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Seventy-five. Seventy-six. Seventy-seven.
Natasha counts silently to herself with each slow deliberate stroke of the brush through Bucky’s hair. He hums, eyes shut enjoying the soft tenderness of this moment.
She reaches one hundred and replaces the brush with her fingers, threading them through his shoulder-length hair. Twisting and turning she transforms his loose waves into a near perfect French braid.
A kiss pressed to his cheek is his only clue she’s done with her task.
“Zoning out again?”
“One of the few times I’m ever truly relaxed, babe.”
Natasha hands him the brush as she sits on the floor between his legs.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Bucky begins his counting, gliding the brush through her dark cherry colored hair.
This is his favorite pass time, save when they lay awake at night, curled into each other allowing time to slowly tick past them.
Tony clears his throat, “What exactly is going on here?”
“He’s pampering me, Tony, let him be.”
“I can see that.”
Tony takes in Bucky’s immaculate braid and it clicks into place. His eyes and expression soften. That’s love.
“Where you off to?” Bucky asks, eyes sparkling at catching Tony’s thought.
“Nowhere important.” He nods, a content smile pulling at his lips. “You kids have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That narrows it down.” Bucky chuckles. He abandons his brushing to rub soft circles into her shoulders. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“Good.” He hums, leaning forward, kissing and nipping her neck relaxing her further. “Now what else can I do to make you better than ‘better?’”