Chapter Text
“This is quite possibly the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” said Bruce, watching Clint with the marker and their small whiteboard. He was off work, but for whatever reason Banner had shown up, possibly to give Clint a hard time and rub it in that he had a week off.
Clint was currently assistant assistant manager (his title, and no it wasn’t great but he needed time to figure out a better one) of Coffee Grounds, a semi-popular student hangout near the local University campus. A lot of people liked how it was such a narrow, eclectic looking shop, and how weird the playlist was. Rather than arguing over who played what each day, they’d all agreed to put in one song in their own turns until they’d complied something. Sigur Ros next to Barenaked Ladies next to Slayer never failed to throw people for a loop. Clint didn’t mind, he liked Bruce’s choice of high Icelandic crooning paired with the quirky shit he chose to annoy people.
Overall, Clint didn’t mind being a barista much. It was a job, by which Clint would mean he didn’t annoy the shit out of him, the pay was okay and the customers were interesting, and he actually liked his co-workers, sometimes. It was even a requirement to be nasty to rude customers, so Clint was kind of in heaven.
“You know, it’s kind of stupid to come into work on your vacation,” said Clint, glaring at him, dry erase marker cap clamped between his teeth.
Bruce shrugged his shoulders in a barely there gesture. He was dressed a lot nicer than usual too, Clint noticed. He rolled his eyes, going back to his whiteboard. That just meant his boyfriend, the rich and insanely smart guy who already had a doctorate and was Bruce’s age, was going to be coming there to pick up and take him somewhere. Hopefully for the rest of the week. Clint was the stand in assistant manager, he didn’t need Bruce showing up to steal his thunder at any point in the week.
“There,” said Clint. He spat out the cap into his hand. Bruce wrinkled his nose, and Clint wiped his hand on his pants.
“I really hope you wash your hands before you serve another customer,” said Bruce, watching Clint take his new creation to the window.
“No, I’m going to rub them on the dirt on the sidewalk. I’m also going to pick gum off my shoe, too, get my fingernails nice and black and sticky.” He set the sign in the window, smiling proudly.
“You know, that takes rebound fuck to a whole new level right there.”
Clint ignored him, feeling a bit stung, as he returned to the counter. Clint started washing his hands at the sink. It was not his fault how everything had gone down. He’d just ignored every single warning ever about the treacherous waters of dating an older man, and had paid the price. “It’s not like anyone’s actually going to listen to it, it’s just a joke,” he muttered, shaking water from his fingertips.
“What’s a joke?” asked Natasha, their baker and coffee art whiz. She was fresh from the back, a few cute smudges of flour on her shirt. She was also Clint’s other best friend, and possessed a subtle dry wit that Clint envied.
Bruce took a few steps to the window and swung around the sign Clint had made.
She raised an eyebrow. “Really, Clint?”
“Shut up,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Everyone was a critic. “Be useful. Bake scones and shortbread and whatever else.”
“Scones are in the oven,” said Natasha, leaning against the counter, cutting a classic profile. She was the perfect haughty redheaded barista, the type hipster guys seemed to like. They had never met Natasha, who enjoyed making the average hipster cry into his flat white. “Why are you here, Bruce?”
“Clint torture before Tony comes and gets me.”
“Ah. The preferred pastime... well, most people wouldn’t add the Tony in.” She smirked.
“Actually, the preferred pastime when Tony is around usually involves blowjobs.”
Clint rolled his eyes and busied himself with washing the mugs that had accumulated during their afternoon rush, listening to Natasha and Bruce talk about the merits of Tony Stark in bed (apparently Natasha had dated him briefly, Clint never asked, he didn’t want to know). Right now the little shop was completely dead, in that hour poised between school and the library crowd. All too soon Clint would be rushing his ass off.
The bell rang, and Clint turned to give his usual ‘oh look a customer’ smile. “Welcome to Coffee Grounds!”
Clint sort of did a double take though, when he got a look at who had come in. One was tall, had longish dark hair, wore a leather jacket, and was built. The other was blond and looked like a good breeze would knock him over. Clint didn’t recognize either of them, but they were probably going to the University.
“Aww, how cute. He’s so eager,” said the bigger guy with a leer.
“Bucky,” said the other with an air of forced patience.
“Oh, shove off Steve, I’m only testing him.” ‘Bucky’ smirked at Clint, and Clint recognized the glint of a similar sense of humor looking back at him.
He’s perfect, thought Clint.
“He also sits up and begs, but that costs extra,” said Natasha, standing up straighter.
“Don’t mind my temperamental female underling,” Clint gave her a sneer as his face flushed a little, Natasha gave him the finger. “Take a look at the board, gentlemen, see if there’s anything you like.”
‘Steve’ was all elbows and knees and had an unhealthy look like he’d just grown five inches in a matter of days. Clint judged they were around his height and around eighteen. Late, for a growth spurt. Steve was so skinny Clint figured he should be at least five inches shorter, and hoped for the poor guy’s sake he filled out a touch.
“Um, I’ll have a grande chai tea latte,” said Steve, flicking hair from his eyes.
“We don’t speak Italian here,” said Clint, and Bucky grinned, gave his companion a nudge that almost knocked them over.
“See, Steve? Not everyone is Starbucks.” Steve flushed pink. Bucky stepped closer. His eyes were deep brown, one of which was bruised, a fresh purple. “I’ll have the special.”
Clint’s blush was instantaneous, and he saw Bruce’s jaw drop out of the corner of his eye. Natasha merely stood, fetching a medium cup as she started on the chai latte. Clint supposed she must have missed that part of the sign. Or of course she had her poker face on, and the second this guy left Clint was never going to hear the end of it.
“I mean, I’m assuming he didn’t make it,” said Bucky looking over at Bruce, who shook his head, composure regained. He was now staring critically at Bucky. “And I know she’s not the kind to write that sign. I also think that if anyone ever gave them her number she’d make them cry.”
“Like a baby,” Natasha smirked, her hand on the steamer. Only she could make steaming milk look aggressive. “You going to be okay, Clint, or are you and he going to go fuck on the coffee beans? Which I don’t recommend, by the way. Burlap scratches. And it’s rush hour soon.”
“Wow, thanks for the mental image, Tash,” said Bruce. There was a honk, and Bruce snatched up his satchel and gave Clint a meaningful look as he whisked out the door to where Stark and his expensive car were waiting. Clint already knew he’d be talking for an hour on the phone about this man later that night. Quite probably about how bad an idea it was.
Clint looked back to Bucky, his gaze flicked up and down. God, he was hot. And not just in the usual hot way, but in the line of his lips and his eyes and that fuck me phonesex voice. Clint couldn’t stop thinking of where this could possibly going. “I think the special was, you give me your number.”
Bucky smiled, stepping up to the counter. His presence was impressive, probably imposing to most people. Clint knew he shouldn’t be taking this guy’s number, the sign was a stupid joke and Bruce was right, he wasn’t ready and probably wouldn’t be for a long time, but he wasn’t about to turn him away. Not this guy.
Bucky reached out, plucked Clint’s pen from his apron pocket, and scrawled a number down on a napkin. He folded it, still smiling, and tucked it into the pocket with the pen. Clint tried to ignore the flutters the touch brought, as Bucky blatantly invaded his personal space and Clint did absolutely nothing to dissuade him.
“Anything else?” Clint asked, resisting the urge to add some suggestion to his words.
Steve paid and took his latte, and Bucky shook his head. “I’m more of a Mexican coffee drinker, and you guys seem to be Kona people, so I’ll pass.”
“We have a variety of blends,” said Natasha, leaning against the back counter.
Bucky looked over and shrugged. “And yet, still not the ones I want. When you’ve got a Mexican blonde roast, I’m here.” He smirked a touch, looking back at Clint. “I like the caffeine boosts for work.”
Aaaand he knows his coffee, thought Clint. He was liking this guy more and more with each passing moment and wow that was probably bad because this was just like with Phil, and-
“Bucky. Appointment. You’ve ogled enough.” Clint thought this sounded rather like old hat for Steve and felt a bolt of worry, but then Bucky was talking again and Clint couldn’t help but focus on him completely. Less than five minutes and he was already crushing hard on this guy. Clint hoped this wasn’t a bad idea.
“Hope to talk to you soon...” Bucky’s eyes dipped down, raked over Clint’s nametag, then came back up. He was smiling almost salaciously. “Clint.”
They left the store, the bell rang, and it shut. Natasha walked over to the window and pulled the sign down and wiped it with a rag. “Just so you know, that was Bucky Barnes, and he has a bit of a reputation on the campus.”
Clint didn’t go to school, he was a drop out in fact. He looked over at her, raised an eyebrow as his hand worked its way into his pocket. The feel of the napkin should not have been that reassuring. “How do you mean?”
“He’s got a penchant for sex, booze, and fist fights.”
Clint really, really hoped this wasn’t a bad idea.
“I like two of those things, sometimes all three. I’m going to call him.” He pulled a rag and started wiping tables. “I mean, when I don’t seem like a desperate freak.”
“Clint, you just propositioned the public at large with a damn sign. He already knows you’re a desperate freak.”
Clint rolled his eyes. He hated it when she was right.