631.
Barnes stalks over to him, shoulders and jaw squared, every line of him drawn heavy and crisp.
“Just go with it,” he snaps out, and Clint nods automatically and then rocks backwards as Barnes grabs onto his face with both hands and presses a kiss to his idiot mouth that’s too goddamn startled to ease up a little, get a taste.
“What?” he asks, and Barnes rests their foreheads together; it probably looks better from a distance, without the angry eyes.
Barnes doesn’t answer, just kisses him again, and Clint lets instinct take over, tilting his head a little and softening his lips, curving his arm around Barnes’ waist.
“I mean,” he says, breath just a little short, “not that I don’t appreciate -”
Barnes has eased a little, a different kind of intensity in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth quirks into something like a smile before he presses a couple quick blunt kisses to Clint’s mouth rather than listening to him babble. It’s probably a wise choice. Many have made it before.
“Might’ve put my foot in it with the press,” Bucky says. “Help a fella out?”
Clint glances over his shoulder at the camera flashes, the endless telescope lenses pointed their way.
“Just in public, right?” he asks, and Bucky snorts.
“Where else?”
“Right,” Clint says, over the sinking sensation. “Sure.”