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“You know, last time I zip-lined off a mountain it didn’t end well,” Bucky says, eyeing the drop and the thin wire that curves its way across the valley.
“Yeah, but you fell off the train, not the zip line,” Clint points out, grinning.
“You are such an asshole,” Bucky says. “Why do i even like you?
“Because I’m really good in bed,” Clint says without hesitation, wiggling his eyebrows. Bucky eyes him.
“Yeah… that’s why,” he says, shaking his head. “So maybe we go back to the hotel and we do that instead, huh?” Clint looks amused.
“As tempting as that is…” he says, leaning in close to Bucky. “I don’t think the others would see our point of view. This is a matter of world security and all.” Bucky sighs, because Clint’s right, and this is the quickest way to the enemy base, it’s just also the worst idea Bucky’s heard in a long time.
“Hey,” Clint says, pressing up against Bucky’s back, his lips right against his ear. “Look at it this way, the sooner we get this part over with, the sooner we can get back to the hotel and that massive bed.” He kisses Bucky’s neck, right in the spot that makes Bucky’s knees go weak. “I brought supplies.”
Bucky takes in another deep breath and forces himself to relax.
“You’re making this up to me later, Barton.”
“I fully intend to,” Clint says, tilting Bucky’s head around until their lips can meet. The kiss is dirty and full of promise and passion and Bucky thinks there might even be a hint of apology in there. “Now hold on tight,” Clint whispers.
Bucky jumps and there is a horrible moment of free fall before his harness catches him with a jerky stop and he is flying.
The equipment is much better than last time: the harness was designed by engineers; the materials, the anchors of the line, the clasps, have all been tested a thousand times or more. This is statistically less dangerous than riding a motorbike, and Bucky does that all the time, so being afraid is completely illogical. This is necessary for the mission and Bucky is not going to compromise the mission because he’s… overly cautious about heights. Not like jumping off a building heights, but plunging thousands of feet into ice and stone and snow - those heights.
He feels the bounce of the line when Clint joins him, and his stomach bobs unpleasantly. Bucky knows without having to look around that Clint is loving this. Why he had to date the guy who considers gravity a personal challenge, Bucky doesn’t know, but Clint will be loving every second.
Bucky twists himself around for a second, just to see, and sure enough, Clint’s got a huge smile on his face, his arms spread out like he’s flying and Bucky knows that if they didn’t have to be stealthy, and if sound didn’t carry in the mountains, that Clint would be whooping with joy. Bucky feels a pang of bone-deep fondness pulsing through him and he knows that there’s going to be some kind of bungee jumping, zip-lining adventure holiday in his future.
He turns back, dimly aware that he’s smiling, too, now. His face is split in a stupid soppy grin as he thinks ‘damn, I love him’.
It’s not a new thought, but it hits him like it always does because it’s still such a strange idea. That he can be in love with someone. That he can be in love with a man and that Clint can love him back and that that isn’t a crime and he won’t be punished or wiped or put back into cryo.
Although the biting wind of the Alps feels a bit like cryo all on its own.
He sees their target location emerge from the shadow of the mountain, an ornate chalet that looks more like a ski resort than a secret base, but there’s no reason it can’t be both. He waits, hand poised on the release, and waits.
As soon as he hits it, he’s falling again, although only about ten feet. He lands in a roll, absorbing the impact and the sound as he pushes back up onto his feet, gun drawn. It’s only a few seconds later that he hears the soft sound of Clint landing behind him. They share a look and Clint starts to sign at him.
Back in the day, Bucky had thought that maybe he’d end up with a pretty nurse or something. He’d known he liked the fellas, but he’d thought dames were just as swell, with their bright red lipstick and their carefully curled hair. It was a different type of attractive to the men, who were rough around the edges and all of them with a sharpness to them. But he’d counted himself lucky that he found the ladies pretty enough and he’d thought - when he’d thought he might survive the war - that maybe he’d find a nurse or something, someone who’d seen the war and who was tough enough to weather Bucky’s edges and maybe who had some edges of her own.
He’d never thought of this. Sneaking through enemy territory, moving with barely a need to communicate as they sneak up on one guard after another, taking them out, and make their way into the heart of the base.
It’s as though he has an extra sense, which always knows where Clint is and what he’s going to do next. All it takes is a flash of a grin and Bucky’s moving into position.
Of course, they can’t stay unnoticed forever, and eventually someone finds one of the guard they’ve taken down, or someone doesn’t report in at the right moment, and the alarms sound.
If Clint loves the feeling of flying through the air, Bucky loves this. Fighting side by side, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he takes down one guy while his partner fights right next to him, somersaulting through the goddamn air to kick a thug in the head. He never thought he’d feel this alive, to be honest. It feels like he’s a live wire and Clint is the current sparking through him. They move well together, Bucky the unstoppable force, marching forwards, Clint dodging in from the sides, or spinning overhead, never quite where you expect him to be. They move around each other like parts of a machine, well oiled, well made, their teeth and grooves fitting together to keep the other ticking onwards.
He looks at Clint as he dances through the air and thinks 'I love you'. He blocks the gun of the man trying to shoot him and thinks 'Not today'. He stands, surrounded by groaning bodies, looking at the love of his fucking life bathed in silver moonlight like some ancient god of mayhem and thinks 'I’m gonna marry that guy'. And the thought feels right. Bucky grins.
“What’s so funny?” Clint asks, giving him the side-eye as he shoots a latecomer to the party with a putty arrow.
“Just thinking about you,” Bucky says. Clint rolls his eyes.
“You’re so sappy, Barnes,” Clint says, like he doesn’t murmur sweet nothings into Bucky’s ear in the early morning sunlight that slants through the gap in their bedroom curtains. Like he doesn’t sometimes kiss Bucky and then dart away telling him it was ‘just because’. Like he isn’t the biggest romantic Bucky’s ever met.
“I love you,” Bucky says, because it always bears repeating, and even though the world is shades of grey in the night, he can still see the way Clint’s ears darken as he blushes.
“Yeah, yeah. I love you, too,” Clint says, shrugging it off like he always does in moments like this.
This place is pretty romantic, Bucky thinks, looking around. The mountains are beautiful, stretching out over the horizon, the full moon is bright and almost mystical, and there are so many stars in the sky it almost looks fake. Sure, there are the semi-conscious bodies around them, but that’s kind of romantic too, if you look at it the right way.
Bucky turns to Clint, because they are neither of them people who wait.
“Marry me,” he says. Clint doesn’t hear him, too busy scanning the place for the item they’re supposed to be retrieving.
“What?” Clint asks, looking over at him.
“Marry me,” Bucky repeats. Clint blinks, staring.
“What? Now?”
“I mean, I think we need a licence and some witnesses or something, but sooner’s better than later,” Bucky says. He thinks about Steve and Peggy, and all the missions Clint’s returned from in a hospital bed. “Not sure it’s legal here just yet, but we can cross the border easily enough.”
“You want to get married… to me… in Europe?” Clint asks, still staring at him.
“Doll, I’d want to get married to you anywhere,” Bucky tells him. “But we’re in Europe right now, so that does seem more convenient than Timbuktu.”
“It’s definitely not legal in Mali,” Clint says, which isn’t really the point.
One of the stupider guards decides to get up and try again. Bucky doesn’t even need to look to put him back on the floor, groaning and clutching at his dislocated knee.
“Fuck yes,” Clint says, grin wide and bright. “Marry me.”
“You’re sure?” Bucky asks. Clint grins and comes towards him, hopping over the bodies until they’re face to face.
“Oh, I’m sure.” Clint says. “Best holiday ever.” His mouth is dirty and demanding and Bucky can feel the grin on it against his own lips. It’s a very promising kiss, but as Clint’s hands start to wander, Bucky forces himself to pull back.
“Still got a mission to complete,” Bucky says, regretfully.
“But-” Clint starts.
“If you’d listened to me earlier, we’d be back in the hotel right now,” Bucky says, although they both know he’s lying.
“We just got engaged, Barnes,” Clint says.
“We’re still on a mission, Barton,” Bucky replies. He leans in for one last brief kiss. Then he hears more footsteps heading towards them and spins around.
They try to overwhelm him with sheer numbers, which would be a pretty decent strategy except for how it’s not. Especially when Clint drags one of them off him with an arm around their throat.
“Hey,” he says. “That’s my fiance!” And his grin is bright and Bucky knows he’d jump off a hundred mountains to see that smile.