winterhawkkisses:

551.

“He won’t mind,” Natasha said, taking a drink from her beer, her mouth tilted up a little at the corners. “Clint is the worst clothes thief I’ve ever met. You’ll probably find a couple of your own sweaters in there.”

Bucky considered this for a second. Clint was due back any minute, sure, but with Clint that could mean anywhere up to three hours, and the busted window that Clint hadn’t got around to doing more than taping cardboard over meant the apartment was Arctic. Natasha was fine – she’d got here first, was wrapped up in a fuzzy purple blanket and had Lucky sprawled across her to to boot. Bucky had been curled around a cup of coffee since he arrived, but it just wasn’t cutting it.

“Okay,” he said finally, “but when he asks this was your idea.”

Clint’s bedroom was up a flight of rickety metal stairs, and was exactly the bomb site that Bucky had been expecting. There were clothes – mostly unidentifiably stained – on every surface, and the bed was a tangle of bedding and blankets and an adorable plush Cap that Bucky was never gonna let Clint forget.

On second look, in amongst all the mess, it was kinda cute how much Avengers merch there was in Clint’s bedroom. He even had a cardboard box that appeared to be full of branded boxers, which Bucky supposed saved on the laundry. He had an arc reactor-shaped nightlight plugged into an outlet by the bathroom; there was a black hooded sweater with a big red hourglass on the back hanging on the bedroom door; one drawer in the dresser wouldn’t close ‘cos of the oversized Hulk hand that was hanging out of it.

Naturally there was also a riot of purple, but a lot more of the selection featured Kate than Clint. Bucky had wandered over to take a closer look at a photo of the two of them, all squished up together, pulling faces, looking cute, when he noticed the little figurines.

Apparently kids wanted their action figures now. Apparently that was a fad. And the first one Bucky saw was Stevie, posed head up and hands on hips, and he’d be a little worried that Clint had a crush – for Clint’s sake, ‘cos Steve was makin’ time with Stark, and not for any other reason – if Clint hadn’t posed a little Spider-Man hiding behind a coffee mug, looking like he was just about to shoot webbing at the back of Steve’s head. Next to that a tiny Hulk was apparently punching through a crushed Coke can – jeez, this was adorable – and Bucky actually snorted out loud when he saw tiny Natasha dangling tiny Tony off the edge of a shelf by his boot.

At first he didn’t see himself which, y’know, it figured. He wasn’t exactly hero material, he’d been surprised they’d even made –

But turned out he was there, after all. On a little wooden crate that was serving as a night stand, posed so he was sitting with his legs dangling over the edge, his tiny plastic arm wrapped around a tiny plastic Clint, both of them leaning so they were holding each other up. And wasn’t that just exactly right?

When Clint eventually arrived, steaming pizza in hand, Bucky was sprawled on the couch wrapped up warm in a purple hoodie, and the grin that settled on Clint’s face when he saw the both of them there, settled into his space –

Bucky spread his arm along the back cushion.

“C’mon,” he said, when Clint looked a little hesitant, “get over here and warm me up.”