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Clint was benched, which sucked. What sucked even more was that his ribs were busted, which meant a lot of rest, and no range time. He hated being locked out of the range. Clint wasn’t stupid; he knew better than to try to practice with broken ribs, but he didn’t have to like it. His face hurt too, where he’d taken a punch across his cheekbone and nose that had blacked his eye. And his elbow was bruised where he’d fallen on it. And he’d stubbed his toe on the kitchen table earlier and it was throbbing. And… well, he was miserable, that was the point. Miserable and bruised; black and blue and purple all over.
He was considering the benefits of trying to lever himself off the couch and into the kitchen for some sort of comfort snack when the door thumped open. Bucky stomped in, shed his boots, jacket and a handful of knives, and then headed straight through to the bedroom. Clint sighed.
He shifted slightly, making up his mind to go grab something (probably cold pizza, if he was being honest), and was suddenly, violently reminded of the exact reason why he had been sitting in that position for so long. Moving hurt. A lot. It hurt more than not moving, for sure. Every part of him throbbed, and he let out a whine. He just wanted some food.
‘For god’s sake, doll, quit tryin’ to move!’ Bucky hollered from the bedroom. ‘I’m just changin’ into something that hasn’t been run half across the city and then I will get you your gross cold pizza and you will stay where I put you!’
Clint snorted and then wished with all his heart that he hadn’t bothered. He let himself sink back into the cushions, sighing as they took his weight and the pressure on his ribs let up. He wanted to move. He hated lying still. It wasn’t fair.
Bucky emerged from the bedroom in comfy sweats and a loose t-shirt, a disapproving frown on his face. He stopped to stare down at Clint with his hands on his hips.
‘Y’know, if you don’t quit tryin’ to move faster than you’re ready for, you’ll just make your ribs worse an’ be outta commission for longer,’ he said. Which Clint already knew. ‘If you wanted something before I got home, you coulda let JARVIS know. Parker’s in the Tower, an’ you know how eager he is to run around tryin’ to help. He’da been thrilled to get you somethin’.’ Clint knew that too. He just didn’t like people running around doing things for him.
Bucky sighed and softened. He knew all too well what Clint was like at this point. ‘If you stay there, I’ll get you some food and you can have kisses,’ he bargained.
‘Bribing me with kisses isn’t fair,’ Clint huffed. ‘I mean, I will totally accept kisses, but it’s still bribery and unfair.’
‘If it makes you look after yourself, it’s totally fair,’ Bucky countered, sauntering off to the kitchen. ‘Do you want cold pizza, hot pizza, or a grilled cheese?’ he called.
‘Gimme a grilled cheese,’ Clint said, settling a little more comfortably into the couch. ‘And cold pizza. I want both.’ He knew he sounded whiny, but he was injured, so he felt he had the right.
A few minutes later, Bucky reappeared with a plate of pizza slices and a grilled cheese cut diagonally into triangles, just the way Clint liked. In his other hand, he was carrying their giant novelty Hulk mug, filled with tea. It wasn’t quite coffee but it was still a good, dark black tea. Bucky had probably put some honey in it to help with his throat as well. Clint made careful grabby hands for the plate and the mug.
Bucky set both on the coffee table, giving Clint a gentle smile. ‘Pretty sure I promised kisses,’ he said, leaning in to press his lips softly against Clint’s.
Clint lost himself in the kiss for a moment, a small part of him still dazed every time Bucky smiled at him like that. Bucky was so unbelievably perfect sometimes (most of the time) that it took Clint’s breath away.
Bucky pulled back, ignoring Clint’s quiet whine and leaned back in to press a gentle kiss to his eyebrow, just above his bruised eye. He took Clint’s hand and ever so slowly, lifted his arm up to peck a kiss against his bruised elbow. Clint whimpered. Bucky eyes his ribs for a moment, then pressed a kiss to his own fingers, reached out and transferred it to Clint’s ribs. He was so careful that Clint barely felt the pressure of his fingers.
‘I’m not kissing your toe,’ he quipped, sitting back. ‘That one’s on you. I told you not to move.’
‘You’re cruel and heartless,’ Clint told him, trying not to smile. ‘Now gimme my food.’
Lucky had crept in close while they had been occupied, and was sneaking ever closer to Clint’s plate when Bucky turned back to it.
‘No, dog,’ he said sternly, ‘Your dad’s ill. You can’t have his pizza today.’
‘See, Lucky. Cruel and heartless,’ Clint said, losing his battle with his smile. Bucky leaned down, gave him another deep kiss and handed over the food. ‘Maybe I’ll forgive you though,’ Clint muttered.