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Pietro had mastered the coffee date, he was even slowly getting the hang of the dinner date. Picnics, concerts, movies, a memorable trip to the circus; dating Clint Barton was a million times easier than Pietro had ever believed it could be. A million times more wonderful as well.
When he'd walked into that bookstore, deeply confused and more than a little bit afraid that he was broken, Pietro had never even dreamed to believe that he would be feeling so free and accepted only six short weeks later.
Putting a name to his feelings was just the start of it. The LGBTA group that Clint and his friend Bucky ran at the local community college had welcomed him with open arms, accepting him completely for who he was, helping him find the resources and insight to understand himself. Hell, he'd even worked up the courage to share his sexuality with Wanda, who had cried and hugged him and then slapped him upside the head for not telling her sooner.
And through it all, by his side every step of the way, was Clint. Never asking for more, seemingly content with all that Pietro could offer. It was perfect, Pietro was the happiest and most carefree he had ever been.
Which is why the sight of the double bed in the ratty motel that they had been forced to stop in on their way back from the Foo Fighters concert was like a punch to the solar plexus, like a chain slowly pulling him back to earth.
Oblivious to Pietro's internal freak-out, Clint curses the weather as he heads straight for the bathroom and the, hopefully clean, towels to dry off.
“According to the motel manager, we're lucky to get a room,” Clint calls from the bathroom. “This was his last available one, the road up ahead is completely washed out. We definitely made the right decision to pull in and wait this one out.”
Clint's head pokes out of the bathroom, his blonde hair sticking up at all angles after the vigorous towel drying, a frown of concern on his face at Pietro's continued silence. “Babe, you OK?”
Pietro's heart is pounding so hard that he imagines Clint must be able to hear it and he can't pull his eyes away from the far too narrow looking bed to answer.
Following his line of sight, Clint's shoulders slump in understanding. Emerging fully from the bathroom, extending his arm to offer Pietro a dry towel, Clint sighs. “You know that I would never try anything, right? I'm good with what he have and I don't expect anything more from you. Sharing a bed won't change that.”
Pietro knows that, of course he does. Clint has been nothing but understanding and accepting towards his limits. This shouldn't be a big deal. They've cuddled on Clint's hideous but surprisingly comfortable couch before, Pietro had even nodded off once with his head burrowed into the space between Clint's head and shoulder, waking long after the movie finished to see Clint's gentle smile beaming down at him, joking about his snoring being enough to wake the dead. It shouldn't be a big deal but...
“I can sleep on the floor.” Clint immediately offers, pressing a small kiss to Pietro's temple before stepping towards the bed and stealing one of the pillows.
Uncomplaining, accepting, perfect. Pietro feels like a tool.
“But, your back..” he half-heartedly protests.
“Then, I'll go and sleep in the car. I've slept in worse places, I promise you. I don't want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable.”
Pietro finally pulls his gaze away from the bed and looks at Clint. He looks beautiful, Pietro remembers seeing him for the first time and thinking he was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. But here, now, with his hair in disarray, rain soaked t-shirt and jeans plastered to his skin, left on even though Pietro knows that it feels gross and uncomfortable and he must be dying to get out of them. Here and now, Clint is the most beautiful he has ever been.
This man, the man who would rather wear uncomfortable, wet clothes than strip off in front of Pietro without asking first, the man who was perfectly prepared to go and sleep on the sticky motel floor or the cramped back seat of his car. This is the kind of man that Pietro never thought he could have, the kind of man he didn't think even existed. It's enough to bring clarity to his mind and tears to his eyes.
“Stay. With me.”
Clint's eyes widen in surprise. “Are you sure?”
Pietro nods, smiling and more sure than ever in the face of Clint's concern. “I'm wet, miserable and exhausted. You better get your ass in that bed and get ready to cuddle me until I fall asleep. And you can take those wet clothes off as well. You'll catch your death.”
“Sir, yes Sir” Clint salutes cheekily.
Later, when Clint's soft snores are tickling against his neck, as he has Clint's arms wrapped around him, feeling safe and warm, Pietro mentally adds sleepovers to his list of things that he thinks he could end up getting the hang of.