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The dull thud of flesh smacking into flesh broke the silence, a pained grunt immediately on its heels.
“Harder.”
Another blow landed.
“Harder! Hit him harder.” Each word was carefully enunciated by the man watching the scene ardently. This time the thwack was followed by the sound of someone spitting blood onto the floor.
“Afraid to get your hands dirty?” Clint questioned, derision dripped from his voice.
“Again.”
Clint tongued the split in his lower lip as he sagged between the two brutes holding him in place as a punching bag for a third goliath. He debated holding his tongue, but that really wasn’t his nature.
“Have to hire out cause you don't want to hurt your delicate hands? Where do you even find assholes this size? Goons-R-Us?”
“No, actually. It’s an internship.” Mania lit the man’s eyes as a grin stretched across his face. He signaled for the goon to throw another punch. “As it happens, I am keeping a promise. I wouldn’t want it getting about that I’m not a man of my word after all.”
“What?” Clint gasped out, struggling to get air back into his lungs.
“Your faggot boyfriend gave himself over willingly as long as I promised not to lay a finger on you.” Raucous laughter rang out, the goons as amused by their dickwad boss. Clint didn’t respond to any of it, too stunned. Bucky had… Bucky had let himself be captured? Why would he do that? The world was spinning, but Clint didn’t think it was just the concussion.
Clint was still reeling when a fist smashed into his face again. He let his weight collapse and his head hung down as if knocked out.
“Toss him in a cell,” Clint heard the guy snap out petulantly, clearly disappointed the show was over. Clint continued to feign unconsciousness as he was dragged ingloriously down a long hallway and dropped into a cell. He waited until after he heard the locking mechanism engage, then counted to one hundred before he opened his eyes and pushed up into a sitting position. The goons hadn’t put any restraints on Clint before chucking him in the room so he was able to move around at his leisure, not that there was much to investigate.
The room could have been an empty storage closet for its size and lack of features. It was helpfully devoid of windows, cameras and other occupants. Clint felt a savage grin reopen the tender split on his lip that had just stopped bleeding.
He could work with this. And as soon as he got himself out of that room and took care of the dumbass that had snatched him he’d make sure to have words with Bucky Barnes, the self-sacrificing idiot. He’d decide on the fly if he’d wait to yell at Bucky for doubting his abilities until after they were on their way back home; but Clint could multitask — maybe he’d yell while breaking him out. He’d have to see how he was feeling in the moment. For now he set to work picking the lock.