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"Hey, Hawkeye, pass me the ree-mote." Clint stretches out his arms, making grabby hands in Kate's direction, scowling when she throws it at his face. "Very uncool."
"Much like you."
"Uh, false." He switches it over to the weather channel. The rain's been non-stop since six AM when Clint woke up because his apartment was so fucking cold he couldn't feel his toes. Naturally, Kate had taken all the blankets. It's only cute when it's hot outside. He looks over at her. "Why are you all the way over there reading some silly book?"
"It's for class," she snaps. Clint feels old for a second, then pouts. "Don't. Don't."
"Put that away, get over here, and get in the blanket burrito with me. Wearing a snow hat indoors is sacrilidge, by the way, every good Iowa kid knows that."
She shuts the book and tugs off the hat. "I'm from San Diego."
Sometime around one, Clint wakes up with Kate pressed against his chest, dead asleep and kind of snoring. He closes his eyes again, confusing the sound of rain hitting the window for his pulse, drumming steadily against his skin.
Clint's laying on his back on the sofa and it's snowing out. His ankle is busted and Katie's got coffee going and is giving him the lecture of a lifetime. He's heard all this shit before, he knows it. But it's kind of different coming out of the punk girl you're sort of in love with.
She comes to him bearing gifts of coffee and a hard smack against the head.
"Ow."
"Serves you right."
"Aw, were you worried about me?" Clint tugs her into his lap. "That's precious."
"I hate you," she mumbles, but she softens against him and curls into the spaces between them, fills the corners and crooks of his body and closes her eyes. "Please just let me fret obnoxiously for a while, alright? It makes me feel useful."
Clint shoves a pillow behind his head and closes his eyes. "Come on, Katie-did. You don't ever have to try to be useful to me. I'd be a mess without you."
"Hmph. That I know."
Standing in the kitchen, her arms wrapped around his chest, humming something mindless against the crown of her head, an old song he used to hear ages ago -- Clint is enveloped in a sense of belonging. Belonging to her, to this space, to something bigger. He's felt it before, he's felt it slip away.
If he holds her a little tighter, it's only because he's trying to keep them both suspended in the moment for as long as he possibly can.
And it really isn't fair, he thinks, that the dog likes her more.
"It's because you buy him crap. Toys and shit."
"I could buy you toys," she offers, raising an eyebrow. Clint ignores this.
"Non-issue," he snaps. "Point numbero uno. You spoil him with beef cuts and fancy trips to Pets Mart. He's a mutt. What he needs is to get hosed down and crop dusted for ticks in the summer."
Kate rolls her eyes. "You are so midwest it hurts sometimes."
"I'm just telling you that if you start treating him like a pretty, pretty princess, he will act like one."
Kate shrugs. "Like you don't spoil him."
"He loves you more."
"Aww, you're jealous." She taps her fingers on his chest, grinning before pulling him in for a kiss. "That is adorable, boss-man."
"Whatever." He leans into the kiss anyway.
He does that a lot. Kisses her anyway.
He kisses her in spite of things.
In spite of rain. In spite silly, pointless fights. In spite of himself and herself and everything between them.
He kisses her.
"I'm really sorry," he says. Probably the six hundredth time. Kate rolls her eyes.
"Dude. It's fine."
"Yeah, but like. It's not fine. This has happened before. It's embarrassing."
"I already told you I'm not taking it personally. Now get your naked, flacid dick off my leg and go get me a glass of water."
Clint groans and rolls out of bed, not even bothering to put on any clothes. "Yes, ma'am." Kate huffs and smiles, stroking her hand down his bare leg as he goes.
It takes everything he has not to drop the water when he comes back into the room. Because Kate Bishop always surprises him. And because she will make him turn around and get another if he does. And also because he doesn't have a lot glasses. It's not really a priority.
But sweet lord baby Jesus.
He sets the glass on the night stand and crawls next to her, eyes never leaving her fingers, moving in slow, concentric circles between her legs, teasing herself and watching him. Clint feels like a fly on the wall.
"Kiss me," she says. He complies. "Is this okay for you? Do you like this?"
"Christ. Katie--"
"Come on, Barton. Help me out." There's a flush crawling over her chest and Clint wonders if he could capture it, jar it, save it for later. But right now he's settling between her thighs and dropping his mouth, sucking on her fingers as she pulls away. "Fuck--" He grins, dips his mouth again and pushes his tongue flat against her cunt, tip pressing in gently. He eats her out slowly, carefully, aware of every noise she makes, every jerk of her fingers in his hair, until she's rolling her hips, pushing down on his mouth. She comes, heels pressed into his back, shaking. She comes and Clint feels himself hard, now.
"God. God." Kate drops her hand from his head and grins. "Wow."
"I know." Clint licks his lips, tries to hard -- tries to hide. God. He's hiding it. It's hard. It's hard to hide how hard--
"Hey, you." Kate kicks him. "Come here." He crawls up to her, kisses her, feels her hand wrap around his cock. "I like your come-face. It's pretty chill."
"Lots of practice," he murmurs.
Kate grins, twists her fingers exquisitely. "Good to know."
"Are you happy?"
Spidey's hanging from the fire escape outside his apartment, reaching for a mug of coffee and dropping onto the balcony. Clint raises an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"I keep thinking that like I'm going to figure out what makes you tick, you know? Like I think I've got you pegged and then you die. Or get erased from reality. Or dress like a ninja."
"I thought we dealt with this already."
"Well I'm just saying," Parker continues. "That you are a very righteous, cool, awesome dude. But I don't really know you."
"Hey." Kate sticks her head outside. "You guys want eggrolls."
"Yes, please," Peter says, smiling.
"Cool."
"Thanks, Hawkeye."
"No problem, Haweye."
Peter grins. "That's precious."
"I'm gonna push you off this balcony."
"Whatever." He sips his coffee.
"You totally wanna bang him." Katie grins against his ear as Clint groans, rolls his hips and pushes into her.
"Jesus, I'm busy--"
"Learn to take a joke, boss-man."
"Kate--"
"You close?"
"Fuck."
Kate sighs happily, clenches around him and runs her fingers through his hair. "Come on, you. Come on--"
Balanced on a window ledge, Hawkeye takes the shot.
"I trust you," Hawkeye says.
"I love you," Hawkeye says.
Hawkeye falls. Hawkeye catches.
Hawkeye limps home. Hawkeye does, too.