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“I can’t do this anymore,” Bucky groaned as he sank into Clint and Natasha's couch, head in his hands.
Clint, who had been about to put a handful of popcorn in his mouth, instead put it back in the bowl. “Do what anymore? Watch the movie?”
Natasha picked up the remote and pressed pause with a shrug. “I wasn’t really watching anyway.”
“Emperor’s New Groove is a classic, but I understand that not everyone has taste. We could always watch Dog Cops again,” Clint suggested.
“You always want to watch Dog Cops,” Natasha sighed.
“No, the movie is fine.” Bucky rubbed his forehead. “I just got another text from Steve.”
“Is he mother-henning again?” Clint asked sympathetically.
“Yeah. And I get it, I really do. He’s worried. But I can’t deal with him hovering over my shoulder like this. He’s asking again when I’m going to come back to the Tower.”
“Ah, that. Honestly, at your age, you shouldn’t have to be beholden to a curfew, not gonna lie.” Clint tossed back more popcorn.
“It’s not a curfew. Or at least, not exactly. But I don’t like being there. Not with Steve being able to literally hover over my shoulder, and things are still weird with Tony.”
“To be fair, you did murder his parents,” Natasha pointed out.
“I know that.” Bucky scowled. “But he forgave me for it, and it just feels too awkward. I feel like I need to move out. Do you have any open units in your building?”
“Not really.” Clint winced. “But we have a couch that you’re welcome to any time, or—if you don’t mind sharing a bed, ours is a king, so cuddling is optional. Nothing more than that, though. I know you’re not… interested in that sort of thing, and neither are Natasha or I.”
Bucky paused to consider the offer. There was a sincerity and vulnerability behind it that felt both unexpected and completely natural. Clint was serious about this—and while Natasha didn’t say anything explicitly, her nod of agreement showed her to clearly be on the same page. Bucky’s own words had been born out of frustration, but he realized that they had been genuine as well.
“Can I bring Alpine?” he asked cautiously. His therapist had suggested an emotional support animal; and while he had been hesitant at first, Alpine had soon become a lifeline and the primary reason he didn’t spend all his time away from the Tower.
“Of course!” Clint agreed readily. “I assumed that would be a given.” A genuine smile was blossoming on Clint’s face; and though Natasha’s was smaller, it was there. Bucky grinned at them both in return.
“So, how soon can we move in, then?”
—
Steve, to Bucky’s lack of surprise, wasn’t happy about Bucky’s decision to move out of the Tower and into the apartment in Bed Stuy. That was one of the primary reasons that they waited until he was out on a date with Sam to move Bucky’s few possessions across the city and into Clint’s apartment. Natasha ran interference for them so that none of the rest of the team noticed while Bucky and Clint did the actual moving. By the time Bucky and Alpine had been moved in, there was nothing anyone else could have done about it.
The three of them soon settled into a routine of sorts; and while cuddling was in fact optional, it was an option that Bucky had taken them up on, especially as Alpine and Lucky both insisted on curling up into bed with them. It wasn’t exactly peaceful—they led chaotic lives and were still Avengers, after all, and they still had missions and had times when they stayed at the Tower. But in the downtime, when they could be together, they were able to settle into a comfortable domesticity that none of them had realized just how much they’d craved. They already had unique histories with each other, and they made it work by being honest and vulnerable in a way that would not have worked with anyone else but came naturally for them.
Bucky, being a super soldier, needed less sleep and often started his mornings by untangling himself from the chaos of three humans, a cat, and a dog sharing one bed to go for a run. Meanwhile, Natasha would do yoga in the living room, often unable to get back to sleep—unlike Clint, who remained dead to the world until Bucky or Natasha started to make coffee. The smell woke him up better than any visual or audio alarm ever could.
One morning, six months into living together and after a particularly late night wherein they’d had a marathon of every Cinderella movie ever made, Bucky and Natasha were making breakfast as usual when Clint stumbled into the kitchen, slightly hungover. When Bucky handed him his coffee, he immediately chugged it despite the extreme temperature and sighed, “Oh, I love you.”
Bucky smiled at the predictable response and took back the empty cup to fill it again. “Love me or love the coffee?”
“Both, I think,” Clint replied thoughtfully as he took the second cup, drinking this one more slowly and savoring the flavor.
“Hmmm, well. That’s convenient.” Bucky smiled harder. “I love you too.”
“Such a love fest in here.” Natasha smirked, taking a sip of her tea. “Gross.”
“Ah, we know you love us, Nat.” Clint pressed an obnoxious kiss to her cheek, and she scowled—though he knew that if she hadn’t actually wanted to be touched, she would have moved away, and he would have backed off immediately. She went back and forth between craving affection and loathing it.
She hummed and tilted her head in agreement. “I would love you more if you manage to not get in an argument with any public officials at the gala tonight.”
“Ah, but you’ll still love me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Against my better judgment.”
“For better or for worse, right?” Clint grinned and winked at them.
“We’re not married,” Bucky replied with a raised eyebrow.
Natasha smiled behind her coffee. “I don’t think that’s actually legal.”
“Neither is the fact that we’ve single-handedly killed most of the Tracksuit Mafia,” Clint shrugged.
“You’re impossible,” Bucky sighed, taking a sip of his own coffee.
Clint winked. “But you love me.”
Bucky didn’t respond verbally, but the way he filled Clint’s coffee mug for the third time and had already begun to carefully steep more tea for Natasha said more than enough.