Gently

3. You Stayed

When consciousness coaxed Clint out of sleep and back into the real world, it took him a short while to realise that a few things were off: he was much warmer than usual, for starters, and the dawn light was coming from a different angle. Oh, and something hard and unyielding was pressed down the length of his spine.

Eyes still bleary, Clint reached out for his hearing aids, caught off-guard a little when they weren't immediately within reach on his bedside table. Frowning, he decided to address the discomfort at his back, and shifted round until he was lying on his other side – unsurprisingly, this was when things became a whole lot clearer.

Bucky Barnes was lying on his stomach, wedged between Clint and the wall. His metal arm was what Clint had felt at his back, and as he stared at it in confusion the archer began to remember things: things like Bucky suggesting he used the air vents to travel back to his own room, feeling too exhausted to push the dead weight off his chest, being woken up by the sound of someone muttering in Russian before –

Rubbing his eyes roughly, Clint banished the memory, choosing instead to look at Bucky in a new light (literally). Though he couldn't see much beyond the back of his head, he decided that bed-head-Bucky was even more gorgeous than regular-head-Bucky, and far better in real life than in his imagination. The metal of his arm was dull in the poor light, but the small Captain America-style symbol was clearly discernible; at the seam, the scarring didn't look as bad as it sometimes did – Clint remembered Bucky mentioning once after a particularly arduous mission that his shoulder hurt, and everyone had been horrified to find that the edge of the metal had actually cut into his flesh. What was even more horrifying was Bucky's nonchalance about the situation. Apparently, the Winter Soldier used to just wrap it and keep going.

With the bed covers pulled down, Clint had full view of Bucky's back, and at first glance it looked like any other bare back he'd ever seen, but when his eyes adjusted properly he began to make out strips and flecks of silvery white. Some of the scars were raised, others were flat; their sizes ranged from the width of a fingernail to the length of his hand; some Clint could identify as too precise to be accidental, and he wondered if Bucky even knew how many existed. For a long time, he was mesmerised, so much so that he suddenly found himself waking up again as Bucky rolled over, also 'awake', and they ended up staring at each other in confusion.

Clint recovered first, ignoring the mild horror in Bucky's eyes and going for a relaxed smile. "Hey."

Bucky blinked. "Hi…" The corner of his mouth was hesitantly pulling up, but his eyes still betrayed him.

Rubbing his ears, Clint regretted putting his aids back in before he'd dozed off again (not to mention keeping them in for half the night in the first place). "You okay?" He watched as the other man frowned, staring into space as he recalled the drama of a few hours before.

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "I'm so sorry, you didn't have to –"

"Bucky, it's –"

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"I didn't – break anything?"

He shook his head. "No. Bucky, it's fine," he added soothingly. "I've dealt with nightmares before, both my own and others'. It doesn't bother me."

Bucky looked sceptical. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." He grinned. "I stayed, didn't I?" Clint couldn't read the look on Bucky's face at that, and was mildly surprised when he just shifted back onto his stomach, arms coming up to pillow his head as he turned to face the wall. "Bucky?" There was no answer, and Clint frowned. He sat up a little to try and see better, but the former assassin had his face well and truly hidden – what Clint did see, however, was the strip of sunlight from the edge of the curtains that lay perfectly down the centre of his back, from the base of his neck to the top of the bed sheets at his waist. Unable to resist, he leant forward to press a kiss to the top of the strip, and proceeded to slowly make his way down Bucky's back, feeling the faint ridges and dips of the scars he'd been admiring not too long ago. When he was halfway down, Bucky sighed deeply. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm thinking I could get used to this," he mumbled, and Clint chuckled softly.

"Guess the deeper thoughts are worth more than a penny, huh?"

"They are when you're using the wrong currency." He was silent for a moment, speaking again when Clint resumed his activity. "Why did you stay?"

"Because you fell asleep on top of me, and I couldn't shift –"

"No, I mean after… After."

Clint looked up. Bucky had twisted his head round, and was watching him closely, deep concern on his sleep-addled features. Lying back down, Clint moved until he was almost pressed against Bucky's side, running the backs of his fingers between his shoulder-blades lightly as he gazed into searching eyes. "Who the hell would I be if I ran at the first signs of something troubling you?" he asked rhetorically. "It's like I said, Buck – I know nightmares, and I also know you've been put through so much shit. Abandoning you when I could help?" He shook his head. "I'm not that kind of asshole."

His last comment earned him a snort, but Bucky's face relaxed as he closed his eyes with a fond smile. "No, you're not." He opened them again. "Hey, is this the first time…"

"Either of us have woken up in the other's bed? Yeah," Clint finished before leaning closer. "And I wouldn't mind if it happened again."

It was a lazy kiss, lips soft and pliant in the wake of sleep. "In whose bed?" Bucky asked when they parted.

He shrugged. "Don't care. So long as you're there too…"

"You're a sap."

"Right back at ya."

Bucky pushed himself up, leaning over Clint and giving him a deeper kiss into his pillow. "Hey – remember when you got drunk and told me about that list of yours?"

Clint swallowed, hoping his cheeks weren't suddenly as red as they felt. "The Sexytimes list?"

"Now seems like ample opportunity to get one of those things crossed off." A devilish grin had spread itself across Bucky's face, and Clint raised his eyebrows.

"You remember who gave out first last night, right?" he asked, but when warm lips started to work at the soft spot at the back of his jaw he realised that, once again, he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

AN: Prompt: "The first morning after the first time they actually stay the night together."