The covers are a damn furnace when Steve wakes up, and there's something like a log draped across his stomach and chest.
He squirms for a minute, sleep addled and effectively blind without his glasses, until the log moves, tightens a little with a soft huff of breath and a low murmur against the back of his neck.
Steve glances down at the blurry grey arm tucked up against his chest, takes a moment to catalogue the line of warmth along his back. "Huh." Upon further inspection, Steve is still in his jeans from the day before, and he's pretty sure his socks are on too.
Squinting in the dim room, he can just make out the shape of his Converse by his desk, some larger, less familiar dark blur next to them.
It's still dark out, light from the streetlights outside peeking through his blinds. The quiet time of night when most people are safely tucked away in bed, wrapped up in dreams and warm blankets.
Steve shifts again and something sharp digs into his thigh. With a frown Steve investigates, frowns further when he pulls his notebook and an architecture textbook from beneath his comforter. He's too tired just then to wonder why he has an architecture textbook, simply shoves both books onto his nightstand and kicks the comforter a little farther away so that he's not roasting.
Normally, this is the time of year he'd be bundled up to stay nice and toasty through the night, but Mystery Snuggler is warm, and as much as Steve enjoys wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets, cuddling is much higher on the list of 'Things Steve Rogers Enjoys'. He cranes his neck to see who's behind him, smiles a little at the messy shock of blonde hair and scruff he can make out behind his shoulder before he settles down and tucks himself back into the embrace he'd woken in.
Steve's rewarded with another of those soft little sighs and then he's gone, unconscious and dreaming within minutes.
He's jolted awake by pounding on his door and Bucky shouting "I'm making pancakes, and if you're not out here in fifteen minutes I'm eating them all myself!"
Still drowsy from the sudden awakening, Steve has a few seconds to wonder why one of Clint's textbooks is sitting on his nightstand when he's startled by something moving beside him. He scoots a few inches over to make room for the other body that is apparently inhabiting his bed only for Clint himself to blink up at him. He looks as bleary-eyed and messy-haired as Steve feels.
"Good morning," Clint signs with a yawn, stretching a moment later. Steve perks up a little when Clint does, watches carefully as the movement tugs Clint's rumpled sweatshirt up just enough to get a peek at his abs. The blonde raises a brow and smirks when he catches Steve's eye, huffs out a little laugh and tugs Steve down for a chaste kiss.
"When did we fall asleep?" Clint asks. Steve shrugs, flops down on Clint's chest and closes his eyes again.
As Clint's hand comes up to rub his back, Steve says, "Dunno. Late. Buck's making pancakes – you want some?"
When Clint doesn't respond right away Steve opens his eyes again, grins at Clint's fuzzy expression. "What kind of question is that, Steve? Of course I want pancakes."
Steve hums, curls back into Clint's side. "Good. Wake me up in ten minutes? He really will eat them if we're not there."
"Sure," Clint murmurs as his arms wrap back around Steve.
Bucky's left a plates of crumbs in front of Steve's door and a kitchen full of dirty dishes by the time they wake up again.