winterhawkkisses:

The Soldier moved large and purposeful, predatory, wide open movement ‘cos no one was gonna get in his way. 

Bucky’s different. Bucky holds himself close. Bucky moves like he’s afraid of brushing against broken glass – except that’s not quite right. He’s afraid he’s made of broken glass, maybe. Like he’ll hurt anyone he touches, and anyone he touches will hurt him right back, and no one will mean it but that won’t stop him bleeding out. 

Bucky doesn’t touch people, and it’s pretty clear that it’s killing him. 

And maybe Clint knows Steve better, maybe he likes him better, maybe he has this useless case of hero worship that lights up a little every time Steve gives him a smile or a positive word, but the little sad faces every time Bucky slides past without touching – those, Steve can shove right up his ass. 

Clint’s working on proximity. He’s not sure why, exactly. It’s probably – he’s gonna go with self preservation, okay? With the fact that Bucky can’t be tensing up the moment someone’s near him in a fight. That’s most probably what it is, he figures, he tells himself, he’s almost convinced. 

So he doesn’t tease physically like he does with the rest of the team, like he needs to keep himself sane. Doesn’t slap him on the back like he does to Steve, or jab his fingers into his side like Tony hates him for; doesn’t coast gentle fingers like he does down Nat’s spine, or sling his arm around his shoulders like Sam’s. Instead he eases in just a little. Passes him in the hallways and hovers his hand just next to his arm as they cross paths. Holds onto the things he’s handing over just a little too long so he can quirk a little smile when Bucky, confused, catches his eye. He takes the seat next to him in briefings and meetings, so he can lean in just a little and lower his voice into something that’s intimate in every way but the physical, make Bucky snort out a laugh and feel like he’s won the freaking lottery. 

It’s nothing to how he feels when Bucky starts leaning back. 

It’s gradual, so goddamn slow, inches taken where Clint wants freaking miles. But Bucky lets him rest a foot on the edge of his chair, doesn’t duck away when Clint leans past him to get something out of the cupboard, laughs right in his face when they’re fighting over a basketball and almost makes Clint swallow his tongue with how beautiful he is, right then. 

And when there’s the barest, lightest, most careful brush of Bucky’s fingers against the small of Clint’s back while he’s making them coffee he has to swallow hard, three times, before he can make his voice come out right. 

“Sugar?”

“Yes, honey?” Bucky says low, teasing, right in his ear, and he sounds like he’s laughing and holy shit Clint didn’t mean to but this, right here, this feels like love.