Three's a Crowd, Five's a Nap Pile

It was an accident.

Really.

Harry hadn't planned to fall asleep in the lounge. He'd just curled up on the couch with Bucky's hoodie (again), a cup of hot chocolate, and a documentary about volcanoes narrated by a man with the world's most soothing voice.

One minute he was comfortably tucked into the corner cushion, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like mittens.

The next minute… well.

He was waking up to a situation.

--

First, there was Clint. Somehow snuggled onto the same couch, using Harry's thighs as a pillow, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes like he was in a Victorian fainting spell.

Then Natasha. Perched in the armchair beside them, feet on the edge of the couch and one ankle pressed lightly against Harry's side like a lazy cat claiming territory.

Steve was on the floor, back against the couch, head tilted back so it rested against Harry's legs too, snoring gently and making a noise every time he exhaled that sounded suspiciously like a kazoo.

Bruce was in a blanket burrito on the second couch, glasses still on and an open book balanced across his chest.

And Harry?

Dead center. Warm. Trapped.

Smug.

--

Enter Bucky.

He stopped in the doorway.

Stared.

Blink. Blink.

Harry, still half-asleep and deeply unrepentant, lifted a hand and waved with all the grace of a cat in a sunbeam.

"Hey, sunshine," he mumbled.

Bucky crossed his arms. "What the hell is this?"

"Nap pile," Harry said cheerfully. "Natural evolution of my orbit."

"You're touching five people."

"Six, if you count Natasha's foot. Which I do."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "Move."

Harry blinked innocently. "From what part of this cuddle throne would you like me to dislodge?"

Bucky took a slow, deliberate step forward.

Natasha opened one eye. "Barnes. Don't start a turf war."

"Too late," Bucky muttered, stepping over Steve and gently prying Clint's arm off Harry's legs. Clint grumbled in protest.

Harry let himself be scooped up like luggage. "You know, this is very possessive behavior."

"I'm not sharing you with the human pizza topping," Bucky growled, glaring down at Clint.

Clint gave a thumbs-up without opening his eyes. "Worth it."

--

Bucky dropped into the other couch with Harry in his lap. The hoodie was familiar. So was the warmth. The way Harry fit against him like he was made for it.

"Better?" Harry asked sweetly, arms tucked up, cheek pressed to Bucky's shoulder.

"Much."

"You're lucky I like your arms."

"I'm lucky?"

"Exceptionally."

Steve groaned from the floor. "You two are exhausting."

Natasha smirked, closing her eyes again. "Shhh. The gremlin's resting."

--

By the time Tony walked in—coffee in one hand, tablet in the other—the entire lounge had become a snuggle battlefield.

He stared.

"No one works anymore?"

"Nope," Harry said, muffled from under Bucky's hoodie. "Union break."

Tony took a picture and walked out.

"I'm sending this to Fury."

--

Later, when everyone had drifted off and the lights dimmed on their own, Harry yawned and shifted closer, tucking himself fully into Bucky's chest.

"Didn't think I'd get this," he whispered.

Bucky didn't ask what this meant.

He just pulled the blanket higher, kissed the top of Harry's messy hair, and murmured, "Get used to it."

--