Work Text:
Disclaimer: I don’t own Marvel comics or characters or movies, and am making no money off of this fic.
########
A Hairy Situation by luvsanime02
########
Clint’s getting ready with the scissors when Bucky walks into the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything at first, just gives Clint a stare of disbelief. What he can’t believe, Clint’s not positive about. It could be the shower that’s already running behind him - ‘wasting water’, as Bucky puts it. Or the fact that Clint’s only wearing a pair of hot pink boxer shorts with ‘Sugar Daddy’ written across his ass in bright silver. They were a gift from Tony, that Clint’s pretty sure the other guy didn’t actually expect him to ever wear, but. Well. Clint’s a disaster, and doesn’t have any more clean underwear at the moment. Or underwear that could pass for clean, really.
The scissors currently being held idly in his hand are probably the reason for Bucky’s current look, though. Sad as it is to admit, the rest isn’t anything new.
Sure enough, Bucky holds out a hand after another minute of judgmental silence. “Give me those,” he says. Demands. Even curls his fingers in a grabbing motion impatiently.
Clint shrugs and hands over the scissors. He kind of assumed that Bucky was offering to cut his hair for Clint, which yeah, would likely work better. Bucky can see the back of Clint’s head better than he can, at least.
What Clint’s not expecting is for Bucky to toss the scissors into a drawer and close it pointedly, and then frown at him. “You’re not cutting your hair,” he announces.
“Well, I didn’t think I should go outside like this,” Clint says, gesturing at his mostly-naked body. Except for, you know, the hot pink underwear. And his wooly socks, because Clint’s feet were cold.
“You’re not getting your hair cut at all,” Bucky clarifies further.
Clint pauses. That surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, curious. It’s not like Clint’s attached to the idea of his hair looking a certain way, really. It’s pretty much just habit to keep his hair short by now. Obviously Clint doesn’t care about his hair if he was going to cut it himself in their bathroom.
Bucky’s still frowning, and he reaches a hand up to run his fingers through Clint’s hair. It’s definitely longer than normal, falling over his forehead and curling over his ears. Clint’s last mission needed him wearing a disguise, and Natasha had insisted on Clint growing his hair out.
Still, the repetitive motion feels soothing, and Clint tilts his head. Maybe he’ll let Bucky convince him to keep it longer if he gets fingers brushing through his hair more often now.
“It looks good,” Bucky says, his voice soft, and Clint doesn’t really get it. Bucky’s hair looks good longer, but then, Bucky looks fantastic even when he rolls right out of bed in the morning. Clint’s not so lucky. Oh, he cleans up well enough with some effort, but mostly, he just looks exhausted. Probably because he is.
“Well, then,” Clint says, watching Bucky’s careful concentration as he continues petting Clint’s hair, “guess I’ll have to get used to it.”
Bucky’s small smile is worth anything, and especially worth something as silly as Clint getting used to longer hair. He can deal.