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Bucky had always pictured Tony’s house as something out of a sci-fi film, right in the middle of Miami… or space. Expensive car in the driveway, complete with high-powered killer robots that would disintegrate you if you even looked at the cars wrong.

 

The luxurious beach house that he was invited to, would have been his second choice.

 

Steve and Tony were on their second honeymoon, so Bucky believed there would be no-one but him in the home for the week. It was the height of noon when Bucky made his way across the gardens, already feeling like he was cooking alive in his simple t-shirt and shorts.

 

The front door opened automatically, welcoming him inside with a soft robotic greeting that still freaked Bucky out from time to time. The soft humming coming from outside, near the pool, freaked him out further.

 

Creeping over to the back doors, Bucky peeked around a pillar only for his eyes to widen in awe.

 

This had to be an hallucination.

 

This couldn’t be real.

 

He couldn’t be real.

 

The man was only slightly younger than Bucky from the looks of it, his t-shirt flung on the ground, wearing nothing but swim shorts that clung to his thighs. Sweat trickled down the bare chest, the pectorals firm and well-defined.

 

And then there were the eyes, a gorgeous green, almost like gleaming emeralds.

 

The fact that the man was holding a net and was cleaning the pool, in steady, practiced motions that made his biceps bunch distractingly, was neither here nor there. Steve didn’t seem like the type to have a boy-toy…. Tony did, but not Steve.

 

“Like what you see?”

 

Bucky jumped. The man was staring right at him, a cheeky grin on his face.

 

“So, you’re the Captain’s friend, right? Barnaby… Buster…. Something like that?”

 

“Bucky. You’re- “

 

“Call me Clint.” Clint beamed, “I’m the pool boy and the gardener and the cleaner. Mind you, I really don’t have to do much with all the robots Stark has roaming around.”

 

“Yeah… you don’t mind if I check that, right?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Bucky took out his mobile, sending a quick text to Steve.

 

//Why didn’t you tell me Tony had employed a Greek God/Model? \\

 

// ?????? \\

 

Another reply came a few seconds later, // Tony says that you’re probably talking about Clint. He’s the groundskeeper. \\

 

// He’s a freakin’ model Stevie! \\

 

// Apparently, he’s the only one who can deal with Tony’s quote ‘shitty attitude’ unquote, so please don’t scare him away \\

 

Bucky couldn’t believe his best friend had actually used the words, quote and unquote in a text.

 

Rolling his eyes, and shoving his phone back in his pocket, Clint was studying him speculatively. He’d hooked a thumb in the waistband of those sinfully tight shorts, causing them to dip past a hip-bone ever so slightly

 

If Bucky hadn’t spent years in the army, forced to keep a straight face during all situations, he would have lost his mind at the sight. Instead, he moved closer and held out his hand to shake, firmly keeping his eyes above chest level.

 

Clint ambled over to shake it, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice the callouses on his hand.

 

“Those… are some impressive biceps.” Clint murmured, before wincing, “Aw mouth, no.”

 

This boy was going to give Bucky a heart attack by the end of the holiday, he just knew it.

 

“You’re looking a little red.” Clint frowned, “Why don’t you go into the pool? The water’s a little chilly, but you’ll cool down.”

 

“No… thank you.” Bucky hoped he sounded natural, retreating into the house (not that he was a coward or anything), “I’m going inside with the air con. Lock up the gate when you’ve finished.”

 

“You know, part of my job is to make guests comfortable!” Clint beamed, “I can help!”

 

“Nope. I’m good.”

 

………………………………………………………….

 

Clint never seemed to leave.

 

Ever.

 

And he seemed to seize every opportunity to show off his skin. Trimming hedges in tight tank-tops that clung to a six-pack.

 

Bending over to show off that arse whenever possible.

 

Pouring water over himself when it was ‘too warm’.

 

Tickling Bucky with dusters when he cleaned the house.

 

Moaning when he got tired, moans that sounded why too close to arousal for Bucky’s liking.

 

After a week of this torture, Bucky was at his wits’ end.

 

He wanted Clint like he never wanted anyone before. He wanted that playful teasing to turn into earnest begging and needy gasps.

 

It was a Thursday when he snapped.

 

“Hey Bucky!” Clint was shirtless again, “How was your- UGH!”

 

Bucky smirked as he grabbed Clint’s shoulders, slamming him up against the nearest wall, Clint’s breath escaping in a rush as he gaped at Bucky in disbelief.

 

“I- “

 

“- Tell me if you want to stop.” Bucky whispered, before biting down on the fluttering pulse-point at the base of Clint’s neck, moving towards the man’s clavicles.

 

Clint was making lost, urgent noises that sharpened into whines at the stinging pain, combined with the rhythmic grind of Bucky’s clothed erection against his. His thighs had fallen open slightly, a submissive act that made Bucky growl lowly.

 

“I win.” Clint then smirked, “I knew I could get you to break.”

 

Bucky didn’t hesitate to kiss that smug smirk off the younger man’s face. “Yeah…” he murmured when they pulled apart, “You won. And now I get to keep you.”

 

It was intended to be threat, but given how Clint arched and shuddered, it didn’t frighten him at all.

 

“P-Promise?” Clint stuttered, wrapping his arms around Bucky, as if for reassurance, so the older man kissed him again and again and again.

 

“I promise.”