winterhawkkisses:

418. 

Bucky was laughing helplessly, collapsed in the back of the van, his arms wrapped across his stomach and a strand of hair caught in the corner of his mouth. Clint glowered at him, stalking past with another box helpfully labelled ‘ARROWS!’ in Kate’s perky print. 

Bucky had taken precisely one minute and seventeen seconds to get his shit in the van. Two boxes and a duffel bag, and the fact that he had that much was mostly due to Steve’s insistence on giving him stuff for his birthdays, these days. 

Clint, on the other hand, had been up and down the stairs maybe fifteen times already, and he refused to let Bucky help, and – oh, shit, now he was walking past with a box with a heavily blacked out sharpie rectangle, ‘BOOKS’ scrawled above it in Clint’s spider scratch. 

“Oh, no,” Bucky said, wiping tears away from the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand, “no, sweetheart, you shoulda gone with action figures or somethin’, there’s no way you’ve got enough books for -” 

“It’s arrows, fuck you,” Clint said, and Bucky collapsed into giggles again. He reached out as Clint marched past on his way back into the apartment, snagging a belt loop and tugging. Clint dragged his feet like a toddler but didn’t do anything to really resist, so Bucky pulled him up square in front of him, hands on Clint’s hips. 

“Hey,” he said, gentle and warm and still curling around the bubbles of laughter in his chest, “hey, baby, I love you, I can’t wait to move in with you you fuckin’ disaster,” and Clint softened and leaned down to kiss him like no one else had ever kissed him, hands cupped around his face.