It was Sunday. Day of church-goers, procrastinators, and hungover office workers. Most people slept in on Sundays, normal people at least. But a certain archer's eyes cracked open blearily at-he glanced at his clock and barely made out the neon green numbers-5:30. He groaned softly and cussed out his internal clock loudly in his head.
Clint hated early mornings, especially unnecessary ones. Given his lifestyle of beating up baddies and freakshows on a weekly and occasionally daily basis, he needed all the sleep he could get.
He yawned widely, his jaw popping with the force of it, and blinked his eyes a few times. When he went to move his hands up to rub at the sleep crusties jabbing his eyeballs, something rustled next to him and he was suddenly enveloped in a pair of arms.
For a sleep hazed moment his heart leapt and his body went rigid in an instant. Then the body behind him rumbled from what he assumed was a snore and he looked down at the arms. One strong, muscled and the other silver metal. Oh yeah, boyfriend, right. His tension slipped away to be replaced by a gooey warmth in his stomach. Clint shifted slowly to turn without disturbing his bed mate to face him.
Clint found himself rather comfortable where he was, wrapped up in his boyfriend's arms and watched his peaceful face. It was a rare sight to see since the both of them had such vicious nightmares so often. Not a surprise, given the hero business and backgrounds, but still a burden. Clint brushed a few strands of hair from his sleeping face and laid a hand on the metal arm thrown across his waist.
Shoulder-length, dark hair was pulled up into a small, messy bun and his jaw sporting a two-day stubble. The dark purpling under his eyes was lighter than before, a plus of extra sleep and a lack of torture mind games (Tony's sass doesn't count, but just barely), and the stress lines were fading slowly. Time was slowly healing him, along with the help of his new team.
Clint was so glad for these moments, a few minutes to soak up the calm and be overwhelmingly grateful. Grateful for the understanding of his team and this strong yet vulnerable man's willingness to finally be helped. He was grateful for the connection two broken souls could forge with all the crap they had in common. But none of it was easy. Nothing could erase what either had done in the past, for reasons that were their own or others', but it was... better.
Bucky was amazing. A mangled amalgamation of both 'Winter Soldier' and 'James Buchanan Barnes' that was fierce, loyal, and yet held a fearful kindness within him. It was hard to see and even harder to witness, but it was there. Clint knew it and the strength that it took to retain it after everything astounded him. He was no fool, Clint knew he was hopelessly (stupidly if you asked Nat) in love and owned up to it.
A warm breath skated across Clint's forehead and the corner of his lips quirked up as he watched his super soldier drool onto his pillow. He was tempted to get his hearing aids to listen to the soft puffs caressing his face but he refused to chance disturbing the other.
That was another thing he adored about Bucky, he was so mindful of Clint's deafness. A month after he moved into the tower Bucky had learned the basics of ASL and made sure he was facing Clint in the rare moments he actually spoke. No one had told him about the archer's disability and Clint had gotten pretty good at acting 'normal.' He figured it out and instead of keeping it to himself to exploit later, he adapted to it.
Bucky rumbled again and shifted closer to Clint, his fingers curling in the fabric of Clint's shirt. He smiled and stroked his fingers up and down the metal bicep.
Even with all the lines, scars, dark circles, and metal appendages Bucky was the most beautiful thing in the world to him. Sappy as it was, it was the truth. They weren't perfect but they were pretty great together.
Bucky rumbled gently and his eyes fluttered open. His grey eyes were dulled from sleepiness and he looked absolutely adorable. Which Clint would never say out loud or risk the death glare, lesser men (baby S.H.I.E.L.D. agents) have fainted and even Steve clams up under its power. Bucky's sleepy gaze skirted around for a moment until they found Clint's face and refocused.
Clint could see his pupils dilate and the dull grey brighten minutely. The archer could remember pictures Steve had of a silver-eyed playboy, shining eyes and winning smile. Clint has never met that man, but sometimes he can see bits of him in Bucky. Usually when the team's hanging out and fooling around or during a big sass off. He was glad there was still some of the old Bucky in him, but he wasn't sorry for what the Winter Soldier had left behind. His Bucky was a bit of both and a bit of something new.
It was selfish of him, but Clint liked it that way. Steve knew the old Bucky and Natasha and Sam knew the Winter Soldier. Clint came in late to the game but still just in time. He counted himself lucky.
He felt a cold finger poke his side and he snapped out of his thoughts. Bucky had a small smile and an affectionate glow in this stare. Clint would have blushed if he was a weaker man and felt the heat in his belly flutter. He snuggled closer with a grin.
"Morning, Silver Lining," he chuckled. Bucky scowled at him, but having just woken up, it made him look cute.
"You're such a dork." The metal finger poked him harder but Clint's smile widened.
"Yeah but I'm your dork."
Bucky's scowl softened into a subtle smile and his eyes flicked down to Cint's lips. The archer felt fuzzy and tilted his face up slightly. Bucky closed the distance and Clint sighed into the kiss with a smile.
This was definitely worth the early morning.