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Fact: Bucky Barnes cuts coupons.
"Are you really at that again?" asks Clint as he moves down the stairs with sleep-heavy steps. He runs one hand through his hair to try and get rid of the bedhead but only ends up making it worse. Go figure.
The only response Clint gets is a little noise that must mean yes because Bucky keeps clipping away at his coupons. What a nerd. What a cute nerd.
Clint is only finally acknowledged when he drifts behind Bucky’s chair because Bucky leans back a little bit, almost expectantly- this is how he asks for a good morning kiss. Clint pauses and waits for Bucky to tilt his head just right before leaning in and hesitating, his lips almost hovering right over Bucky’s. "You sure you wanna risk the morning breath?"
There's another murmur noise that's supposed to mean yes, and Clint pecks a kiss sweetly before heading to the coffee maker to start a fresh pot. He feels so damn lucky. "You're so weird."
"It's relaxing," Bucky defends with a half-hearted shrug before going back to clipping at this week’s papers.
His hands are busy with the coffee, but his mind is on Bucky. Thank God for muscle memory. "Is this some kind of World War II leftovers stuck in your brain?" Clint's kinda wondering aloud at this point because why not. He wonders about the good ol' days regularly, wants to know why Bucky doesn't talk about it, but he usually keeps it to himself. Apparently, the coffee's got a filter in it but Clint's mouth doesn't because he continues, "Like is this linked up with the 'save everything' mentality? Like with the Great Depression and shit?"
To Clint, it's something he has totally dissociated with, it's not in his lifetime, it's not relevant to him, but to Bucky, it's like it was yesterday.
And Clint only realizes this when Bucky says, "Steve never had any money. I'd save everythin' I had, food, coins, anythin', and make sure he was taken care of." He keeps cutting coupons. "Just a different way of doin' it now." There's a mild hesitation in the sound of scissors slicing through paper. "And I'm savin' for you."
After his coffee is ready, Clint sits beside Bucky and helps him organize all his coupons.
Fact: Clint Barton does, in fact, own coffee mugs.
"You have mugs?"
Clint raises an eyebrow at Bucky. Then he looks over his shoulder at the kitchen. Then he looks back to Bucky. "I've always had mugs?"
"But you never use them?" Confused isn't even the right word to explain how Bucky's feeling right now. Perplexed. Bewildered. Something immensely more frustrated because why hasn't Clint ever offered him a mug before.
"Nah. Then I'd have to do dishes." Clint hands over the full coffee pot to Bucky. "Besides, this means you and I have to sit close to each other to have coffee together."
...it's not like there's no logic behind it. It's stupid ass logic. But, at the same time, it's the kind of logic that also means Bucky and Clint are side-by-side on the couch with this fresh pot of steaming hot coffee between them while they watch what Clint has deemed "classic cartoons" on a Saturday morning.
Bucky can't say he minds too much. He takes the pot and drinks some and his tongue burns, but he knows Clint's grinning next to him as they sit shoulder-to-shoulder, happy as could be.
Fact: Bucky Barnes sometimes forgets to shave.
"Oh no," says Clint, rolling away from Bucky and pulling the blankets with him. "No no no no no. You are not kissing me with that face, Barnes."
While Bucky groans and falls back onto his pillow, he sighs, "You didn't say that last night."
"There wasn't much kissing last night," Clint reminds with a pointed look and a slight pout.
Meanwhile, Bucky just grins, but it's lost in the stubbly shrub that's on his face because he hasn't had a chance to shave in two weeks courtesy of an intensive mission.
Clint raises a brow in Bucky's direction. "What, not gonna try to kiss me again?" he challenges with a wry twist of his lips.
"You're too far away and I'm too sore to try," he breathes, sinking further into the bed again, like he's about to fall back to sleep. His eyes shut slowly. "Still wanna kiss you though."
The bed shifts as if Clint is coming closer. "I'll kiss you instead, okay?" Bucky feels chapped lips pressed to his forehead.
Bucky's about ready to sink into sleep once more, but he's grinning, satisfied as all hell with his life right now.
"I'll bring you breakfast when you wake up." Clint kisses Bucky's forehead again before the bed shifts and he's gone, heading for coffee.
Sore. Satisfied. Sleepy. That's Bucky Barnes in a nutshell.
Fact: Clint Barton is the kind of man who stops every dog on the street so he can pet it.
"Can I pet your dog?"
And of course, ninety percent of dog owner just say, "Yeah, go ahead!", which then means Clint Barton will stop and pet that dog for twenty minutes and have a nice chat with the owner and learn ten new dog facts. He even has a huge checklist of every dog breed he sees. (He can't wait to find a Basenji, apparently.)
For Bucky, this is exhausting, especially because they've just been trying to go on a walk for reconnaissance of the neighborhood, and stopping to pet dogs every half a block is delaying their surveillance; not to mention Coulson is reminding them that their case is time sensitive, but Clint doesn't know that because he turned that hearing aid off when Coulson started to rant.
When Clint finally stands up and walks away from this last owner, a young woman who had a pudgy older Bassett Hound, Bucky shakes his head as they walk off, interlocking fingers again. "I cannot believe you."
"What?" Clint questions in his oh so innocent way.
"You feel the need to pet every dog."
"Dogs like me."
"You got bit by one last week."
"Some like me for who I am, some just like the way I taste." Clint shrugs nonchalantly before leaning into Bucky, even resting his head on his husband's shoulder. It's easy to sell the undercover married bit when they're actually married. "You secretly think it's endearing, I know."
Bucky presses a kiss into Clint's hair. "You have a lot of endearing qualities. The dog thing would not be on my top ten list."
"You have a list?"
"Not the point."
Clint rolls his eyes and snorts a bit. "I'm actually still on mission, you realize, right?"
Bucky's silent.
When Clint moves his head to look at his husband, who has a quirked brow, Clint clarifies: "Scoping out the neighbors. That dog was recently in a kennel. His nails aren't trimmed all that great, his ears have the infection smell, and he was begging for attention."
Still, Bucky's silent.
"She said the dog was the center of her home, Buck." He gives Bucky a nice hard stare. "We aren't around that much, but we make sure Lucky's taken care of no matter what." Clint's eyes are almost severe now. "And she claimed she had him since he was a puppy, but I'm calling bullshit."
Bucky's following this now. "You sayin' she's our mark?"
"Well, all that is suspicious enough, not to mention that I saw a knife strapped to her ankle when I knelt down to pet the dog."
"That'll do it."
"Do you think Lucky needs a playmate?"
"We don't need another dog, Clint." Bucky rolls his eyes.
"Fine, we'll give him to Sam."
"That's doable."
Fact: Clint Barton and Bucky Barnes are stupidly in love.
Bucky's unloading his bags on the kitchen counter. "Okay, so I brought you back three different kinds of Colombian coffee, one of those souvenir t-shirts, and maracas because why the fuck not." He'll probably regret the maracas later. "And a keychain for your stupid collection."
"It's not stupid," protests Clint very loudly over the sound of running water just before he turns off the shower.
Bucky knows Clint likes to be cleaned up for when he gets home from long missions, but Bucky's not thrilled that he got home an hour early early and so he can't just immediately go kiss the hell out of Clint. That's all he wants. He wants to run his fingers through his husband's hair and pull him close and maybe fuck him into the mattress later, but he wants to hold Clint. Right now, he wants Clint in his arms. Close. Safe.
This is what home is like.
"You don't need a drawer full of keychains, babe," insists Bucky, leaning against the kitchen table, fiddling with the keychain. It's stupid. It just says "Colombia" on it with some silly sunset art in the background. It's tourist bullshit.
Yet Clint buys one on every trip from every country.
"But they make me happy!" calls Clint from the bathroom. There's a two second delay before Bucky hears, "What's on the shirt?"
Bucky unfolds the shirt. (He folded it so neatly into his luggage, he hates to unfold it now, but alas, Barton will wear it eventually.) Then he stops unfolding it. "C'mon out here without a shirt on and find out!" He's getting antsy. He wants Clint. So close but yet so far…
The bathroom door opens on the other side of the apartment, and Clint steps out, still rubbing a towel over his hair. He's wearing sweats but not a shirt. Bucky tries not to appreciate it too much. Unsuccessfully.
"Did you even get the right size?" asks Clint with a grin, lingering just a little ways away from the kitchen, eyeing Bucky with a teasing suspicion as he begins to swipe the towel around his neck.
"Barton, I swear, the last one shrank." He gives Clint a tired look. "I didn't do that on purpose."
With a shrug, Clint looks at his new pile of souvenirs and coffee. "I mean, at least Lucky can wear it, but he doesn't like playing dress-up."
Alright, there's only so long a man can last. Bucky has to cave because he knows what Clint is doing. He stretches his arms out wide.
Clint tosses his towel on the counter before moving to hide himself in those arms and bury his face in that chest.
Clint Barton is stupidly in love with Bucky Barnes.
Bucky just breathes Clint in, pressing kisses to his hair and holding him tightly.
Bucky Barnes is stupidly in love with Clint Barton.
This is what it means to come home.
"But really, did you dress the dog up while I was gone?"
"His one good eye is for fashion."