimal fighting. He also really hopes that he’s not imagining Bucky’s eyes doing his own sweep over Clint’s assets.
“You’re thinking too much,” Clint says. “No, really,” he adds, because Bucky just gave him a very skeptical look in response. “You’ve got to relax. Your shoulders were up to your ears. You need to keep your frame relaxed. Your arms should be the only tense thing on you.”
He almost said ‘hard thing’, but Clint bit that back at the last second. He’s more professional than that. He should be, anyway.
Bucky’s eyes have taken on an intelligent and calculating look that is even more attractive, and Clint decides that it’s time he stopped playing around on the rings and let Bucky have another turn. Correcting his posture will distract Clint, hopefully.
That, or give him even more reasons to watch Bucky. Well, Clint’s definitely not complaining, that’s for sure.