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Bucky wakes up to silence.
Which isn’t unusual. It’s not like he’s got anyone sharing his bed at the moment -- hasn’t for a long time in fact -- but this is different. He can’t even hear his own breathing or the soft rustle of the covers as he shifts minutely in place. Which is wrong and weird and he’s instantly on alert as he gropes for the gun he keeps under his pillow -- and finds it’s not there.
Bucky tenses, and is ready to leap from his bed as he opens his eyes -- and sees a stained wall that’s crisscrossed with cracks, and also, for some reason, a half-eaten bagel pinned up by an arrow.
Eyes wide, Bucky stares and blinks, and wonders what’s going on. He can’t remember being kidnapped or ending up in someone’s bed by other more pleasurable means. Not that Bucky goes around picking people up -- or being picked up, he’s not that kind of guy. But even so, somehow he’s ended up in a strange bed.
Which means getting up and finding some answers.
And it’s then Bucky finds out the situation is worse than he thought.
~*~*~*~
It’s not that Bucky isn’t used to unusual situations. He’s sort-of an Avenger, after all, used to be the Winter Soldier and all that entails, but this? This is the kind of unusual that Bucky hopes is a nightmare.
Clutching onto that one last faint hope, Bucky pinches himself, hard, and hopes he’ll wake up -- but he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky’s still sitting on this bed, hands clutching the covers and trying for calm in a world that’s silent and all kinds of wrong.
And even the clutching is wrong because Bucky can’t remember the last time he could fully feel with two human-flesh hands.
For a long time, all Bucky can do is sit still and breathe, eyes closed and pulling in air through his nose and out through his mouth. Using techniques he hasn’t had to utilise for months as he pushes down panic and tries to decide what to do -- and the answer is, right now, Bucky’s unsure.
Whatever the fuck this is, it’s left Bucky wrong-footed, and he hates feeling helpless. Frustrated, Bucky decides all he can do is face the situation head-on and, steeling himself, he stands on legs that feel far too long and looks for a mirror. Careful, Bucky steps over abandoned piles of clothes and exits the room, finding the bathroom within a few shaky steps. Entering, he grimaces when he sees the state of the sink. It’s cluttered with mugs, the contents dried up and toothpaste splattered over the tiles. There’s a cracked mirror just slightly off centre on the wall, and Bucky pulls in a breath as he approaches, his bare feet sticking to the floor as he walks -- and instantly sees reality look back.
Clint Barton, sleepy-eyed and desperately needing a shave, hair sticking up on one side and a bruise starting to fade on one cheekbone. All Bucky can say is an unheard, “Fuck.”
~*~*~*~
In the time he’s been back Bucky’s learned to be blase about magic and alien tech. About wondrous inventions and powers that defy explanation. It’s why he’s not losing his mind now, but that doesn’t mean that it’s easy. Of all the places he could end up, Bucky wouldn’t have picked Clint’s body -- not that it’s a bad body. In fact, now he’s been in it a few minutes Bucky can admit that overly long legs aside, it’s a very practical body -- and okay, aesthetically pleasing -- except for one thing. Being deaf sucks and Bucky frowns as he leaves the bathroom and looks for Clint’s aids that have to be close.
They are, on the bedside table and half-buried under crispy tissues Bucky tries not to touch as he fumbles each aid into his ears, wincing a little as the world flips from silent to not. At first, the wave of noise is an indistinguishable mass, but then Bucky picks out the details, the sound of his own breathing, the noise of traffic outside, and from downstairs, a dog barking and the shrill ring of a phone.
“Fuck,” Bucky says again, thankfully, audibly this time. Now he’s fully woken up it makes sense Clint’s dog would be in what has to be Clint’s apartment. That doesn’t mean Bucky’s ready to deal with yet another complication. It’s already taking all his concentration to walk -- which is all kinds of pathetic as Bucky’s been walking for almost a lifetime and it shouldn’t be so hard to adjust. The fact is though, it is. Clint’s legs are stupidly long and his knees ache in a way that Bucky can’t ignore and as for his feet…. Bucky’s only looked down once and he’s not going to make that mistake again.
“Okay, I’m coming,” Bucky says, and then, a bit louder just so he can hear Clint’s voice again. “I said, I’m coming.”
It takes Bucky a few seconds to get to the top of the stairs, and when he does so he looks down at the dog that’s barking and scrabbling at the cushions of a couch.
“What’re you doing?” Muscle memory apparently kicking in, Bucky all but runs down the stairs, taking a sharp left at the bottom so he can reach for the dog. “Don’t do that, you’ll rip the fabric and….oh….” Bucky trails off, noticing that the dog is clawing at a phone that’s wedged between the cushion and couch-side. “You’re telling me to answer?”
The dog barks once and then sits, one paw close to the phone and looking satisfied as he stares up at Bucky.
“Okay, I’m getting it…. Wait, you really have only got one eye.” Not that Bucky had actually thought Clint was lying when he was describing his dog -- Lucky, and isn’t that an ironic name? -- just, it’s different hearing the stories and being confronted with the reality of a soft furred golden dog with one eye. Especially when it seems to be almost mentally rolling that eye when Bucky fills the silence by saying. “Join the missing body part club,” and holds out his arm, letting it drop when he sees all too real flesh.
Lucky barks, and whines as he stands, headbutting Bucky far too close to his junk for comfort.
“Watch what you’re doing, mutt,” Bucky says, but can’t resist burying his fingers in Lucky’s silky fur, stroking gently as he looks at the phone that’s still ringing. “I guess I need to get that.”
In response Lucky barks again, and okay, Bucky can take a hint, even if the last thing he wants to do is answer. Hoping it’s a cold caller, because okay, they suck, but at least they’ll give Bucky some more time before having to confront the reality of this situation, Bucky picks up the phone, and sees his own face on the display.
As photos go it’s not one Bucky’s seen before, but at least he’s smiling, sort of. Well, he’s glare-smiling, which is a smile up from how he feels now as he presses, ‘accept’ and instantly someone rapidly speaks.
Bucky, thank fuck. Did Lucky wake you? He’s not supposed to go upstairs but does sometimes. Okay, I lie, he does it all the time because I like him sleeping with me, but he was sleeping on the couch when I went to bed. But fuck, Bucky. You need to come here. I’ve got my hand stuck in your bathroom door. I was going to pull it out but I’ll probably pull down the wall or something, so fair warning. Wait. It is Bucky, right? It should be, no one else should be in my apartment. If it’s not, forget everything I’ve just said.
“I think you should have led with that, I could have been anyone,” Bucky says, stroking Lucky’s head and frowning at the thought of his door, and frowns even more at the utter weirdness of hearing his own voice on the other end of the line. “Don’t destroy the place, and when you pull back your arm use half the strength that you think that you’ll need. I’ll be there soon, so don’t do anything stupid.”
Stupid like testing your superpower by climbing the tower? Clint says, sounding far too considering for Bucky’s liking, especially when the question is accompanied by the sound of something creaking. Because I wouldn’t do that. Or break your alarm by slapping it. Or go for a shower.”
“No climbing!” Alarmed, Bucky clutches the phone as he looks around the room, hoping to see some clean clothes, or even, some clothes that aren’t crumpled on the floor. Toeing at a pile of fabric wedged under the couch, Bucky sighs at the exposed t-shirt that looks more like a rag. “Tell me some of your clothes are actually clean, and, back up there, pal. Go for a shower?” On the surface, it’s not an alarming suggestion, Bucky likes to be clean after all. It’s just, it’ll be someone else washing his body and touching and seeing everything up close, and the thought of that feels all kinds of wrong. “I took a shower last night. You can hold off on that.”
“And now I’m -- you’re -- covered in plaster dust and coffee. Maybe a bit blood. And I -- you, needed to pee so it’s not like I haven’t seen anyway,” Clint hesitates and then adds, Don’t worry, I only looked for a bit.
“I hope that was before you put your hand through my door.” Bucky sighs, ruffling Lucky over his ears, already exhausted at the thought of sorting this mess out. It doesn’t help that his head is aching, thumping in time with his heartbeat and Bucky wants to slump back on the couch, cover himself with a blanket and hope he finally wakes up. “I’m coming over after I’ve had painkillers and got dressed.”
“Drink some coffee, too,” Clint says, matter of fact against a background noise of something falling. “Make a fresh pot or there’s an independent just outside of the building. They know what I like. And this door, are you attached to it?”
“I’d prefer it was attached to the wall,” Bucky says, sighing as he rubs at his eyes as he imagines going into the coffee shop and no doubt doing something to cause a commotion, like fall through the doorway or ignore one of Clint’s friends or going by his luck today, bumping into some psychotic villain wanting to take over the world. Still, the thought of caffeine is appealing at a bone-deep level and Bucky jumps to his feet, only stumbling a little as he heads for the tiny kitchen. “I’ll take a cab and be over as soon as I can. Have you told anyone else yet?”
Hello, attached to a door? Clint says and laughs in a way that causes Bucky to smile in response, and then stop when he realises he’s actually listening to himself, which again for the hundredth time this last half-hour: weird. But no, I haven’t told anyone else. I thought I’d wait until you got here, share the love and no doubt testing. And talking of love….
“Wait, what do you mean? Clint?” It’s no good, with a last laugh Clint ends the call, and Bucky’s left looking at the phone, and then at Lucky, who looks right back and barks once. And all Bucky can do is stay still and breathe, taking a moment to centre himself before he approaches the coffee machine, shoulders up and ready to face what’s inevitably going to be one hell of a day.
~*~*~*~
The journey to Avengers Tower takes longer than it should.
Which is ridiculous, because Bucky is trained for every situation, can laugh danger in the face and take on multiple bad guys without breaking a sweat. But, it turns out, taking one short cab ride is almost beyond him.
Not that it starts badly. Once Bucky’s loaded up with a full carafe of coffee -- and seriously, this habit of Clint’s would be concerning if Bucky wasn’t trapped in a full-body sigh of contentment as the caffeine hits his system -- it doesn’t take that long to find semi-clean clothes and load up with an assortment of weapons.
It turns out along with the obvious bows and arrows Clint keeps a lot of guns in his apartment, as well as knives, swords and what Bucky thinks is some kind of prototype mini flamethrower. But as tempting as it is to take that, that way leads to inevitable disaster and Bucky settles for a couple of knives which he slips into his boots and a gun which he hides in his waistband.
“Think I should take a bow?” Bucky asks, directing the question at Lucky who’s sitting and staring, mouth open and tail wagging as if Bucky dithering over weapon selection is the best thing ever. “I know it’s Clint’s thing, but he’ll have more at the tower and the way today is going I’d shoot myself in the eye somehow... No offence.”
Lucky barks once and Bucky grins despite himself, enjoying the one-sided conversation. “Okay, fine. No bow, I think we’re good.”
And Bucky’s sure they are. He’s got weapons, and clothes, and has fastened the bows on Clint’s sneakers into tight double knots. He’s even found a leash for Lucky, who’s almost vibrating in place as Bucky attaches it onto his collar and takes a step toward the door -- and then stops and takes a deep breath, says, “I can do this.”
Really, it’s no different than operating a drone or controlling Tony’s latest robot tech. It’s just, this tech is all too human and powered by Bucky alone as he takes more steps, Lucky’s leash wrapped tight around his hand.
Then has to turn back when he finally opens the door, and realises he’s got no idea where Clint keeps the key.
Ten minutes, a broken mug and cushions scattered on the floor later, and finally -- finally -- Bucky’s outside once again, locking the door behind him. Not that it leaves the apartment actually secure. Bucky’s sure one well-placed kick will break down the door. Has before in fact if the scuffed footmarks near the handle are any indication. But that can’t be Bucky’s concern right now and he pushes down thoughts of perimeter defences and hidden traps as he wanders down the hallway, Lucky leading the way.
“Good boy,” Bucky says and doesn’t say, thank god you’re here, a needed distraction as he concentrates on the wag of Lucky’s tail and not the fact that Clint’s body still feels weird, like Bucky’s wearing an outfit that’s just that little too big.
“Why couldn’t it have been Steve?” Bucky says, addressing the question to Lucky. “Yeah, he’s freakishly huge too, but at least I know him well.” Lucky twists his head, looking back and his expression so strangely doggishly impish that Bucky can’t help laughing. “Not like that. Don’t you be sniffing out gossip too.”
Lucky doesn’t reply. Of course, he doesn’t, but even so, Bucky’s still slightly smiling, his mouth curled up at one corner as he bypasses the elevator, taking the stairs instead. “It could be worse. I could have woken up in Tony’s body.”
Just the thought makes Bucky shudder. Not that he dislikes Tony and facts are, once he’d got over the shock, it would have been inevitable that Bucky would be in the suit and flying. It’s just, unlike Clint and his downlow lifestyle, waking up as Tony would have come along with a thousand different responsibilities and the relentless shine of a public spotlight.
Hating that idea, Bucky pulls his thoughts away from Tony, his feet pounding on the stairs, one hand on the railing as he follows Lucky down to the building exit. “Maybe Thor, or Natalia….”
Bucky trails off, then laughs softly when he hears Lucky whine. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not going there, not even thinking about it, no disrespecting a lady.”
And Bucky won’t, pushing any thoughts of other body swaps aside as he finally reaches the foyer and heads outside, squinting when he steps into the bright sunny day.
At once it’s like his senses are overwhelmed all over again. Sound and vision just that little different to normal and the taste of garbage and fumes on his tongue as he swallows and bends slightly, burying his hand in Lucky’s fur.
“Think I can get away with going back upstairs?” Bucky asks, his free hand curled into a fist as Lucky barks out a reply and then whines as he bumps his head against Bucky’s knee. “I didn’t think so.”
Lucky barks again, and licks a stripe up Bucky’s arm, his tail wagging as he starts forward, and despite the assault on his senses, Bucky can take a hint.
Walking forward, he holds up his hand and calls for a cab.
~*~*~*~
If asked, Bucky would admit he’s never felt so self-conscious as he walks past security at Avengers Tower. It feels like every eye is on him as he strides through the lobby, Lucky’s nails snicking against the hard floor as they do so.
Any moment Bucky expects to be stopped, which is stupid, as Clint has every right to be here. Even so, when one of the security guards steps forward, Bucky has to resist the urge to turn and flee.
“Hi Clint,” the security guard smiles and Bucky wonders when they got so casual, sure he’s never been called by his first name in all the time he’s lived in the tower. Then again, he’s normally not walking in looking like this, and more importantly, holding onto a dog.
“Hey.” Bucky hopes it’s the right thing to say, rapidly picking through his memories of being greeted by Clint. Then again, most of those seem to take place in the mornings -- or what stands for mornings when Clint is sleepy-eyed with blurred edges as he inhales more coffee -- or while charging into a battle, neither situation at all relevant here. But, a hey seems appropriate and is obviously passable as the security guard bends and ruffles Lucky’s fur on his back.
“Hey Lucky, we haven’t seen you around for a while.”
“He’s been a lazy mutt and lazing at home,” Bucky says, trying for a smile to match what he hopes is a casual tone. “You know how it is, he loves the couch and TV.”
“Don’t we all,” the security guard -- Walter -- says with a smile. “Have a good day, Clint. And you too, Lucky.”
“We will,” Bucky says, his smile widening at Lucky’s sharp bark. “I know, we’re going, stop being impatient.”
As commands go, it’s ignored. Bucky didn’t expect anything else to be honest. All he can do is follow as Lucky makes his way to the elevator and sits, looking up expectantly at Bucky.
“You wouldn’t be in such a hurry if you were minutes away from being hustled into a lab,” Bucky says, the urge to turn and hurry away replaced with resignation the closer he gets to Clint and his own body. Though, considering he still hasn’t been called by anyone but Clint, maybe the minutes can be stretched a bit longer. “Stupid magic.”
And it has to be magic. Bucky can’t think of any tech that can switch bodies, or consciousness, or whatever. Bucky’s got no idea how this whole situation has happened, and truthfully, doesn’t really care. All he wants is to be switched back. “It’ll be magic. It’s always magic.”
The door to the elevator slides open, and Bucky steps inside, hesitating a moment before he says, “Bucky’s -- I mean, Barnes’ floor, please.”
Instantly the elevator starts moving, and Bucky’s left looking at himself in the mirrored walls which are far too close for comfort. Unlike the mirrors in Clint’s apartment, these are gleaming, clean with no smudges and Bucky can’t help staring, taking in tousled blond hair, freckles across his nose, a mouth made for smiling and most of all, an expression that completely hides that, inside, Bucky’s world has been turned upside down.
Still staring, Bucky smiles a little, frowns, turns his head so he can see the aids in his ears. Touching them with his free hand, he leans in, seeing the crinkles at the corners of Clint’s eyes, the faint scar barely visible at the top of his neck, details that Bucky must have seen but never actually taken in.
“It’s weird, right?”
It’s not actually a surprise when Clint speaks, Bucky’s felt the elevator slow down and the doors slide open. But, it is weird to see his body reflected in the mirror. No scrap that, it’s not weird, it’s really fucking weird with another helping of weird on top and Bucky’s torn between staring and closing his eyes and never opening them again.
“I’d say it gets better, but you know….” Clint shrugs and that looks wrong on Bucky’s body, too casual as Clint runs his hand through his hair -- which right now, looks like a disaster with strands sticking up and more worryingly, wet in a few places.
“My hair? What?” In terms of the overall situation, Bucky’s hair means nothing, but focussing on the disaster in front of him is the best thing to do right now when Bucky is on the verge of hysterical laughter. “It’s wet. Some of it is wet. What the hell is that?”
“It’s water.” Clint reaches up, touching his hair and tugging at one of the wet strands. “I had to wash the sawdust out of it, and then I knew you were heading up so I came to meet you.”
“Okay, that makes sense,” and it does, enough that Bucky’s able to relax the tiniest amount as Clint drops to his knees and wraps his arms around Lucky.
“Hey boy, have you missed me? Have you been looking after Clint-Bucky?”
His tail wagging, Lucky woofs out a response, licking Clint’s face after he does so. It’s something that makes Clint laugh, making no attempt to pull back and looking so delighted that Bucky can’t look away. And it’s not because he’s not used to seeing himself smile, Bucky smiles, at least he does now. It’s just, he doesn’t smile like that, carefree and uninhibited in a way that seems from a lifetime before.
It makes Bucky want to sink to the floor too, to be barrelled over by a solid lump of dog with fur tickling his face and a wet tongue bathing his face. Instead, all he does is let the leash drop, watching as Clint buries his head against Lucky’s neck.
“Thanks for bringing him,” Clint finally says, pulling back from Lucky just enough so he can look up at Bucky. “Having him here helps.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Bucky agrees, barely able to resist kneeling so he can bury his fingers in fur and taking more comfort from the simple pleasure of petting a dog, especially one like Lucky.
“We could take him and escape for a while.” Clint says slowly, his look assessing as he stares directly at Bucky. “You know once we ‘fess up we’ll be stuck in the labs all day.”
“If we’re lucky.” Bucky sighs, well acquainted with time spent in hospital and labs, especially those labs as overseen by Tony. Even so, no matter how much he doesn’t enjoy being poked, questioned and observed, there’s one pressing matter in terms of Clint’s suggestion. “I look like you. I am you. Sort of.”
“And I look like you,” Clint says, seemingly uncaring of that fact. “As long as we keep it on the down-low no one will notice. Just two regular guys and a dog out for a walk in the park.”
“Right.” Bucky draws out the word, because really, what could go wrong? Even so, he shrugs and says, “Let’s do it.”
~*~*~*~
It turns out that being Clint is relatively easy. Yeah, the legs are still a bit unwieldy at times and it’s strange to suddenly be back in a body with human limitations. At least, Clint level human limitations, Bucky’s sure most regular people can’t climb trees within seconds and spot pettable dogs when they’re still way off in the distance.
Admittedly, the climbing thing is something Bucky’s enjoying. It’s been forever since he’s last climbed a tree on a whim, and now he’s sitting high up on a branch, he doesn’t understand why he hasn’t done it a long time before.
“Having fun?” Clint smiles as he looks up. He’s sprawled on the ground, looking relaxed despite the dark outfit that really isn't summer-appropriate, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up as Lucky pants beside him. Clint’s also holding a ragged and soaking wet tennis ball, and Bucky can’t help laughing all over again when he remembers Clint taking down a hotdog stand when he misjudged how hard he could throw.
“Yeah, laugh it up.” Still smiling, Clint throws the ball upwards, hitting the sole of Bucky’s foot. “You didn’t have to pay for hundreds of dollars of hotdogs.”
“Like you didn’t enjoy eating them,” and okay, after brushing off the dirt Bucky had enjoyed eating them too, as had Lucky, a squad of ducks and a random squirrel that had run away with part of a bun. “And technically I did pay. At least my body did.”
“True,” Clint agrees, seemingly pleased about that fact. “I should take out the ice cream cart too. I’ve got room for a cone.”
“Or you could buy one like a normal person,” Bucky says, easily jumping down from the branch and lightly landing at Clint’s feet. “Or me buy one, or you as me buy one, or….”
Bucky stops speaking, reality hitting all over again. It’s something he’s managed to push aside for the last hour. Too focussed on the feel of sunshine on his shoulders and the sound of Lucky’s happy barking as he chased after his ball, and then of course, the hilarity of the avalanche of hotdogs and having to watch Clint try to appease the irate vendor.
But, as much as he’s enjoyed this time out, Bucky knows they have to go back to the Tower and face up to the swap. Saying that though, a few more minutes won’t hurt and Bucky suggests, “A cone before we go back?”
Clint sighs, head tilted back as he stares up at Bucky. “We could wait, see if we swap back at midnight like some Freaky Friday thing.”
“You know our luck, we do that and we could end up stuck like this for good.” Which okay, wouldn’t be as terrible a possibility as when Bucky first woke, but it’s still not something he wants permanently. Sure, Bucky’s got some lingering body issue problems, but that doesn’t mean he wants to cast his body aside. “And as nice as this body is, I prefer my own.”
“Yeah?” Clint grins, something wide and free as he winks, and wow, Bucky shouldn’t find his own face so attractive. “I like your body too, but you’re right. We should go back.”
“We should,” Bucky agrees and holds out his hand. “But not until we have ice cream.”
“Works for me,” Clint says, and reaches up, his metal fingers wrapping around Bucky’s, Clint holding on carefully as he’s pulled to his feet. “But your stomach says it wants a triple scoop with sprinkles.”
“My body has good taste,” Bucky says, giving Lucky’s head a pat and the branch above his head a last look.
Clint follows his gaze, says, “When this is over, we can come back and climb trees. I’ll show you some of my favourites.”
Bucky smiles, says, “It’s a date.”
~*~*~*~
It turns out that body swapping is a recognised thing -- go figure.
At least, it is if you dig far enough and have the connections and skills of a multi-billionaire tech genius who’s spent the last two hours alternating between frenzied research and hysterical laughter.
“Seriously, I mean, of everyone, it was you two. You couldn’t make it up.” Tony shoves a projection to one side, lines of text blinking out as he grins and looks over at Clint and Bucky. “Tell me again what it feels like.”
“It feels like I want to punch you in the head,” Bucky says, clenching his fist and considering yet again stalking away. In fact, he would have done that ninety minutes before if it wasn’t for Clint, who’s sitting backwards on a chair, Lucky as his feet, and is seemingly more asleep than awake.
Unused to seeing himself look so relaxed, Bucky keeps glancing over, and can’t help smiling when Clint opens his eyes and then winks.
“Oh my God, what is that? Is that some kind of freaky mind meld as well as body swap? Because you didn’t mention that before.” Tony starts toward Bucky, then comes to an abrupt halt and changes direction so he can stare over at Clint. “Can you hear what he’s saying? Is he whispering sweet nothings directly into your brain?”
“No, but I know he’s internally calling you an asshole right now,” Clint says easily, looking past Tony to Bucky. “And that if you don’t need us we’re going to go get something to eat. It’s been hours since lunch.”
“It’s been less than three,” Bucky points out, but even so, he’s not about to knock back Clint’s suggestion, especially if it means they get out of here before more blood tests are taken and brain wave monitoring is repeated again. Which can only be a matter of time, and Bucky inclines his head toward the door and says, “But I can eat.”
“You can always eat -- I can always eat,” Clint says, careful not to step on Lucky when he gets to his feet. “I’ve got leftovers at my place, I’m sure my stomach is wanting to eat pizza.”
Bucky considers. While he doesn’t mind pizza, it’s not his favourite food, but even so, right now he wants nothing more than to inhale a few slices, no matter how old. “I can…”
“No leaving the building,” Tony cuts in, and while Bucky bristles at the command, he also knows that it’s a sensible precaution and doesn’t actually mean he should immediately make for the nearest door.
“Fine.” Obviously, Clint understands that too, and he sighs and says, “We can check out the communal fridge, oh wait, or eat that stuff at yours. I’m not sure what it was, but it tasted okay.”
It takes Bucky a moment to catch on, then remembers the leftovers that he’d put in his fridge. They're nothing special, just the remains of an enormous stir fry Bucky had made the evening before, and truthfully, he isn’t sure there’s enough left over for one person, let alone two, especially if Clint has been grazing.
“It’s a stir fry, you probably didn’t recognise the vegetables as they weren’t on a disc under cheese,” Bucky says, and pointedly ignores Tony’s amused snort. “But sure, we can eat it, and if there’s not enough we’ll find something else.”
“Or order in pizza.” Clint gives Bucky a thumbs up, silver catching the light when he does so. “I bet you can eat lots of pizza with your metabolism. I could wolf down those hot dogs.”
“I remember,” Bucky says, while trying not to remember how Clint joked around by suggestively eating the hotdogs after ploughing through the first dozen. Because one, gross, and two, Bucky really shouldn’t find the memory of his own mouth and lips sucking down a hotdog so appealing. “But yeah, we’ll order in. That is, if you promise to keep out of the bathroom.”
Clint shrugs and looks down his body. “Not my fault you’ve got a bladder like a pea.”
“My bladder is perfectly normal.” Bucky frowns, still suspicious about what Clint has been doing the multiple times he headed off to the bathroom. “I don’t normally go multiple times a day.”
“Well you do now, it was that or peeing your weird hipster pants,” Clint says, amusement barely hidden and grin widening as he gently taps his metal hand over his crotch. “I blame them for squishing my bladder. They do make your ass look good, though.”
“They do,” Bucky says, agreeing easily as he grabs hold of Clint’s arm and tugs, eager to get him out of the room before Tony adds more tests to the list or even worse, continues the conversation about Bucky's bladder and hipster pants, which aren't actually hipster at all, thank you very much, just pants. “Food, now. Tony, let us know when you have something or Steve gets back from Strange.”
“Will do,” Tony says, already distracted as he pulls up a new screen, but not before he looks directly at Clint and adds, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Which really, means nothing, and they all know that, Clint laughing as they exit the room.
~*~*~*~
“I’m glad it was you.” Clint’s lying sprawled on Bucky’s couch, his feet up on a cushion and eyes half-lidded, the TV ignored for the moment. “I mean, I’m not going to deny it was a shock waking up in your body. I nearly fractured your nose with your hand in the first minute and let’s not talk about the first bathroom situation.”
“Yeah, let’s not,” Bucky agrees, even though one part of him still wants to know exactly what Clint’s done and seen. Except, there’s one thing he does need to know. “Just, tell me it’s still attached.”
“It’s still there.” Clint pats at his crotch and then grins as he looks over at Bucky who’s claimed the other end of the couch. “But, body-swapping needs a manual saying don’t attempt the bathroom using an unfamiliar metal hand.”
Bucky stares, sure that Clint has to be joking: hopes that he is joking considering the giant hole that’s now in the bathroom door. Settling on yeah, it has to be a joke, Bucky says, “There better not be a next time. Once is enough.”
“Yeah,” Clint agrees, brow furrowed as he adds, “But if it happens again, I’d like to take Thor’s body for a ride. Those muscles, and who wouldn’t want to travel by magical hammer?”
Bucky stares, trying for words, but all he can manage to do is repeat,” Take Thor’s body for a ride? Jesus, Barton.”
Clint pushes himself up, digging his heels against Bucky’s thigh. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. About flying like Tony, or wearing Sam’s wings or being Steve. No way you wouldn’t want to be him.”
“You’re as bad as your dog,” Bucky says, frowning at Clint and trying to maintain some semblance of disapproval. But it’s impossible when Clint just keeps looking and Bucky finds himself playing disapproval chicken with his impassive own face. “Okay, fine. I did think about it, but just for a minute.”
“I knew it.” Clint grins wide, all impassive expressions gone as he laughs, leaning forward so he’s in Bucky’s personal space. “So, Thor, he’s a good choice, yeah?”
“I guess.” It’s a reluctant admission, and Bucky should leave it there, except his stupid mouth keeps going, which is something that has to be hardwired into Clint because usually, Bucky knows how to keep quiet. “But I think someone else would be better.”
“Not Nat,” Clint’s smile has faded, as if he’s getting ready to strike and verbally defend her honour if Bucky even thinks about saying anything disrespectful. “Because that’s just wrong. Plus, she’d kill you after.”
“God no, I like my balls where they are.” Bucky winces and admits after a pause, “Being you hasn’t been bad.”
“Really?” Bucky blinks, not used to seeing his own face look so surprised or the slightest hint of a blush as Clint keeps talking. “You’d choose my old, worn-out all-too-human body?”
“If I had to, it’s not like I’d be signing up to do this regularly.” Bucky feels the need to point that out, because, even if it has become easier to be Clint throughout the day, he’s not ready to do it again. At least, not unless he’s forced to, and if he was, well, “But if I had to, your body’s okay. Once you get used to the legs and the aches and the fact you’re constantly wanting to drink coffee.”
“I do like coffee,” Clint says but then sighs. “I don’t think your body does though. I keep having to pee.”
“That’s what happens when you overload my body with caffeine,” Bucky says, relieved that the cause of Clint’s constant bathroom visits is something so mundane. “Lay off the coffee and you won’t have to go so often.”
“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to touch your dick with your metal hand.”
As statements go it’s blunt and unexpected and all Bucky can do is stare and say, “What?”
“It feels nice.” Clint shrugs, unrepentant as he adds, “Don’t worry. I haven’t done anything else with it. At least, not since first thing this morning and that was only a quick feel. The whole door situation put me off.”
“ A quick feel?” Bucky’s sure at some point he’ll be able to do more than just repeat what Clint’s saying, but not yet, something Clint seems to find amusing.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t looked at my dick.” Still leaning into Bucky’s personal space, Clint rests his metal hand on Bucky’s arm, running his thumb over bare skin. “I don’t mind. It’s not how I expected it to happen, but hell, we’re Avengers, we’ve had weirder starts.”
Bucky’s not stupid, not by a long way, but this whole situation seems to be running out of control. “You wanted to look at my dick?”
“Among other things.” Still close, Clint sighs softly, all bravado and amusement fading away. “It’s a nice dick and I like you. So….”
“So this is weird.” Bucky looks down at Clint’s hand, shivers running through his body at the sensation of metal against skin, and grabs hold, his hand on Clint’s when he starts to pull back. “Not in a bad way. In an ‘I’m in your body and you’re me but not’, way.
“Okay, I can see that would be weird.” Clint frowns, absently pushing at a lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “But I like weird.”
“That’s because you are weird,” Bucky says, lightening the moment even as he keeps hold of Clint’s hand. “So it’s good I like weird too.”
“I don’t know about you, but the word weird has lost all meaning to me now.” Clint’s looking directly at Bucky, his gaze intent as if for the first time he’s having to search for the right words.
Which is why, it’s up to Bucky to make the first move. Or, Clint’s impulsive body to make the first move, Bucky doesn’t know which one, and honestly, doesn’t care as he moves in and brushes his mouth against Clint’s, pulling back just a little to ask, “This is okay?”
“More than okay,” Clint says in reply, and his lips are soft and feel nothing like Bucky’s own. The same dry skin is there, the same curves, the same everything, but Bucky doesn’t recognise a thing. How could he, because this may be his body he’s kissing, but everything is different. The sounds he can hear Clint making, the hitch of his breath when Bucky uses his tongue, the way his whole body jerks when Bucky brings up his hand, caressing the part of his neck that’s sensitive always.
“Not playing fair,” Clint says, each word a breath of warm air. “You know your body too well.”
And, within seconds, it’s apparent Clint’s playing the same game when Bucky feels the gentlest of touches at the dip of his back, his whole body shivering as Clint resumes and deepens the kiss.
“My apologies, Sergeant Barnes, Agent Barton. Sir wishes you to know Doctor Strange is here and wishes to see you both immediately.”
“Of course he does.” Sighing when he hears Jarvis’ voice cut into the room, Bucky reluctantly pulls back, knowing if they wait it’s a high possibility Strange will just appear in the room. “His sense of timing remains the worst.”
“He’s a cockblocking bastard,” Clint agrees, which is stronger than Bucky would say but still applies. “But, we should go show our faces.”
“We should.” Slowly, Bucky sits back, congratulating his past self for picking old loose jogging pants as he watches Clint try to get comfortable in Bucky’s tight not-hipster pants. “We can finish this later after the magic bull is over and we're back in our own bodies.”
For a moment, Clint freezes, then relaxes, beaming as he says, “Yeah, yeah we can.”
And, for the second time that day, Bucky says, “It’s a date.”