Clint and Bucky wearing each otherโs sweatshirts on a sleepy morning?
Clint slouched into the kitchen late, ankles pale and knobbly below the too-short legs of faded black sweatpants. Despite the sex hair and the obvious hickey just at the hinge of his jaw, he scowled at the coffee pot and then set his mug down on the table with a clatter.
Despite Natasha's quick head-shake, Steve leaned forward a little, his brow furrowed with concern.
"Everything okay, Clint?"
"I don't know why I bother," Clint said, wrapping the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and cradling the coffee mug between them. "I was tryin' to break it to you guys gently, get you used to the idea, but I guess I have to do everything around here." He glared at each of them in turn, making Pointed Eye Contact, and then took a bracing sip. "I'm - me and Bucky, we're together."
"Okay -" Steve said, slowly. He and Natasha exchanged a speaking look.
"I mean, I've been wearing his goddamn sweater around the place for a week now." Clint's voice was plaintive. "What the hell else have I gotta -"
"That's your sweater," Steve cut in, confused.
Steve made a face at Natasha, 'cos someone in this room was going crazy and he could've done with some reassurance that it wasn't him.
"That's - Clint, that's a Hawkeye sweater, I don't -"
"Obviously it's a Hawkeye sweater. Bucky's Hawkeye sweater."
"And you didn't think," Natasha asked delicately, "that our seeing Bucky in purple might have been the better hint?"
Clint opened his mouth, thought for a second, closed it again. A gentle flush of pink washed over his cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose.
"You don't get into a relationship to wear your own damned sweaters," Bucky said from the doorway, his own oversized and grey, the red star in the centre of it marred with a coffee stain.
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
