Hi there! Can I have #21 & #37 with winterhawk?
21: “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop to feel the rain?”
Congrats! You get a ficlet instead of a drabble because I’m tired of policing my word count. Also because I had an idea and wanted to combine these.
“One of these days,” Clint says, ducking into the cave next to Bucky, “we’re gonna have a mission where everything goes right. Everything. The universe owes us that much.”
“Agreed,” Bucky says, looking up at the sky. “Are we safe here? That’s a nasty storm coming.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Clint drops his pack a little deeper into the cave and looks around. “Well. This is cozy.”
Bucky sets his pack next to Clint’s and sits on the ground, digging out a ration bar. “Hungry?”
“Nah.” Clint wanders over to the mouth of the cave and leans against the rock, looking up at it. There’s lightning flickering ominously across the sky, and the thunderhead is intimidating as hell. Bucky’s not scared of much, but he has a very healthy respect for nature, and storms, and he doesn’t like the look of this.
“Should we go further in?” he asks.
“I can’t,” Clint says. “I’m from Iowa. According to Midwest law, I have to stand on the front porch and admire all giant approaching storms. Or in this case, the front rock.”
Bucky snorts. “Seriously?”
“Yep. It’s like a Midwest tradition. Sky goes scary, we all stand out on the porch and look at it. I knew a guy once who was mowing his lawn during a tornado.”
Bucky gapes at him. “And he’s still alive?”
Clint waves a hand. “He’s fine. No big deal.”
Bucky disagrees with that, but he doesn’t really feel like arguing. So he just settles against the cave wall and takes another bite of the ration bar.
Ten minutes later, the storm hits. It’s a spectacular thing, full of thunder and lightning arcs, and an impressive downpour of rain. It’s insanely loud, too, pounding on the rocks with an intensity that Bucky can feel in his bones.
“Clint, get back in here,” he calls, but Clint doesn’t appear to hear him. He’s staring up at the sky with a wondrous---almost delighted---expression on his face. Bucky’s never seen him look like that before. He’s edging closer to where the rain is pouring off the outcropping, sticking his hand into the little waterfall that’s cascading down.
Bucky gets up and walks over. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm, and you want to stop to feel the rain?”
“I miss storms,” Clint says. “We don’t get them like this in New York.” He sticks his whole hand in the water, cupping it in his palm. Then he flicks it at Bucky.
“Hey!” Bucky protests, wiping his eyes.
Clint grins at him with that what’re-you-gonna-do-about-it look that Bucky loves so much, and tilts his head. “Got a little something on your face,” he says, and then ducks as Bucky splashes him back.
There’s an impromptu water fight after that, which only ends when Clint tackles him out into the actual rain. They land in a pile of mud, and Bucky rolls with it, twisting so that he ends up on top. He pins Clint’s wrists to the ground by his head and smirks down at him. “Got ya.”
“Rude,” Clint says, squinting against the rain pouring on his face.
Bucky leans forward to block it. “You started it.”
“That’s fair.” He squirms under Bucky’s grip. “Let me up, cyborg boy.”
“Why? I kind of like you like this.”
Clint scowls. It’s cute. “You’re heavy.”
“Dude, you’re like ninety-nine percent muscle. You’re heavy. Get off.”
Bucky laughs and stands up. Clint gets his feet and wipes the mud from his face. Except there’s mud on his hands, so really he just ends up making it worse. “Ugh,” he mutters. “Gross.”
“Come on, we can rinse off over here.”
“Yeah.” Clint takes two steps towards the cave, then slips in the mud. “Aw, shit.”
Bucky rolls his eyes even as he catches Clint and pulls him upright. “How is it you can shoot moving targets with your eyes closed, but you can’t walk in a straight line without falling over?”
“Mud is slippery,” Clint protests as he wobbles again and grabs Bucky’s shoulders for support. He loops his arms around Bucky’s neck and grins at him. “Wanna dance?”
“You’ll probably just fall,” Bucky tells him, grinning back and putting his hands on Clint’s waist anyway. The rain is still pouring down, and there’s thunder and lightning above them, but it all seems to fade away when he looks at Clint’s face.
“Doesn’t matter,” Clint says softly. “If I fall.”
“Because you’re always there to catch me.” He dips his head and kisses Bucky, warm and soft against the chill of the rain falling around them.
Bucky shivers. “Damn right,” he murmurs, kissing him back. “And I always will be.”
