Chapter Text
“Don’t get blood on anything.”
“I’m bandaged up just fine, thank you.”
That doesn’t stop Bucky from checking over his shoulder to make sure Clint isn’t bleeding on anything. Because he got cut like three or four times and the asshole is currently covered in stupid band-aids. Like not even bandages even though a few of his injuries are more than just a scrape. Just stupid band-aids. They hardly cover up anything. “If you bleed on somethin’, I’m gonna be mad at you.”
He laughs. “You’re just lucky you heal fast, asshole.”
It’s true. He had two bullet holes in him a few hours ago, one a through-and-through in his arm, the non-metal one, which hurt like a bitch; another round that had sliced into his leg that Clint had been ever so polite as to carefully remove, apologizing every two seconds when Bucky winced in pain. And since then, both injuries have healed up fairly well, most of the damage healed up, but he’s got them bandaged up thoroughly, knowing they’ll be nothing more than fleshy white scars in a few more hours.
Temptation is too much and he checks over his shoulder to see Clint pulling his shirt over his head. Yep, he’s got band-aids all up and down one cut along the side of his ribcage; they look like stitches except with band-aids because Clint can’t dodge a knife worth a shit and also can’t patch up the resulting wound. An absolute moron. Who just so happens to have a nice ass, Bucky duly notes for probably the thousandth time as he watches his husband pull off his jeans.
Yeah, this has yet to get old.
“Hey, get undressed,” comments Clint, which is when Bucky notices that he’s standing in front of the mirror and tossing his clothes where he normally does, which is basically right next to where actual laundry basket is. For a man with perfect aim, he’s lazy as hell. “And stop checking me out.” He flashes a smile into the mirror, clearly aware that Bucky can see him and watching Bucky right back. “I’m married.”
Bucky snorts a laugh before looking away, pretending like he got caught. “Whoever it is must be so lucky to be married to you. You’re such a pain in the ass.” And he pulls off his shirt, careful so that it doesn’t get caught on his metal arm. That’s happened before and he got stuck to the point that Clint had to cut him out of his own shirt. Pathetic.
“I married a great guy,” says the archer. And he feels Clint’s arms slip around his waist. His chin is on his shoulder. Bucky watches him with his peripherals. “He’s also an asshole. Like me.”
He pauses, turning his head slightly so that he can kiss Clint’s stubbly cheek. Which doesn’t have a band-aid on it, luckily. He’s very glad Clint’s face didn’t get banged up much today. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” Bucky leans back into his husband and loves how Clint holds him. “What’s the guy’s name?”
And when he sees that Clint’s got that kind of smirk on, he knows the answer’s gonna be terrible.
“Captain America.”
“Nope, Barton, that’s too far,” he says and holds his hands up as if in surrender, and that causes Clint to back off, which is fair enough. Bucky’s smiling, but he’s not fucking around. “You have not only crossed a line, but you have crossed it with one huge ass jump.”
He backs away, smirking, not a trace of actual apology on his face despite the fact that he says, “I’m sorry, it was just easy.” He laughs and watches as Bucky drops his pants before heading to the bed, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m married to a sergeant.” And while Bucky’s crawling under the covers, Clint is crossing the room. “That’s pretty close.”
“Even you know the ranking system. Not even remotely close.” Bucky smiles as he sees Clint standing at the side of the bed, biting back a smirk.
Clint pauses for all of half a second before smirking and saying, “I know.” And then he just leans forward like he’s about to swan-dive into a pool but instead just kind of bellyflops onto both the bed and Bucky, who lets out a loud groan that’s somehow mixed with a laugh.
And now Clint is just laying across him, his legs half hanging off the edge of the bed. Bucky just knows Clint weighs a ton and he landed pretty damn hard. “You know Steve and I dated forever ago,” huffs Bucky, trying to roll Clint off of him, maybe onto the floor, maybe onto the bed, he doesn’t care which way his husband falls; turns out that Clint is clutching the sheets, so Barnes can’t get him off unless he just throws off the entirety of the blankets, which definitely won’t happen. “Wouldn’t even think about it now.”
“I was kidding, Barnes, sheesh.” And that’s when Clint basically comes back to life, crawling his way across Bucky, who groans at appropriate times when he gets kneed or takes a foot to the groin, and to his own side of their bed. “But that’d be funny. Me dating Rogers. I like the guy, but he’s a little much.”
Scoffing, Bucky asks, “If you think he’s a little much, then what the fuck am I?”
And, after staring up at the ceiling for a heartbeat, he turns to look at his husband, very serious. “So if Steve is an overeager golden retriever, you’re a pitbull.” Clint slides a little closer to Bucky. “Sturdy. Adaptable. Strong. Nasty reputation, though.” He smirks, while Bucky rolls his eyes. “And you’re lovable. That’s what’s really important.”
“And what’re you?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
There’s about a half-second of contemplation before Clint continues, still entirely serious, “Probably like a really lazy mastiff.”
“How come you get to be bigger than me and Stevie?” Bucky rolls over so that he’s facing Clint now, head propped up by his hand.
Meanwhile, Clint is laying on his back, hands folded at his stomach. Still, he manages to shrug ever so slightly before going, “I said lazy. I’m a powerhouse, I just don’t use it. Obviously.” Smirking. Smug little ass.
“Your ego’s almost as big as your mouth,” Bucky says as he leans over to kiss his stupidly big mouth— Clint is not slow to respond. It takes less than a minute for Clint to find his way closer and for his hand to start to drift, and the archer’s lazy voice just drawls in that Midwestern accent, “Neither are as big as your—”
“Hey, not tonight.” Because Clint’s hurt, they’re both tired, and it just doesn’t make sense.
Clint’s immediate reaction is a sigh, but after a second, he leans up to kiss Bucky again and says, “Alright.” He backs off respectfully and instead resigns to pressing himself up against Bucky’s side after his soldier shifts to lay on his back. Clint’s arm wraps across his husband’s torso; one of his legs hooked over one of Bucky’s. Wrapped up in each other.
Talk about some All-American cuddling. Couple of former military idiots curled around each other. Married. Bucky isn’t sure how he got so lucky, but he’s grateful he’s got Clint in his life and wouldn’t change this moment for anything. Well, he does wish he didn’t have two fresh scars and that Clint wasn’t sliced to bits. But aside from that.
“You’d really be like one of those tiny Jack Russell dogs,” Bucky corrects slowly as some kind of incredibly late afterthought, smirking, knowing he’s about to get a rise out of Barton. “Too much energy, kinda scrappy.”
Groaning, Clint makes a pretty pitiful attempt to basically shove Barnes, but seeing as they’re basically attached, it’s ineffective. “How rude.” And as he readjusts to get settled again, he hisses, and Bucky knows he must’ve fucked up one of his wounds.
“I love you,” reaffirms Bucky, giving his favorite asshole another kiss, this one on the top of his head, “but you’re bloody. The sheets are prob’ly gonna be trashed by morning.” He reaches gingerly to press at the edge of one of the visible band-aids to make sure it’s pushed down and will stay on through the night, and Clint winces. “You shoulda gotten patched up right.”
“ ’m fine.” He literally says this into Bucky’s skin because his face is pressed into his husband’s chest. He tilts his head just slightly so he can see his soldier’s face.
Bucky’s not in the mood to fight him on it; it’s late, they’re both tired, and he’s not going to win that battle anyways. So instead, he uses his free hand, the metal one, to reach up and tap at the wall for the light switch, knowing they need to get some rest. “Sure you are.” And finally he finds it and clicks the light off, which is a prompt for Clint to snuggle in closer. Bucky then shifts, oh so carefully, so that he’s on his side again, and Clint quietly readjusts accordingly, this time not bothering an injury.
Clint’s face is pressed into Bucky’s chest. Legs and arms intertwined. The closeness is a comfort. They both made it home tonight. They’re both in one piece.
There’s always shit to be grateful for on this godforsaken earth.
“I love you,” whispers Bucky again into the darkness before he cranes his neck down to kiss the top of Clint’s head.
There are some words mumbled into his chest where lips graze across his skin in speech, but he can’t make them out. He’s pretty sure he knows what Clint said, though, and that’s enough. Because Clint’s arms just seem to wrap around him tighter, and there’s no better feeling in the world.