Chapter Text
In Clint's defense, his bare ass had only been in the tabloids once . Sure, it’d been on screen so much more than that, and stage far more than that, but only in print-or screen technically-once. The reason why it’s such a big issue this time is more who else is in the photo— much more exposed if not for the required pixelation. It wouldn’t even be as big of an issue if not for the other person in the photo.
Picture’s over a decade old, edging on two by now. He can pinpoint exactly when it was taken. There’s not a bow and arrow tattoo on his ass yet, he wasn’t allowed to get that until after filming, and he’s still brunette at this point. It’s also definitely the only time that he had any contact with Bucky Barnes.
Clint's been ignoring his manager since he took one groggy look at the text with the link to a futzing TMZ article after rolling out of bed that morning. He called Nat after a pot of coffee was in his stomach and another started brewing. She was on tour in Europe though at the moment; so, a hastily left voicemail had to do. He’s not panicking, but Nat would kill him for not telling her about this himself.
Clint really isn't worried about the situation. It was a decade old picture from a shitty horror movie he was in at like seventeen and eighteen. First role he booked on his own, after he spent the last two years suing the shit out of his family. He got a lot of connections out of that role at least. He'd already known Warren from a kids movie that they both worked on right as Clint got a lawyer. They exchange holiday cards still and if they're in anything together (not often) they'll usually grab lunch, but that is sort of the extent of how they kept up after all these years.
Remy and Pietro stayed in touch with him much more. Remy and him co-starred in a few shows and movies after and they technically joint own a house together in Chicago that they rent out from when they were leads on Road Rats. Clint would have been a groomsmen, Remy insists, if Mr. and Mrs. LeBeau hadn't taken someone else's wedding over to get married. (The press milked that for weeks since it happened during a dead spot; Clint feels bad for Kate and Pieter for having their problems dragged into the limelight like that— Clint was so glad that didn't happen to him and Bobbi though.)
Pietro and Clint have done more stage work together than anything, but they kept up. Clint’s basically a bonus uncle to Wanda and Alex’s kids. He goes to their house in Queens for Haunnak most years now. He’s lost count of how many school shirts he has from the twins’ activities in his closet. If not for Nat, Clint would say that Pietro’s his best friend.
Bobbi and him were almost a Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively level couple, but neither of them had that star power before or after. It was a huge relief though, because there wasn't a lot of publicity about their divorce either.
The press also hadn't harassed their kids, which Clint is so so thankful for.
But Bucky, well, once that film wrapped Clint never really heard from him again. They crossed paths for the half a season of Gossip Girls in which Bucky wouldn't even look his way when Clint tried to get his attention.
It was fine, it only stung a little. He wasn't even looking for a hookup then. But whatever, he didn't need to be friends with him.
So, as far as Clint cared, the picture wasn’t a problem. Not for him.
This is still your problem, Clint, the voice of Hank Pym that lived in Clint's head reminded him. The PR team is already having a field day.
" Hey, all publicity is good publicity," Clint parroted back to the voice. "It's not like it's the 90s anymore and you get black balled for being gay."
Lucky stared at him, unimpressed.
"It shouldn't be on me to make this blow over; he's got his own PR team."
Lucky laid his head down, and if Clint didn’t know better he would say Lucky was purposefully not looking at him.
He’s gonna disappoint his dog. Also probably his manager. Maybe Natasha. But he’s not touching this.
~~~
The problem that Clint runs into, months after the story broke then subsequently got buried under whatever the fuck happened with soccer star Roberto De Costa, is that they’re still both actors . They don’t exactly attend most of the same events because Clint’s stuck to stage productions since his stint on Gossip Girl came to a close for the most part.
Bucky’s a movie star (now) with bright twinkling lights and way too much flourish behind the title for what they actually do. Especially the recent stint with the company Bucky’s been working for. Why the futz they won’t let the actors have anything more than their own lines, Clint will never understand. At least when he worked for them with Warren way back then, he had context for the work he was doing. Hank’s tried to convince Clint to take a part but at this point it's more a piller of Clint’s pride than anything.
Hank got his part of that money though with Scott. Clint’s perfectly content with letting Lang have that.
Ergo, minus the stray question he occasionally gets from some random fangirl or journalist scrambling for something that will get them a headline, Clint’s mostly forgotten about it.
It was annoying when more than one of the women he’d tried to sleep with hounded him about how good a lay Barnes was or how big his dick was.
Clint was seventeen; Bucky was maybe twenty-one and probably in the same boat as Clint when it came to deciding to actually mess around with other guys. It was the mid-2000s and even then it was sort of a risk to get caught. It was a whole thing.
Those questions really ruined the mood in the same way that being clocked as a child actor before that shitty horror movie had. It had been such a relief that this slightly-older man who was interested in him wasn’t hounding him about whatever TV show or kids movie he’d been in when he was eight like all those teenage girls had when he tried dating.
But now, Clint hadn’t been laid in about four months, because the only person that hadn’t said something that ruined the mood was Eddie Brock and Clint knew better. He hadn't been that desperate at that point.
Which is why when he walked onto stage forty minutes late to the first day (not his fault, Clint had been told thirty minutes before start time that he needed to be at the theater which was almost an hour away depending on the subway) and saw Bucky Barnes on stage, he almost turned on Maria Hill and quit on the spot.
“Thank you for finally joining us Clint, you’re just in time for read-through,” Maria greeted him and slapped a script into his chest.