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[Stop,] Natasha signed as Clint glanced at her. It was difficult to actually pay attention to what her hands were doing when she was in that dress. Floor length and slinky, it hugged and caressed her in all the best places. She knew what it would do to him. She also knew how that specific shade of green looked on her and just how much Clint loved it.
[What?] he signed back, as he feigned innocence and knowing full well she would see right through it.
[Pulling collar,] she replied subtly. The way her hands moved didn’t even register to the hapless admirer doing his best to hold her attention.
Clint couldn’t blame the guy. Natasha was like a jewel in a stony beach. It didn’t matter that everyone else was dressed to the nines, she stood out in immaculate fashion. It wasn’t the graceful updo that had small locks of curled red hair brushing her bare shoulders, or the delicate (and potentially lethal) jewelry she wore, or even the perfectly on point makeup that looked effortless and minimal that made her so noticable.
All those things were stunning, but it was the way she commanded the room; her poise and confidence as she walked that drew everyone’s eyes. Including Clint’s.
And yet, here she was, correcting him from pulling at the aged collar of his tux, while somehow still appearing to be completely focused on the schmuck that didn’t even have a chance with her.
Pleasant heat bloomed in his chest at the attention from her. [Sorry,] he signed, as he rubbed his fist against his chest. The thought of letting her down tampered that pleasant warmth though.
This event was important. He needed to focus.
“What are you sorry for this time?” a familiar voice asked from behind Clint.
Inhaling deeply, Clint turned to face his inquisitor. “Apparently, I keep pulling on my collar,” he answered, meeting Bucky’s eyes.
Bucky snorted lightly. “That's pretty much what I was coming over here to tell you.” The way he crossed his arms over his chest made something flutter deep in the pit of Clint’s belly. Something about the way the fabric pulled just right over his biceps would never get old for him. Neither would the sight of Bucky in a tux.
“Okay, okay. I get it. Stop picking,” Clint said placatingly. “I just… I hate these events, and I hate dressing up for them even more.”
Bucky shifted his weight with an impatient sigh. “We’re all well aware of your feelings in this matter,” he said shortly.
Feeling uncharacteristically sheepish, Clint picked at the already frayed edge of the bandage barely hidden under his cuff. “Sorry,” he replied softly, as the spot on the floor next to Bucky’s shiny shoes suddenly became intensely interesting.
Bucky had only recently started learning ASL, not wanting to be left out of the ‘secret’ conversations that Clint and Natasha would have in situations just like this, and he’d already come so far in such a short amount of time.
Bucky’s gloved left hand gently met Clint’s chin, gently encouraging him to meet Bucky’s eyes again. [We have fun take off later,] Bucky signed to him. Despite the brief pauses and stuttering ‘speech’, Clint got the message. It was always more fun to take the clothes off than put them on when Bucky and Natasha were involved.
Just the fact that Bucky was putting in the effort to learn even the most basic signs, let alone how to sign entire sentences meant more to Clint than he could put to words.
Completely unaware of this exchange between Clint and Bucky, the rest of the guests laughed, danced, and drank around them in a flurry of bright colors and glinting jewelry.
Bucky offered Clint a small half smile. “Just… try to enjoy the party. Safely,” he told him softly, the words nearly lost in the din of the crowd.
“I’ll only be happy when we finally get to leave,” Clint muttered to himself, ignoring the fact that they both knew that Bucky could hear him.
Before Bucky could reprimand him, a delicate hand slid down the front of Clint’s shoulder, pressing more firmly as it made its way over the lapel of his suit jacket.
“And what are my two favorite men doing in a place like this? You both stand out more than your job description would imply,” Natasha’s sultry voice said from behind Clint.
Bucky obviously took the gentle teasing at face value, licking his smirked lips and looking away shyly before meeting her eyes again.
Knowing the comment was in jest didn’t stop it from getting under Clint’s skin though. “We’re only here ‘cause you threatened us if we didn’t,” Clint pointed out haughtily.
“Me? Threaten you two?” Natasha asked, feigning innocence as she stepped into Clint’s line of sight, “Who would believe such a fabrication? I’m obviously just the eye candy between you burly men.”
“Ugh. If only they all knew the truth,” Clint complained.
“It’s ‘cause she’s tiny,” Bucky announced, as if it weren’t completely obvious.
“Yes, and what should tiny ‘ol me do with the two of you ruffians?” Natasha asked. There was a mischievous glint in her eye that had Clint’s heart beating faster.
“You could help us get out of here,” Clint answered flatly.
Natasha’s small frown told him immediately that it wasn’t going to happen. “This is a charity event, Clint. We all have to be here until Tony does his speech, at least.”
“I know. I know,” Clint acknowledged dejectedly, tugging at his collar again. “I’m just ready to not be strangled by my clothing.”
Leaning in close enough that Clint could inhale Natasha’s distinctive scent of lavender and a hint of gun oil, she whispered, “We’ll help you with that; if you behave.”
Clint opened his eyes, not having even realized that he’d closed them. “I can be good,” He promised, ignoring Bucky’s poor attempt at hiding his laughter.
With a small smile, Natasha pressed her hand into his. It felt awkward until he realized how her fingers were arranged; thumb, index, and pinky extended while pressing her middle and ring fingers into her palm.
That warmth from before swelled in Clint’s chest. “I love you too,” he whispered, squeezing her hand gently. Looking over her shoulder to look at Bucky, he stage whispered, “You too,”
Bucky’s soft smile was enough of a response for him.
“Champagne?” a server asked, inserting the tray filled with glasses between them.
“No thanks,” Clint answered, “I’m gonna be good tonight.”