AN: Writing this (which came out of nowhere, swear to God I just started writing it, like imagination vomit, it's wonderful!) made me miss my own dog, who's at home with my family while I'm at Uni. I think he sees me as a sometimes-there-sometimes-not pack member, seeing as they got him October 2013 and I've only been home for about two months in total since then... But he's super-friendly and cuddly and playful and the only time he ignores me is when Mum is out the house, and the door is suddenly a lot more important than me, which, okay, Mum is alpha and I'm the part-time member, so hierarchy dictates...

But I digress.

If you haven't read the latest Hawkeye series, for the love of dogs at least read issue #11! Lucky rules.

Man Vs. Beast

Yawning as he drops bacon into the pan, Bucky scrubs at his eyes. The smell of food as he breathes in deeply does the job of rousing him a little, and after a couple of minutes he doesn't feel so tempted to go back to bed. The toaster goes off just as his rashers are done, and after sticking it all together with a splash of ketchup he takes his plate to the bar surface. No sooner has he slid onto one of the barstools, sandwich halfway to his mouth, he feels the familiar prickle over his spine that tells him he's being watched.

Glancing down to his left, Bucky is surprised to see a dog watching him. A second later he remembers Clint mentioning a dog – Lucky, he'd said, a one-eyed mutt he'd rescued from "Russian tracksuit bros". Staring at him, Bucky realises Lucky's one eye is trained eagerly on his bacon toastie.

"You're supposed to like pizza," he grumbles accusingly. Lucky just licks his lips, a slight trail of drool at the corner of his mouth, ears forward. Ignoring him, Bucky goes back to his sandwich; but every few bites he finds himself watching the dog out of the corner of his eye, even though he never moves except to make himself more comfortable. When Bucky's halfway through, Lucky slides down onto his stomach. When there's just one bit left, he drops his head down onto his paws, and Bucky rolls his eyes. "Really? That works?" Then again, on Clint, it probably would.

Lucky gets a morsel of toast. It lasts all of half a second.

Dumping his plate in the sink (he'll make Clint clean it later – Kate does far too much) Bucky shuffles over to the couch, swiping yesterday's paper on his way. The crossword holds his attention for a few minutes until that feeling is back again, and he slowly lowers the paper to see Lucky stood beside the couch, watching him expectantly, tail swinging lazily. "What now?" The dog perks up, tail moving a little faster, and Bucky groans. "I'm not Clint, okay? I don't know what the hell you want!" He lifts the paper again, trying to work out what sixteen across could be because the word is right on the tip of his tongue –

A tongue is exactly what attacks his hand seconds later. He jumps a little in surprise, pulling a face at the slobbery sensation on his skin and wiping it on the couch, figuring Clint probably does the same. At that thought, he spares a moment to glare at his boyfriend's bedroom door, wondering if Clint can sense it the way he can sense Lucky's eye on him.

"Do you want breakfast too?" he asks when a nose (a wet and oddly cold nose) is shoved into his lap. "Is that it?" Lucky pants excitedly, and Bucky thinks he's found the answer. "Alright, breakfast it is. But no pizza. Or bacon." Unless that's legitimately what Clint feeds him; he's a little surprised to find himself relieved when that turns out not to be the case, sliding a can of generic, supermarket-brand dog food out from a cupboard. Tipping it into Lucky's bowl, he stars to understand why the mutt prefers human food.

As unappetising as it looks, the dog slop is gone within one minute, and Lucky goes back to looking at him expectantly, the action this time punctuated by an infrequent licking of his lips. Folding his arms across his chest, Bucky gives him a returning glare of his own. After a few seconds, Lucky ducks his head, peeking back up before sliding onto his belly again in resignation. Satisfied he's gotten the message across, Bucky moves to go back to the couch. He looks at Clint's door as he passes, pausing and changing direction so that he can reach out and knock at it.

"Clint?" he calls. Nothing. He knocks again, louder. "Clint, haul ass, would ya? Kate'll be here soon, and she still looks at me like I'm up to no good when you're not around." There's a noise of some sort, maybe a groan or a mumbled response, and he takes it to mean his message is understood. Back to the couch, and that damned sixteen across. Sudden deep sleep. He knows it, he knows it – and he doesn't want to move on until he's got it, because it's just at the edge of his mind, an annoying prickle he can't get rid of…

"What?" he growls, throwing the paper down loudly. Lucky doesn't seem perturbed; he just stands near Bucky's head, pinning him with a somewhat urgent look, as if he – "Oh, come on, can't you wait?" The little whine and the subtle shift closer suggests not. "Why can't you use a litter box like a cat?" Bucky mutters as they trudge downstairs. "Clint thinks you're smart. He could probably train you if he promised you pizza." One of the neighbours gives him a strange look as they pass.

Mercifully, Lucky's quick, and doesn't leave anything that Bucky has to clean up – which is a blessing, because he forgot to take a bag down. "This is why Kate keeps coming round, isn't it?" he asks on their way back up. "She feeds you on time, lets you out in the mornings, and Clint feeds you pizza once he's decided to join the living." He smirks. "Bet she makes him clean up your mess though, huh?"

Back on Clint's floor, Lucky trots ahead of him, pushing through once Bucky has the door open and heading straight for the couch, where, despite Bucky's plea, he jumps up and sprawls out in the way only a dog can, sighing deeply through his nose as he does so. The paper is wedged firmly under his rear end. Bucky stares at him for a moment before throwing his hands up. "Clint, your dog spends too much time around Kate!" he yells, turning back to said dog and glaring. Ineffectively. "Alright, you win," he says a few minutes later. "But if you don't mind, I'd like to catch up on Dog Cops, seeing as your pathetic excuse of an owner – who happens to be my boyfriend, by the way – made us miss last night's episode." He snatches up the remote, and wriggles into the not-Bucky-Barnes-sized space at the end of the couch with a muttered "Maybe you could watch too, get a few new role models." Lucky doesn't bat his eyelid.

Twenty minutes later, Clint finally makes an appearance. Carefully not stumbling into the kitchen, he glances in the direction of the sofa and does a double-take at what he sees (or thinks he sees – there's a very good chance he's still dreaming): Bucky is watching something on TV, one arm slung casually over Lucky's shoulders while the mutt's head and paws rest on his thigh. "I mean, why do you guys have to do that?" Bucky's saying, gesturing at the screen. "Sergeant Bones shouldn't even be sniffing her at all, not when he's already got Doodle. Not a good role model." Not even lifting his head, Lucky huffs.

Confused, Clint looks away, blinking, and seeks out the coffee pot. His shoulders slump when he finds it empty, and he can't help but whine a little as he fumbles around with cupboard doors trying to remember where he last stashed his supplies.

"Oh, there you are," is drawled from the sofa. "Was beginning to think last night had left you comatose. Thought about sending Lucky in once we'd finished watching this."

Clint grunted. "Last night was great, but not coma-worthy."

"I'm offended."

"Not."

Bucky chuckles. "You're right – your late-morning appearance is proof enough of my prowess."

"Fuck off," he mumbles, scooping up his now-steaming mug and dragging himself over. "Think I've got narcolepsy or something."

"Narco-!" Without warning, Bucky lunges for something at the other side of the couch, startling Lucky, who tries to maintain his position even as Bucky struggles to push his back end off – ah, the paper. There's a scuffle that culminates in a ripping sound and Lucky having to find his inner cat (if dogs even have an inner cat) so that he can land on all four paws rather than his face. "No, no – aw, come on," Bucky moans, rifling through the torn sheets. He bats one of the pages with the back of his hand. "It was narcolepsy. Why the hell couldn't I remember that?" He glared at the dog. "We're not friends anymore."

Looking dejected, Lucky skulked over to Clint, head low, tail wagging hopefully. Clint smiled, bending to scratch him behind the ears as he butted him in the knees. "He didn't mean it, Buck. He's a good boy, aren't you Lucky?"

Bucky snorts, tossing the remains of the paper onto the coffee table. "As far as I can tell he doesn't give a damn unless there's food or cuddles in it for him." He narrows his eyes. "You've got your very own Waggy McChew, Clint. He's conning you."

Shrugging, Clint drops onto the couch beside him, coffee remaining entirely in the mug in his hand. "Consider me conned." He tugs Bucky's ear until he gets a kiss, then settles down to join in with – "Wait, you're watching Dog Cops? Without me? Buck, no! Man, now you're ahead of me, and we swore we'd never – how could you?"

Smirking, Bucky says, "You were in a state of narcolepsy, apparently. Tried calling, but Lucky here needed to see a real role model, so –"

"My dog does not need a role model! Come on, rewind it, I wanna watch."

"Do we have to? I think I've had enough dog for one morning."

"Rewind. Now."

"Say the magic word."

"Pancakes."

"… Fuck. Fine."

Lucky watches Clint and Clint's mate as they squabble on the long comfy chair. When eventually they stop talking and Clint sprawls across him with the funny-smelling water still in his hands, Lucky's confused because Clint's mate didn't let him do that at first. He doesn't talk as much either as they watch the picture box, but when he'd been watching it with Lucky he kept saying stuff. He's even more confused that Clint would try and mate with this human at all – doesn't he know he won't be able to have puppies that way? Sighing at his master's apparent ineptitude, Lucky resolves to try harder in getting him to mate with Kate, still believing that the reward for helping them have puppies will be more of that stuff he calls pizza. Until then, he'll have to get used to Clint's mate, he supposes. So long as he doesn't try to push him off the long comfy chair again, Lucky thinks he'll be an alright pack member.

AN: Clint doesn't actually have narcolepsy - he just loves sleep. And the Dog Cops characters - Sergeant Bones, his lady-dog-friend Doodle, and doggy con artist Waggy McChew - are entirely made up; apparently the only 'official' character is Mr Whiskers. Also, should I do another thing like this from Lucky's POV? Can't decide... :S

Edit: I did a Lucky POV - Unconditional. ;-) (10th August 2014)