Clint has his head pillowed on Tony's shoulder and is staring at the reactor. Again. He has been since they first stumbled into the bedroom and he'd practically ripped Tony's shirt off, sending the buttons fly to the sides, just to pause and stare at it for a few seconds with wide eyes. At first, it had made Tony uncomfortable – he was still self-conscious about the reactor, not just because it was a weakness, but because of the scars surrounding it and, well, there's a fucking metal cylinder in his chest where his breast bone should be, to cry it out loud.
But after a few seconds, he had realized that there was no disgust in the archer's sharp gaze, just quiet sort of awe, and his moment of near-panic had passed.
Now, he can feel Clint's fingers ghosting over the glass cover again, but there's no threat in the feeling, so he doesn't complain, keeping his eyes closed and nearly dozing off.
"Hey Stark," Clint suddenly pipes up, "roll over." He nudges Tony's shoulder for emphasis.
Tony cracks an eye open to peer down at the blond man on his chest. "Aren't we on first name basis by now?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "Also, are you asking me to be the little spoon? Because I'm totally a big spoon."
"Yeah, as if," Clint snorts.
"Excuse me, what was that?"
"You're obviously the little spoon," the archer responds full of conviction.
"And why would that be?" Tony demands.
"Well, you're shorter."
"Four centimetres, Clint."
"Just roll the fuck over so I can cuddle, you ass."
Tony rolls his eyes and murmurs: "Just because you asked so nicely." Then, he turns his back to the archer and closes his eyes again, feeling Clint press up against his back, a warm, firm weight behind him. He wraps an arm around Tony and falls silent.
He doesn't stop moving, though: Tony can still feel his fingers moving over the arc reactor. Well, as long as he doesn't try to rip it out, that's fine with him.
After some minutes, though, Clint starts giggling.
"Okay, seriously now. Is there anything else I should know about you in afterglow?" Tony asks, blinking his eyes open. "Cuddling –not that I'm complaining–, giggling, maybe... what are you doing?"
"Look!" Clint snickers, forming a fox with his fingers. The arc reactor casts a pretty bright light against the opposite wall and in its glow, the archer is making shadows with his hands.
"Are you playing shadow theatre with my reactor?" Tony demands incredulously. "Clint, this is a work of art. A pinnacle of science. And you're using it to make shadow figures?"
Clint's hand begins making a blah-blah-blah-motions and Tony sighs.
"A disgrace," he mutters. "How dare you. Disgrace." Since his back is turned towards Clint, the archer can probably not see how hard Tony fights to suppress his grin.
"Don't tell me you never thought of this," the archer responds, gleefully waggling his index finger.
"As a matter of fact, I didn't. I would never abuse great technology in such a way."
Clint chuckles and makes a bunny with his fingers.
"You should be ashamed of yourself."
The blah-blah-blah-motion returns.
"Clint?"
The archer makes a fox again and somehow manages to make it look like it's listening attentively.
"Go the fuck to sleep."